Returning home, they fell into bed, made passionate love, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. For Sasha, the debt accrued to book this holiday was well worth every penny.
Three days into their holiday, they had their first fight.
They had got up early, taken a bus into the town centre, and strolled around the shops for hours. Sasha was only wearing a bikini top and shorts. Not used to dressing for this weather, her boobs ached. They craved the support and comfort of her favourite bra. Her boobs were not built for a flimsy bit of material. Kirk, on the other hand, seemed irritable and lost. Neither of them could understand why, every half an hour, they were stopping to sit in cafés and drink water. They were exhausted. Back home they could walk twice as far as this and be fine. But here, in this heat, everything was slower.
The argument was silly. Kirk suggested Sasha ask the shopkeeper for directions and, when he babbled back in Spanish, they remembered they had the language barrier to contend with, too. Looking to Kirk for support as to what they could do next, he shrugged his shoulders abruptly as if to say, “I dunno – you sort it.”
Sasha fought to keep her tears down. Here she was, in a foreign country, lost; her boobs aching like melons in a tiny hankie, and her one means of support in a huff with her. What on earth had happened to their idyllic beach dream?
Somehow, some way, they managed, in their frustrated silence, to retrace their steps and get home again. But that was just day one of the arguments.
Little did Sasha know what an effect the heat would have on them both.
There was no air-conditioning in his sister’s house, so Sasha found it impossible to sleep at night. Tiredness, heat, frustration – it all started to build. Generally, they tried to get into a routine – walk in the morning while it was still cool; then lunch; lie on the beach in the afternoon; get showered and dressed and go out for dinner in the evening. What could be more perfect than that?
But one night, over a few drinks, when Kirk was opening up and confiding in her, he confessed something.
“Today,” he said, “when we were on the beach,” he took a pause as if considering whether to confide in her. “When I went swimming in the sea, I wanted to keep swimming until I drowned.”
Sasha’s mouth dropped open in surprise, in spite of herself.
“Really?” she questioned. She was trying to keep the shock out of her voice, aware that he would only clam up if she seemed too alarmed.
“Yeah,” he went on. “I was bobbing in the sea, taking a break from the swimming, and I turned back to wave at you. I could see you waving back at me and I thought ‘I have a choice. I can either go back to Sasha or I can keep swimming in the other direction and end it’.”
Sasha watched him, the words coming out of his mouth, his face still as utterly gorgeous as yesterday, but his demeanour had totally changed. Everything she thought she knew about him vanished. She shrugged to compose herself, as thoughts swam around her head. She knew she needed to stay calm, otherwise he’d clam up on her. She knew that if she showed her alarm, he would never talk to her about it again.
She nodded slowly, took a sip of her drink, and gave a sympathetic smile.
“How long have you been feeling like this?” she asked calmly.
Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her wanted to make it all about her and say, hold on a minute – it was either a choice to swim back to me or swim out and die? And you even considered that? You even considered swimming out, and dying, and leaving me behind on the beach, grieving for you? You would do that to me? I thought you loved me? I thought you wanted to marry me? How on earth would you want to swim off and leave me on the beach?
But she didn’t say all that. Instead, she put on her listening face. She smiled sympathetically. She nodded in all the right places.
“It’s just the stress of us two. And my course. And the hardest year of study ahead. And then we’re trying to hold down a long-distance relationship. I’m just not sure I can cope with the pressure of it all. I’m dreading it.”
Sasha gulped. She looked around them, at the supposedly idyllic setting; the Spanish bar, the red and white checked tablecloths, the sea in the distance, other holiday makers relaxing, wearing shorts and t-shirts, and sipping cocktails. Laughter, merriment, heaven.
Sasha’s hell. He was comparing their relationship to dread. He’d rather swim out and die than have to put up with the stress of being with her.
Nothing more was said about it that night. The argument did not happen then. It was swept under the carpet and apparently forgotten about. But Sasha kept it in the forefront of her mind.
Later, when she was in bed and he went out for a smoke, his words circled in her head. ‘I wanted to swim out and die.’ He was taking way too long to have a smoke. Perhaps he was up to something now? She realised it was always going to be like this. She would always be worrying about him. Is this the time he’ll top himself now?
The argument came towards the end of the holiday. They headed out for breakfast one morning. Sasha was tired, restless and discontented. She’d had yet another night of no sleep. They went for a walk. They got lost. Sasha snapped at Kirk, replied abruptly rather than softly. That led to a talk-a-thon of epic proportions.
Sasha just wanted to get home. To be in her own bed. To get a night’s sleep. To straighten her hair and for it not to frizz out five minutes later. To put make-up on and for it not to slither off ten minutes later. She just wanted to be home.
The argument was silly. It went on for ages. They sat in a café, the terrific view of the sea in the background, but Kirk’s face was like thunder. In the distance, Sasha could hear the squeals of delight from young children playing in the water. But added to that idyllic sound was the sad droning from the speakers, playing a Coldplay song. How was it possible to be in heaven AND hell, all at the same time?
Perhaps this was holiday pressure, if there was such a thing? Perhaps she was beating herself up for not enjoying the idyllic holiday that she should have been having. Wasn’t she supposed to look like something out of a television advertisement? Weren’t they meant to be lying side by side on sun loungers, half naked, soaking up the sun, drinking cocktails, relaxing?
Yet the reality was, that they were sitting here in a café, their faces angry; exhausted from the heat, spending so much time together that they were finding out all their innermost worries. Like the fact that he felt suicidal.
In the end, they did patch up the argument. They had to. They were spending twenty-four hours a day together. There were only a few days left of the holiday. They decided to keep it simple; beach, sunbathe, sleep.
But even though they’d patched it up, the truth was out. The truth being that Sasha totally stressed Kirk out – and he didn’t see how their relationship would last the year.
Chapter Five
They were only home from the holiday one week when they had a massive fight. In hindsight, Sasha could look back at the timing and not be one bit surprised. It was as if he was looking for a reason, inventing an excuse to pick a fight; looking for a way to get rid of her.
It was just an average Monday morning when Kirk texted. Sasha was sitting at her desk at work, sipping coffee, reading through her emails, when her phone lit up.
Grabbing her phone with excitement, she saw Kirk’s name on the screen and looked forward to a few flirtatious texts to pass the morning quickly.
After the usual niceties of ‘morning hon, how are you today?’, he launched into a long text. “I was thinking about when to come up and visit. Next weekend is out, as I have coursework on, but this weekend would be good, if that suits you? I’m actually thinking of coming up on Friday morning?”
Welcoming the news gladly, Sasha was pleasantly surprised that he wanted to come up for a long weekend. Recently his visits had become shorter and shorter. In the early days of their relationship, he would arrive as soon after work on Friday as possible; spending the whole weekend with her, and then getting the last train home
on Sunday night. It was as if he wanted to cram in every single possible minute together. Lately, though, he arrived on Saturday morning and left after lunch on Sunday. The reasoning was that he needed time to sort himself out for work, but Sasha couldn’t help but feel that he was drifting away from her. At the mention of his Friday morning arrival, however, her mood brightened considerably and she replied, “That’d be great! I could try to get the Friday off?”
All of a sudden she had visions of the two of them strolling around town hand-in-hand; stopping for scones and cappuccinos in the blistering heat, her with sunnies on, him looking at her adoringly.
“Well actually…” he began, breaking her reverie, “…I was thinking of meeting up with Sara on Friday. She has stuff she needs to talk about so I was gonna spend the day with her and then meet you after work.”
Sasha felt her hackles rise. Sara was an old university friend of Kirk’s – a girl that Kirk had turned to for advice on many occasions. She was skinny, attractive, single, and worst of all, Kirk’s confidante. Sasha felt her territorial instincts kick in. The thought of Kirk confiding in another woman made her feel extremely uneasy. Her romantic daydream suddenly popped like a flimsy balloon and was instead replaced by a nightmare vision.
She imagined Kirk and Sara meeting up in Sara’s house. Sara looking vulnerable and waif-like, perhaps wearing a cosy, woolly cardigan which drowned her and made her look tiny. Kirk would want to hug her and console her. They would sit by the fireside, the embers glowing romantically in front of them. Sara would tell him her tale of woe; how some bloke had used and abused her. He would pull her close to him, cradling her in a soft and comforting embrace. After the embrace had gone on just a little bit too long, their lips would somehow find each other’s and they’d be kissing uncontrollably. She, so glad to have finally caught a decent man and he, just unable to resist female advances.
Sasha knew she was being unreasonable; of course she did. It was ridiculous. Looking back, she kicked herself for being so pathetic; for being so needy. Why couldn’t she be one of those cool girls who could just shrug her shoulders in a nonchalant manner and say ‘sure babe, that’s grand.’ But she simply couldn’t help herself. She was absolutely powerless to stop her thoughts. Once that first negative, insecure thought popped up, it just rolled and rolled, larger and larger, like a snowball out of control. Again, she was like a train carriage which had taken a wrong turning and ended up veering off in completely the wrong direction, picking up too much speed as she went.
Firstly, she went quiet. She fumed inwardly with the injustice of it. He should be coming up to Belfast to see her, not some damsel in distress who needed a shoulder to cry on!
How would he like it if she did the reverse to him? If she turned round to him and said, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m popping out for a drink tonight with that guy, Matt. You know the one. Looks like Brad Pitt. Really popular with the ladies. Yeah, the one that lives in that penthouse apartment overlooking the river. Yeah, that guy. The one with the Audi. Yeah, I know he’s been chasing me for ages but honestly, you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re only going to drink five pints and then a few shots; it’ll be fine.’
Oh, why didn’t she play him at his own game?
But Sasha wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t thinking how she should be cool and act like a dream girl. Instead, she went straight into operation let rip.
“What?! No way. Kirk, I’m really not happy about you spending the day with her.”
There was no reply at first. Kirk stayed silent.
“Kirk, don’t do this to me – you’re putting my head away.”
Looking back, she wondered if he had done it as a test, to see how she would react. Well, if that was the case, she was putty in his hands.
“Erm… Sasha. I’m allowed to have female friends. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? What’s the problem?” Sasha’s texts were practically screeching. “I’ll tell you what the problem is. I’ll be stuck in work all day Friday panicking about you.”
Sasha knew that her hysteria was rising. She knew that her lone train carriage had well and truly veered off the tracks, but she couldn’t stop.
“Kirk, please, you know I’m insecure – please don’t do this to me.”
In a perfect world he would have said, ‘Okay honey, if it freaks you out so much, I won’t meet her. I love you. I want you to be happy.’ But of course, this wasn’t a perfect world. This wasn’t fiction. This was reality, and sometimes reality stank.
Instead he said, “I’m meeting her, Sasha, and that’s that.” His tone was cold and abrupt, like a parent disciplining their child.
Sasha continued to rant and rail, but Kirk didn’t reply to any more of her texts.
It was too late anyway. Her negative train of thought was already careering down the line, and Sasha was powerless to stop it. She was like an alcoholic who had taken the first drink, or a food addict who had opened the biscuit tin; there was no going back.
With increasing remorse and shame, Sasha recalled how her panic had careered into epic proportions. It was as if she was in a blind spot – a black-out; she had absolutely no control over what she was doing. And that’s when the needy, desperate part of her mind decided it would be a good idea to text Sara and plead with her to stay away from Kirk. She remembered she had her number from ages ago, and she dug it out and dived in with a plea.
“Sara, I’m asking you… please stay away from my boyfriend. It’s very unfair of you to invite him up to yours. What are you playing at?”
Her toes curled with shame when she recalled it. Like a fourteen-year-old at school, arguing with her classmate over the school hunk.
Sasha’s fingers were skimming across her text-pad involuntarily. One voice on her shoulder was watching in shock and saying, I can’t believe you’re doing this! And the other was past reasoning with. It was just red-raw and insane.
Sara simply replied, “Please don’t ever contact me again,” in a tone that was both patronising and cold. Her icy response only infuriated Sasha further. How fucking dare she! Patronising bitch!
Sara must’ve got straight on the phone to Kirk and relayed the text to him, because the next thing, a text arrived from Kirk.
“Sasha, I think we should have a one month’s break with no contact. It will give you time to think about what you’ve done. I’ll contact you again on the 18th of next month.”
Sasha opened her mouth in horror. A one-month break with no contact? How could he arbitrarily suggest such a thing? She was stunned. Utterly stunned. She tried to reply with, “What? What do you mean?” but he ignored each and every text she sent. As though he was the haughty school head-master, and she was the naughty pupil sent to the corner.
This is the point where she should have said ‘fuck you, then’ and never contacted him again. But she knew she was in the wrong. She was the one with the jealousy problem. She was the one who over-reacted.
She went home that night from work, her heart broken in two. She stared at her phone hopelessly, willing it to spring to life, but there was nothing. Friday was torture, imagining Kirk and Sara together. Perhaps he’d even stay the night with her now. As far as texts went, there was still nothing.
Two weeks later, a text arrived from him on Sunday morning.
“Missing you x x,” it said simply.
Hallelujah, she thought. The silence is over! He has come back. But when she replied with “Great! Let’s meet up soon! Let’s cut the break short?” he replied with “No. I’ll see you on the 18th.”
It was as if he was punishing her again. No. Do your time. We’re going to ride this out for the full month.
Chapter Six
They did ride the break out for the full month after all. On the 18th, exactly as he’d planned, Kirk contacted her to arrange to see her. He didn’t mention the break, or anything about the jealousy, just that he was looking forward to seeing her.
It was agreed that he would turn u
p at her apartment on Saturday morning. He would bring fresh pastries from their favourite bakery. Sasha paced the floor of her apartment with excitement. She couldn’t wait to see him, and it seemed as if he just wanted to forget the problems that they’d had, and start afresh.
When she heard his knock, she inhaled a sharp breath of air and rushed to answer it. There he stood, a month on, looking fit and handsome, as if she was meeting him for the first time.
“Hello,” she smiled warmly.
“Hello,” he smiled back, mirroring her slightly shy, soft approach.
“Come in, come in…” she ushered him in, stepping back and giving him room to enter.
Standing face to face in the living room, it seemed that the air was alive with chemistry and electricity. She drank him in, his dapper appearance, his hair neatly coiffed, his face clean-shaven, his clothes trendy yet smart. He drank her in too, and it seemed that the pair of them were standing still like goofy teenagers; shy and self-aware.
Breaking the reverie, he piped up, as though suddenly remembering, “I’ve brought pastries.”
Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Cool!”
The stillness was broken and she moved in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee.”
She rushed off to set out cups and plates, and soon they were sitting on the sofa chatting and sharing news. There was a freshness to them, as though they were on a first date; as though they were tip-toeing around each other like awkward teenagers.
“About everything that happened…” Kirk began, finally bringing up the subject of the break. “I wanted today to be… well, just normal really. I don’t want to go into what happened, or discuss it. I just want us to move forward.”
Sasha nodded earnestly, hardly believing her ears. No talk-a-thon? Hurrah!
However, even though there was no talk-a-thon, Sasha felt as though there was an undercurrent of … something. Something that she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Perhaps it was just the hidden message. That if she was ever jealous again, he would arbitrarily decide on a one-month break and she’d better… behave herself.
The Year of No Rules Page 3