by J. S. Badham
“I can’t, and I won’t,” Zack refused. Claire screamed viciously as she shoved her hands against his chest, trying her best to shift his hefty frame. Tears still failed to make an entrance, holding back until Claire saw fit to do so.
“Please!” she begged, collapsing into his arms in defeat. He engulfed her into an embrace. “P-please.”
“I can’t, Claire. You need me here.”
“I don’t want you here.” She pulled back and marched away from the man she so desperately loved. “If you won’t, I will. Because you’re a dickhead, Zack.” She found herself crying this time, tears falling like a running tap. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!” She headed towards the door.
“Claire.”
“Go! I won’t ask again, Zack!” she yelled. “Go!”
“No.”
“Well, I am.” Then she opened the door, slamming it with effect, leaving the only man she had felt completely alive with standing there in the centre of the room. Zack did not hesitate as he followed hot on her heels, only to find she had not gone far and instead ended up on the opposite side of the wall outside the room, breathing heavily as she closed her eyes.
“Claire, please,” Zack muttered, wary of how close he was getting to her. “Don’t run. I promise I’ll go if you just tell me you won’t forget about us. You won’t give up, please. That’s all I ask.”
Claire opened her eyes, redness faintly appearing around the rims as she sniffled. “I can’t promise anything, Zack. I really can’t.” She frantically wiped away the tears upon her cheeks. “I need time.”
Zack glanced to the floor, exhaling as he replied, knowing he had little choice but to accept. “I’m not giving up on us, if that’s what you need to hear. I’m not lying about how I feel. I’m always here for you, Claire. I won’t stop loving you. God, I won’t. But I’ll try, try to give you space if that’s what you desire.” Then he dared to step closer, kissing her cheek. She accepted, holding her breath at his gentleness and its reminder of how much she loved this guy. “I love you, Claire.” Then he draped his jacket across his shoulders, hesitant to leave at first, but then he turned. With relief and slight dismay, she rolled her body to the side, watching as he walked away. Her heart was screaming inside, banging with all its might against its four walls, wanting to know why she wasn’t just shouting after him, jumping into his arms, and playing the weak damsel. He had tried. She had to give him that. He wasn’t giving in. And here she was allowing that nagging voice to take control, manipulating all those moments she had with him like fairy tales one would tell their child.
***
Claire
He had left. Simple as that. Downstairs, life went on. The applause, conversation, music, and constant hustling was oblivious to the wreaking havoc that had just occurred between the pair of them. Nobody knew, nobody cared, and there was certainly nobody coming to her rescue.
Standing up was becoming more difficult by the second, even though she was supported by the rose-patterned wall behind her. She could only scoff at its visual impression, ironic how the glistening in her eyes totally made the flowers seem to wilt. Claire truly felt in pain. Her heart gnawed away as the palms of her hands became sweatier, and that fear like she was drowning made her to feel like she was unable to breathe. She just had to get out of here.
Rolling her head to either side, she became aware of the ladies’ lavatory at the end of the corridor on the right. Without second thoughts, she rushed in towards the gold-framed mirror, hyperventilating as she gripped either side of the white marble basin. Inhaling and exhaling slowed her to normal respiration—she could breathe. It was only then that her eyes began to search her own reflection, wondering what on earth had made her become so adversely weak. Idiot. What was the actual point of crying? It was just so typical. Claire hated this feeling. That vulnerability. Zack had lied. End of. There was nothing either of them could do about that.
Sniffling, she shook her head, encouraging herself to tidy the mess that was staring back at her. With balls of toilet tissue and the odd lather of soap, the end result was a lot more convincing than the initial look she sported that would have easily attracted her mother’s attention, even if she was intoxicated.
“Stop being a fucking pussy,” she hissed at herself, jabbing her index finger against the transparent surface before sucking in a tunnel of air. “You don’t need him. Fuck, you don’t need anyone. You’ve done all right single.” Then she exhaled, quickly adjusting the strap of her dress across her bare shoulder.
With a curt nod to her reflection, Claire marched out of the bathroom, nearly colliding with the moving mass that was heading for her. Of course, when she stopped in her path and looked up, her eyes remaining idle upon the figure, it didn’t take her long to register it was her mother. A strong scent of wine stained her breath as she asked, “Honey, there you are. Where’s Zack?”
At the sound of Zack’s name, Claire’s stomach clenched, holding its walls tightly together and refusing to deflate. Claire bit down on her bottom lip, threatening the metallic taste of blood to wash into her mouth. “He had to go. Family business. Don’t worry, he said for me to tell you he was sorry for his sudden exit. I’m gonna get a taxi and head back to the house, Mom. Tell Dad I’m not feeling well, and if Matt asks, the same,” Claire explained, hoping it was enough to curtail her mother from her usual detective mode, but that was very unlikely.
Claire’s mother frowned, allowing the door she had been keeping open to swing shut on its hinges, leaving her alone with her daughter. “What’s up, Claire?” she inquired, her eyes narrowing into slits as if she were attempting to locate one ant in an army of a dozen. “And why on earth would Zack just leave without at least a proper goodbye? Did something happen?”
Claire sighed. “Mom, nothing happened. He seriously had to go home…I told him to go. It was important. And as for me, I think the alcohol has gone to my head, so I would love if you’d let me slip past. I need to lie down.” The lie was a fabrication, but it appeared to work for her mother, who embraced her in her arms.
“Claire, I told you to take your time drinking. And tell Zack he needs to pop around again because I barely got to spend a moment with your fella.”
Claire cringed inside, but even if today’s turmoil had not occurred, she still would have over her mother’s choice of words. Claire nodded even though it was the exact opposite she had in mind.
Eventually she was allowed to scoot past and head downstairs quickly and into the main hall towards the front door. The entrance was lit up by colourful lanterns, a motif to love. She could only detest the sight, tensing a single fist as she headed into the cool breeze.
“Motherfucker,” she scoffed, kicking a loose pebble; the background noise of pumping, dynamic music was still prevalent, irritating her even more so that this night could have turned out a little differently.
Why the fuck did he lie? This was the man she had thought could only be capable of lying about the number of his past sexual partners, not lie completely to her face about his identity. She knew it was all too good to be true. Knew that falling in love with him was one huge mistake. But what about everything they went through? There, that tiny voice could only argue for a second before it succumbed to her breaking heart. The one that refused to believe Zack had good intentions. It made the entire picture just so sad.
A deal, though? How was she supposed to react? How was this time she had asked for gonna help? What was she supposed to do? Feel? Think? Where were the answers? Claire just didn’t know. There was no instruction manual. No fancy tool she could buy from some DIY department store and hope to patch up his mess. Instead, it was like taking the wheel blindfolded and wondering when to turn.
Chapter Nine
Zack
Zack knew he had messed up. He regretted his choice of timing, but at the same time he was relieved that the huge amount of weight that had been imposed on his entire shoulders was lifted. Didn’t mean it stopped the second stack of weight
replacing its absence. He had a long trek ahead of him. The attempt to fix a woman he had broken. He the master and she the feeble puppet.
Home. What was home now? That large but lonely complex he called home felt more of a stranger to his heart, lifeless, that flicking on the lights to the central room was just pointless. His place, his bachelor pod, his unnecessarily large-sized penthouse was not home. Not anymore.
He flopped onto the couch, dragging his hands to the remote lying on the side. With a click, automated blinds drew back, allowing the midnight sky in touch with the city’s towering skyscrapers to enter his view. His sigh was an echo down a tunnel. It dawned on him…living “normal” wasn’t the problem, for he had learned the life of luxury could be deserted; it was the problem of knowing you could be all alone. That was the fear. Money wasn’t everything. Clearly.
What Zack loved about alcohol was it didn’t talk back, didn’t point out the obvious, nor rule his actions as wrong or right, for it just quenched that undying thirst, manipulated the mind into thinking that everything was okay. It became his friend that night, but it also became his enemy; smashed, sharp pieces patterned the floorboards and the lurking stench followed along with.
“Fuck you and fuck you!” he shouted, throwing another bottle against the wall, hooting with laughter as it shattered into tiny pieces behind the sideboard. “I don’t fucking care!” Gritting his teeth, he roared with anguish as he shoved all his weight against the sideboard to flip it over, the crash startling his own eardrums. He was broken, his sanity at a loss as he laughed, sliding down the wall onto the floor and slurring incoherent phrases.
After what seemed an eternity just sitting there, light suddenly flooded into the corridor from up ahead, and the lift doors opened, revealing Kyle and a woman. His female companion was dressed head to toe in only a flimsy, silver material that clung against her toned body. At first neither one of them noticed Zack’s presence. Kyle spotted the broad-shouldered frame sat in the corner of the room knocking back a bottle of beer out of the six-pack placed beside him.
“I can’t tonight,” Kyle whispered to the woman, shaking his head to apologise. “Some other time. You have my number.” He pecked her cheek despite her displeased expression as he waved her off. Drawing his hands into his pockets, Kyle called over, “So what are you doing, buddy? I see you’ve made yourself quite a mess by the looks of it.”
Zack didn’t reply, only shrugged his shoulders before taking another exasperated sip.
“What happened? Didn’t you have that wedding…?” Kyle persisted, trying to get some sort of response from his friend, who remained mute. “I wouldn’t really be sitting there. There’s broken glass all around you. You could cut yourself, and we wouldn’t want to be taking a trip down to A&E, would we? C’mon, Zack. Just get up.”
Zack kicked his legs further out, shifting glass where his feet slid along the floorboard. “Shame about that woman. She looked a’right.” He smirked, tipping back the bottle.
Kyle shook his head, snatching the bottle from his hand. “Fuck’s sake, Zack. You’re pissed as anything.”
“Oh, I know.”
“What the fuck happened, Zack? Is this something to do with your dad?” Kyle said.
“Ha! That fuckerrr? He was the one…fuuucking up my business, so yeah, you could say he’s a problem,” Zack slurred, lifting himself awkwardly off the floor and then rubbing his face. “Fuck, why you have to mention him for, though? Just give me back the bottle and I’ll do you some peace when I head off to bed.”
“It’s got something to do with that Claire, hasn’t it? You told her.”
Zack froze, frowning as he snatched back the bottle. “Fuck off,” he spat.
“Oh, and this is gonna help. Wow, first medal goes to Zack. Grow some balls. You ain’t for this loved-up shit, as you used to say. But now when the real deal comes, you’re being an ass,” Kyle argued back, following his friend, who slouched over to the kitchen.
“Man, if I wanted this lecture, I would have gone to my mother. Just shut up,” Zack grumbled, waving his hand about as he gripped his fingers around the bottle’s neck.
“I’m just saying. Just—”
“Yeah, well, don’t,” Zack interrupted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear it, Kyle. God, just leave it, all right?” He turned around to face his friend with frustration. “Don’t heckle me, okay? I know you’ve got my back, but I just don’t need it tonight. I’ll be all right in the morning. Let me just drink.”
“Fine,” Kyle replied, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine.”
“Just have a drink with me,” Zack said, knocking his bottle against the counter’s surface. “Grab yourself one. It’s the least you can do considering you’ll only be dry-humping a pillow tonight.”
“Fuck off, Zack.” Kyle smirked briefly before tipping back a bottle that Zack handed over. It became quiet then between the pair as neither said a word and instead accepted that it was nice to just be in the other person’s company.
***
Claire
Claire sat on the edge of her old bed, glancing around her room at the old memories. Several cute, vibrant stickers stuck against one side of the wall reminded her of that phase she went through like every girl, wanting to collect as many as possible and decorate any little thing they could grasp their hands on. Then the stuck-on-with-blue-tac pictures of old celebrity crushes and trending fashion items had home on another. The majority there reached into the spectrum of late teen, with the library of schoolbooks, old bottles of perfume, and that old leaflet she had taken back with her from a concert. Her room was almost like a museum, untouched and holding sentimental value that her mother would always go on about. At least it distracted her. Gave her some sort of relief. God, all she wanted to do was have a good night. Come back home and lie on this bed with his arms around her. Then she found herself reconstructing it entirely in her mind, drawing every little detail and every word that came out their mouths.
“I enjoyed tonight,” Zack said as his arms cradled her closer and the growing smile progressed on her lips. “I gotta say your mom is quite the dancer, too.”
Claire snorted. “Say that to her face and she’d make a shrine just for you.”
Zack chuckled. “But on a serious note…” His laughter ceased. “I like your family. They’re…great folks.”
“And that’s why I came out perfect,” Claire inserted, shifting in his arms to face him before pecking him on the nose. Zack’s smirk went on for days as they said nothing for a moment, only appreciating what was before them.
“You know,” Zack began as he rested his forehead against hers, “Claire Winter, I’ve fallen right for you. And…if you wanted an old wooden cabin by the lake built by hand, just pass me the hammer, love. I’d build…” He paused for a second as he kissed her lips in between each word. “Biggest…” Another pause. “Greatest—”
“I get it, Romeo.” She chuckled lightly, tickled by the brush of his five o’clock shadow against her skin. “I get it. You love to make me cringe, don’t you?”
“Always.”
Claire shook her head as she pressed her lips together, too happy for words—not even that she could manage one when Zack suddenly sat up and began shifting his hips deliberately side to side, prompting the bed to squeak. She laughed, grabbing one of the pillows and smacking it against the side of his torso. “Ssssh. God, Zack. My parents’ room is right next door,” she hissed with embarrassment as her cheeks burned.
“Boy, these springs move. Hey, don’t you worry, baby. I’m just getting them all worked up.” The famous, mischievous grin crossed his face as he did not stop for a second from fidgeting on the squeaky bed until eventually he leaned on down and ensnared her lips. And mother-of-baby-lambs, it was a snog. Her fingers chased towards his waistband as she felt him dig into the core of her burning centre.
Laughter overtook the image but then dispersed out of sight as a wash of grey clouds snatched it away, and soon Clair
e was brought back to where she was, sitting in the dark pits of her room staring out into space.
Zack Benson. That was the man she’d been cooped up with. But was he still the man she had fallen in love with?
Chapter Ten
She tossed and turned all through the night, unable to catch a wink of sleep as a suffocating blanket of today’s occurrence romped around in her mind, forcing her to dwell on it. It must have taken her till around half four in the morning after plodding down to her parents’ kitchen for a glass of water that she snuck off into a drowsy state, exhaustion finally eating her up. As for this morning, Claire was weak and couldn’t understand why she was downstairs at eight o’clock, sitting at the head of the kitchen table and barely able to lift the cup of tea that rested between her clasped hands. She should still be in bed like her parents, who had come home around three in the morning.
As for Zack, she had received about a dozen text messages all through the night enticing her to answer. No wonder she had so much trouble sleeping last night. The glare of the screen projecting upon the white ceiling acted strangely on her imagination as some sort of Morse code, keeping her brain wildly active.
“Hey, pet.” The sudden appearance of her father entering the kitchen startled her, his faded green t-shirt and long blue pyjama bottoms a familiar sight. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep? Your mother is snoring her head off, so I couldn’t dare stay one more second in that room.” He chuckled as he put the kettle on.
Claire attempted a smile, but the concern written upon her father’s face said it all. “What’s up, sweetheart? Everything okay? I mean, it was a little strange, you leaving so early last night, but your mother told me it was because Zack had some family emergency. Is he all right today?”
“He’s fine, Dad. I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all,” Claire lied, knowing all too well that her father’s suspicions would not be relieved. She just wasn’t a good liar today. Pouring the hot water into the mug and stirring the teabag until a vortex appeared, he walked over, sat down, and still didn’t breathe a word, making Claire more uncomfortable. He was using the Dad stare, that very same one he’d use on her as a kid until she blurted out the truth if she stole that cookie or those several times she wouldn’t admit who was bullying her in primary school.