WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  When I return to the lounge room, Mereki appears completely exhausted but still devastatingly handsome and still very much mine. He doesn’t look at me, but I plonk myself down beside him anyway.

  “Do you remember the day we met?” I ask, gripping the pebble in my closed fist. Gaining his attention is becoming an almost impossible task lately.

  He nods but doesn’t smile or even look at me. I’ve loved this man for more than half my life, and I hate what has become of us. This isn’t what I wanted.

  “I think back to those days by the river when we were kids.”

  Nothing.

  He is blocking me out, and it’s suffocating.

  Before I can say anything else, he pushes himself up and walks out the door. No backward glance or simple goodbye—he just leaves, and my always-hopeful heart takes yet another blow.

  Rather than focusing on where he’s gone or when he’ll return, I spend the evening reading. At least I can allow my mind to take me away from my increasingly bleak reality.

  When I finally go to bed, he’s still not home. I am sadly accustomed to going to sleep alone but know I’ll stir from sleep at some stage, and he’ll be there because we love each other on a level that transcends all.

  Ki has already left when I wake up the next morning. He works so hard, and I’m sure he’s going to quickly climb the corporate ladder. I know there is travel coming up that he’s excited about it. His job is going to take him places—places far away from me.

  Reaching over to my bedside table, I pick up the framed picture of us. Mereki’s mother took the photo at their home on my eleventh birthday. Realising that my own mother probably wouldn’t even remember my birthday, she’d invited me to dinner and made me a cake. I was about to blow out the candles and make my wish when Ki put his arm around my shoulders. We both had the biggest grins on our faces. It was a perfect moment, and I’m so grateful it was captured.

  Absently, I run my finger over the photo, tracing Ki’s strong profile, still taken aback by how much he already cared for me, even then.

  Eventually, I drag myself out of bed, throw my hair in a bun, and pull myself together for work. My morning train ride to the city is around twenty-five minutes, and I typically spend the time reading. Today, I pull the smooth, white pebble from my bag and stare at it. I have become completely fixated on it, and I pull out a scrap piece of paper, place the pebble down, and trace around it with my pencil. As if on instinct, I start to shade it in. By the time the train arrives at my stop, I’ve covered the paper in shapes of varying sizes, some shaded dark and others left as just outlines. I am focused and my heart is racing.

  On my walk from the station to work, I collect several more pebbles that catch my eye and place them in my bag. Somehow, they make it feel lighter.

  My morning is a blur of baking, icing, and decorating. I love the creative side of this job, and Carrie allows me free rein on the cupcakes we sell in the shopfront. The custom orders are usually quite specific, but I do love it when the client consults us for design and colour inspiration. This morning, I spent hours cutting one hundred twenty various-sized butterflies from pink fondant, folding them into shape, and leaving them to dry in pre-prepared foil. The result when they set is a beautiful flurry of winged beauties looking ready to take flight.

  Instead of heading to the park on my lunchbreak, I go for a walk. I try telling myself I don’t have a destination in mind, but when I stop in front of the art gallery, I know exactly what I’m doing there. Ever since I heard about Josh’s art therapy classes, I can’t stop thinking about them. Why now? I gave up art years ago and thought I’d found peace with it. Now that I think about it, all I’ve done is become an expert in avoidance.

  Gallery on the Park has a well-maintained frontage. The brickwork around the large picture window is painted a deep crimson. Several easels are set up on the other side of the glass, and I find myself moving closer to get a better look. The one that makes me gasp is a sketch of a man’s face. Half is perfectly drawn with such fine detail, it’s almost like a photograph, but the other half is mostly shaded and drifts off to the edge, distorting him completely. Before I have a chance to look closer and read the artist’s name, the door at the back of the gallery space opens. I don’t want to be caught here, but I don’t know why. I dash away, which is irrational but instinctual—and I don’t ever fight instincts anymore.

  I finish work at five but offer to stay behind to clean the ovens. Who does that? Perhaps I’m just killing time, but they do need a clean, and we’re always too busy during the day to get it done. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I can see it’s not long until Josh’s class will be starting. Carrie always tells me I can take any cakes that don’t sell, but I rarely do. Tonight, I pack them into a small box and lock up.

  Sarah Holland is a potentially fantastic client and Josh is her son, so I tell myself that I’m doing this to help Carrie’s business. It sounds so legitimate in my head—as if I have no other motive.

  I am an excellent liar.

  I walk down the street whistling a tune that I have stuck in my head. I don’t know what the song is called, but it’s catchy. It allows me to feign a carefree attitude. My stomach, however, twists into knots when I see Josh holding a crate under one arm, hovering on the footpath at the gallery door. I’m too close to risk turning around, but I slow my pace and do my best to relax.

  Glancing in my direction when I’m only a few feet away, he smiles. “Emerson,” he says, pulling a key out of his pocket. “Are you coming to my class?”

  Balancing the cupcake box in one hand, I push my other hand against my stomach, willing the knots to loosen a bit. “Oh no,” I say, furrowing my brow and shaking my head. “I just thought you and your students might like these.” I push the box towards him. “They were leftovers and were just going to be thrown out.”

  Balancing the cake box in one hand, Josh lowers his crate of art supplies to the ground.

  His eyes light up as he lifts the lid. “Thank you so much.”

  I nervously shift from one foot to the other. “Well, I hope you enjoy them.”

  He gestures to the door with an upward nod. “Are you sure you don’t want to check out my class tonight? You’re welcome to just pop in to see if you like it.”

  Part of me wants to scream yes, drawn to the art supplies and the happy childhood memories, but I don’t. I shake my head. “I’d better get home. Maybe another time.”

  With a disappointed expression, he shrugs. “Well, thanks again for the cupcakes.”

  I begin walking away, leaving Josh right where I found him, except now he’s weighed down by cupcakes and a confused look.

  Cursing myself for being so inept, I pick up the pace, determined to avoid the gallery from this point forward. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic and I’ll never see him again. Then he calls my name.

  Stopping dead in my tracks, I slowly turn around.

  “Do you want to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks.

  Delight tingles through me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt something like that, and those tingles are reserved for Ki.

  Of course, I can’t accept, so I politely say no. The light disappears from his eyes as he’s rejected for the second time by me this evening. With nothing left to say, I continue my lonely trip home.

  Chapter 12

  “Hey, honey. I’m home.” I’ve said the same thing every day, but this time it’s only a whisper. I’m saying it more to myself than him.

  I walk briskly through the small apartment, flicking lights on as I go. When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, Mereki is standing out on the balcony.

  His back is to me, but just seeing him there fills me with warmth. He is, always has been, and always will be my everything.

  Sliding open the glass door, I step outside and stand beside him at the railing. “You’re here.” I choke back a sob, relieved to see him, as always.

  There are things I need to say—some of which I haven’t said o
ut loud in years. I haven’t allowed myself to even think them. “It feels like you don’t want to be here with me anymore, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Even when you’re here, I miss you.” A loud sigh escapes from deep in my chest. When I get no reaction, I ask, “Did you hear me, Mereki?”

  He doesn’t say anything, but I can see sadness in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to make this gulf of misery between us disappear.

  I don’t push. Growing up together, communication was always our thing. We could tell what the other was thinking without having to say the words. But things are different now.

  I blow out a long breath of frustration, lean my body against the railing, and tip myself forward, focusing on the view below. A few stray cats are fighting by the rubbish bins, and I wish they’d stop. I took one of them to the vet last week, and the bill was almost a whole week’s salary. Ronnie, our downstairs neighbour, lights up a cigarette on the balcony below, and I wave my hand in front of my face when the smoke rises to meet me. I’ve always hated the smell of cigarette smoke.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but when a shiver brought on by the cool night air snaps me back to reality, I notice that Mereki has gone back inside.

  I feel bereft, confused, and sad. He is slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to halt this runaway train before we crash and burn. I can’t live without him, and I know that if he truly leaves me, I’ll die of a broken heart.

  Swatting at a few rogue tears that slip down my cheeks, I return to the bedroom and strip off my clothes. I have a quick shower, brush my teeth, and change into my very conservative cotton pyjamas before slipping into bed. I’m not only alone. I’m lonely. I want my best friend back. I want my lover back.

  As always, sleep doesn’t come easy. Sobs wrack my body until, mercifully, exhaustion overtakes me and eventually drags me under.

  At some point in the night, I wake up and can feel his warm body so close to mine. I want to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. I stare at the ceiling and think back to our first kiss as sleep reclaims me. We were already so desperately in love.

  The next time I wake, the bed is empty. He’s left me again.

  Chapter 13

  When I arrive at work Friday morning, an envelope with my name on it is under the door. Inside is an exquisitely detailed drawing of one of the cupcakes I’d left, signed by Josh Holland. I know he’s saying thank you in his own beautiful way.

  The following Thursday, I stay until six-thirty. I then box up the unsold cupcakes, including my favourite one with the fondant butterfly perched on top, and leave them in front of the gallery.

  I don’t trust the way Josh makes me feel, so I get there early to avoid running into him. He is a risk, and I never take risks with my body, my heart, or my soul. Those things belong to Mereki, and nothing will ever change that.

  I do, however, want another of Josh’s drawings, and sure enough, there is another envelope waiting for me under the door the next morning. This time it’s of a delicate butterfly, exploding with colour.

  Over the coming months, I leave a box of cupcakes at the gallery door most Thursday evenings. Whenever I do, I know there will be an envelope with my name on it under the cake shop door the next day. Inside will be a beautiful drawing. The drawings are of something different and seemingly random every time, but they tug at something deep inside me. I wonder whether they are somehow connected to each other or if each one was inspired by something he saw that day. It reminds me of when I discovered how much I loved creating art because I could tell a story even when I had no words. I place them carefully in between pages of a sketchpad I bought myself but haven’t yet drawn in.

  When I get home, I relocate them to a shoebox in my cupboard that sits next to the large glass jar I have for my new pebble collection. Both bring me a sense of purpose and a glimmer of hope. And both are taunting reminders of my past.

  Despite not seeing Josh all winter, I feel an ever-growing connection to him through his drawings. On some level, a new friendship has started. Josh has no idea that his weekly drawings have become my lifeline, desperately trying to set me free from my depressing and lacklustre existence.

  And I need setting free. Every day, Mereki spends less and less time with me, and the loneliness I’ve fought so hard against tethers me like a rope around my throat until I’m utterly consumed by it.

  I’ve never needed wings like I need them now.

  Chapter 14

  The jar of pebbles in my cupboard is now full. I must decide whether to find a new jar or put into action what I have been subconsciously planning for months now. Finding the pebble outside Sarah Holland’s house after meeting Josh set the wheels in motion. It brought back some really fond memories for me, and I hope it holds the key to working through my flailing relationship with Ki.

  The drawing I receive from Josh this morning spurs me on, and the idea that’s gaining strength makes my heart beat a little faster. The drawing, by contrast to most I’ve received from him, is abstract. He has captured a sense of movement in the flowing lines. It makes me think of the river back home where Ki and I spent so much time together, and it feels like a sign.

  As usual, Ki doesn’t come home until after I’ve gone to sleep on Friday night and is already up when I wake. Knowing he’ll be in the lounge room, I throw on jeans and a short-sleeved, pale yellow shirt—something I haven’t worn in a long time. Yellow is a happy colour, and I’m embracing the new season.

  “There’s someplace I’d like to take you,” I say when I enter the lounge and find him sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead at the blank TV screen. His eyes drift from the TV to me, eyebrows quizzically arching, but he drags his butt off the couch, and we leave the apartment together. He has never been able to say no to me, even when he’s angry, and I try not to take advantage of it too often.

  Ki just stares out the window, so we drive in silence. I spend the time thinking about those early days of our friendship by the river. Back then, the world seemed so full of hope and opportunity. Those were the happiest days of my life.

  Perhaps if I’d talked more freely about those days instead of shutting down when our world fell apart, things could be different now. I was meant to be pursuing my dreams when I came to the city, not letting them die.

  I’m not sure exactly where I’m going, but I know a river runs through a suburb not far from where we live. Given that we both grew up spending so much time by the water, it’s sad how we’ve avoided it.

  I park on a quiet street at the end of a cul-de-sac. Clutching the pebble jar to my chest, I get out and wait for Ki to join me. He glances at the jar and frowns.

  “Trust me,” I say, setting off towards the pathway. “This is going to be perfect.”

  Unable to restrain my excitement, I break into a jog, leaving Ki behind. Just as I hoped, the path leads to a beautiful park along the riverbank, and I almost cry with joy remembering the day I found our place all those years ago.

  I wait for Ki to catch up, and we make our way to a more secluded section of the park further along the river. It doesn’t take long before I’m presented with the perfect place. I climb over a large log with ease, even holding the pebble jar. We’ve had quite a bit of rain lately, so the river is high and the current is fast. Memories continue to flood my mind as I make my way towards the water and wait for Ki to catch up. I drop to my knees and upend the jar, scattering pebbles onto the ground. When the pebble that started this collection catches my eye, I stoop and pick it up, reverently smoothing my thumb across its cold, marble-like surface. This is a fantastic idea.

  Wondering what’s taking Mereki so long, I stand and jog back the way I’d come.

  Then I see him—standing stock still on the other side of the log. His hands are in his pockets, and his shoulders are slumped.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, more pissed off than anything. “We can start fresh, Ki. Our story isn’t over.” My voice is shaky. “It can’t be over. We can start a new s
tory.”

  He shakes his head, and suppressed rage rumbles in my gut. I’ve been holding on to so much pain and anguish for far too long.

  “Why won’t you do this for me?” It comes out as a growl, and I’m surprised by the sound of my own voice. “You told me if I ever feel lost and lonely again, I should remember that I’m made of the strong stuff.” I hold up the smooth pebble. “And I have a road map back to the light.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m trying to make another goddamned road map, you bastard, and I never thought I’d need to because you’re still with me, and you’ve always been my light.”

  His deafening silence is beyond irritating. Without thinking, I throw the pebble right in his face. He deftly swerves his head, and my perfect pebble disappears behind him without making contact. I don’t know why he’s being so stubborn. He must know that I need this.

  When he turns and walks away, I’m left to deal with my own messed-up emotions.

  “I hate you, Mereki,” I scream out the lie, and he continues to walk as if I hadn’t spoken.

  Scrambling over the log, I drop to my hands and knees, desperately clawing through the dirt and grass looking for the stupid, perfect pebble. When my fingers make contact with it, another wave of fresh tears erupts. I bury my face in my hands and sit back on my heels.

  I am all alone on a deserted riverbank in some stupid suburb, sobbing like a baby. I may be clutching a pebble, but I’ve hit rock bottom.

  Is this not enough for him? Am I not enough?

  Eventually, I drag myself to my feet, broken and desperately disappointed that the excited feeling I arrived with is shattered. As I walk back to the car, carrying my empty pebble jar, I try to work out whether or not I want to scream at him again and relieve more of my pent-up rage. The stricken look on his face makes my decision for me.