Still sitting in shock, she found herself trying to phone him, wondering if he had just popped out. If this was some kind of joke. But his phone went straight to voicemail and he was obviously refusing to take her calls.
Still in shock, still on the sofa, she phoned her sister, Rachel. Perhaps her sister could offer some advice, as well as a listening ear. Rachel was the sensible one; the older sister; married with kids. This dating trouble was long behind her but she could always offer good advice.
“Kirk’s gone,” Sasha explained. “I came back from the shop and he had just gone.”
“What? How on earth?” Rachel exclaimed incredulously.
“He just upped and left. No note; nothing. He’s taken his bag of clothes but he’s left behind all the Christmas presents I bought him.”
“What?” her sister exclaimed. “What?”
“I know,” Sasha agreed. It’s so bizarre.” This was the point in which she should have been crying, Sasha thought. There should have been gut-wrenching sobs. But there was nothing. Numb.
It must have been the shock. She really did expect him to just come walking straight back in the door. Either that, or a text, to explain that they were finished.
“I guess this means we’re finished,” Sasha concluded. Two days before New Year’s Eve. Finished.
“Fuck him!” Rachel exclaimed. “If he’s willing to do that to you then he’s not worth it.”
Looking back, Sasha knew that should have been her way of thinking; a rational way of thinking that most people would have taken. But Sasha wasn’t being rational. That was the whole problem. All Sasha had was shock, and the awful realisation that Kirk had walked out of their relationship because of her tone of voice. And Sasha wasn’t being rational. Sasha was being self-critical.
Well, I shouldn’t have had that tone of voice. Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps I should have been warm and welcoming. Perhaps I should have been understanding that he needed to get space from me. Perhaps I should have taken it all in my stride, like some self-assured, confident woman.
But Sasha wasn’t a self-assured, confident woman. Sasha was insecure, overly sensitive and full of fear. And that’s just the way I am. Surely if he loves me, he should accept me as I am; good points and bad points? The voice of reason piped up within her. But it was quickly quashed. No, it’s my fault. If only I hadn’t had that tone of voice with him, he wouldn’t have walked out.
If only…
All day she kept an eye on her phone. But nothing happened. For all she knew, he could have rolled over in a ditch and died.
On New Year’s Eve she sat in alone. She supposed she could have rallied around; checked what her friends were doing; joined in with their celebrations. But it felt too last minute and odd. And besides, she didn’t feel like celebrating much. She and Kirk had finally split up and she would have to accept it. Despite how hard she had tried over Christmas. After how much money she’d spent; how much she’d tried to make it perfect, it still wasn’t enough. One tone of voice, one insecure moment, and he was off, running for the hills, carrying his disgust and high expectations with him.
I’ll never be enough for him, she concluded, the penny finally dropping.
No matter how much I try, no matter how much money I spend, how much time I invest, it’s still never enough. One bad moment, one bad day, and he’s away.
This time Sasha felt a sort of acceptance dawn on her. The incident wasn’t as alarming as all the other times. It was becoming more commonplace now, so that there was actually a small voice inside her saying, perhaps it’s just not meant to be. Perhaps I have to stop trying. There was a certain relief in that; like throwing the towel in. Like giving up on a stressful job and just walking away effortlessly. The pressure rolling off her shoulders.
But a few days later, he contacted her.
“I left that day,” he said. “Because I thought you had gone round to your sister’s to bitch about me. I thought you’d be away for hours.”
“But how come you’re only contacting me now?” Sasha asked, trying to keep her voice calm and free from accusation.
He shrugged helplessly. “I thought that maybe we needed some space from each other.”
Space, she thought. There it was again. That word. Space. How on earth would they be able to live together if he needed so much space from her? What would happen if she gave up her home, gave up her (very good and very stable) job, left the comfort of Belfast with her friends and support network she’d built up, and moved to Dublin? What if she moved down there, searched for ages to find a job, signed a lease on a new apartment with Kirk and then, weeks later, he proclaimed he needed space from her? What if he chucked her out and she had nowhere to go? And if she moved back to Belfast, she’d have to start all over again? Sasha was like a little bird in a very cosy nest; her mother was trying to force her out to learn to fly but she refused to go. Too many times she’d had to move house in the past. She was not willing to do it again. The upheaval – both physically and emotionally – was too much for her. The realisation settled on her shoulders like a protective hand. She was not willing to move to Dublin. And he was probably not willing to move to Belfast. So where did that leave them?
In the land of limbo, that’s where. They couldn’t continue the constant travelling up and down and all the strain that incurred – both financially and emotionally.
“I’ve been thinking…” Kirk said, interrupting her thoughts. They were on a Skype call. He was wearing his glasses and a woolly jumper. He looked so gorgeous. She wanted to stroke his face on the screen.
“I’ve made a list…” he began.
Oh God. Another list.
“I think that if we get back together, some things have to change…”
Oh yeah? Sasha watched in horror as Kirk produced an A4 pad of paper and began reading a list off a prepared page.
“I’ll get back with you if…
One. There are no more tones of voices/vibes.
Two. Absolutely no more jealousy. If I so much as sense one ounce of jealousy, I’m walking out the door immediately.
Three. We have to come to a decision about the Belfast/ Dublin thing.”
Sasha sat in silence after he finished reading. She was too much in shock to respond. There was one tiny part of her that wanted to say, ‘Okay, whatever you think. I’ll agree to those points on your list’. One tiny part of her that wanted to keep the peace. That wanted him back, regardless.
But there was another, stronger part of her that refused to comply. The stronger part was larger and that’s why she found herself saying, “that sounds like an ultimatum to me.”
Kirk looked at her defiantly, his shoulders squaring back as though for a fight. “I guess, in a way, it is.”
Sasha sighed. “I don’t think it’s very fair to set an ultimatum,” she found herself saying. The small, needy part of her was screaming ‘Shut up! If you don’t agree to this, you’ll never see him again!’
But the stronger part said, ‘if you need to set ultimatums, then it means you don’t accept me as I am.’ She was surprised how calm she sounded. “I think, Kirk, that if you’re looking for this perfect girlfriend who’ll never say anything out of line or do anything you don’t agree with, you’ll have a long time looking. I’m not that person. If you love me, you need to accept me as I am.”
Kirk looked at her, stunned. If was as if she’d just jumped up on a table in a nightclub and started dancing topless. He looked shocked at her confidence and strength. He really had expected her to comply.
“Okay,” he gulped. “So you’re saying you want us to split up, then?”
He looked so cute in that Skype call. She desperately wanted to put her arms through the screen and hug him. But there was a strength coming from somewhere. “If it means having to sign a list of conditions, yeah.”
He sat quietly, hardly able to meet her gaze.
“Okay… well, have a think about it, and let me have your final answer in a couple of
days,” he said.
She noticed how shocked he was and, if she wasn’t mistaken, secretly impressed. He looked as if he didn’t realise she could be so independent.
“I’ll have a think about it,” she said. “But I know my answer will be the same. No more lists.”
Chapter Nine
Kirk did come back to her about the list. As planned, they linked up on a Skype call so that they could discuss the list and whether Sasha was willing to sign it.
Looking back, Sasha was aware of how ridiculous it sounded. How utterly insane that a man would produce a list of rules and expect her to sign them. As though they’d stepped into a time-warp machine and ended up back in the fifties.
But no, this was now. And it was real. And it was her reality. The embarrassing thing was, that every inch of her body wanted to sign the list.
Despite modern times, despite all that she knew about feminism, and everything her head believed in, her heart told her something different. Love. That was the problem. Love made her want to sign the list, and agree to everything he wanted, and run off into the sunset with him.
But she was armed. Armed with the ammunition of advice from Jason and from her sister, Rachel. Jason was her closest male friend who was like a big brother to her. Having worked together years ago, they had clicked and bonded. Unfortunately she didn’t fancy Jason. There was no chemistry between them. And yet they had a great friendship. Jason was one of those guys who could be brutally honest yet tactful at the same time. In a long-term relationship himself, he had several female friends. His girlfriend, Josie, was entirely comfortable with his female friendships; a set-up which Sasha found fascinating. There was absolutely no jealousy from Josie’s point of view.
Jason’s advice went like this:
• Don’t agree to any ultimatum
• Don’t sign anything
If you agree with him and sign his list of rules, then you will be stuck with a life of doing everything he says
• You will be miserable
• He’ll end up controlling you forever more
• Don’t let him control you
Please!
So Sasha took on board Jason’s advice. Even though she wanted to agree to every single demand Kirk made, just to keep the peace.
“No, I don’t want to sign any list, Kirk,” she found herself saying, her voice quavering. He looked shocked at her response. He really had expected her to acquiesce. He looked at her with a mixture of horrified surprise and secret respect. They were on a Skype call again. Their relationship seemed largely to be on Skype these days, the screen providing a barrier between them.
“You’re going to have to accept me as I am, Kirk. Otherwise, what’s the point?” she asked, mirroring the lines that Jason had fed her earlier.
He nodded, as though understanding. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he said. And then he was gone, the Skype line was cut dead and the monitor went blank.
Somehow, sometime, he came back. Sasha couldn’t remember the event – so inconsequential was it. All she knew was that from the point onward, the relationship slipped downwards even more, if that was possible. Kirk became more and more distant. His texts came less and less often. When he did text, the tone was less and less affectionate. He was slipping away, like a low tide riding out into the ocean.
She remembered that Valentine’s day, just one month after that, was one of the hardest times. He didn’t bother coming to see her; didn’t bother to send her a card. She sat in the coffee dock at work, on her lunch break, reflecting about how miserable Valentine’s was. Here she was, finally in a relationship, and yet this was the most rubbish Valentine’s she’d had.
She’d thought of all those years she’d been single, before Kirk came along. All those Valentine’s days that had come and gone. All those Valentine’s that she tried to pretend she didn’t care, that it was all a load of commercial rubbish, but secretly, deep down, she would have loved to celebrate Valentine’s day. To go to her letterbox and find a huge red envelope waiting on the mat for her. To open the large card and see declarations of love and adoration. To be at work and gasp in surprise, when a large bouquet of red roses was delivered to her desk by a smiling delivery man. To go out for dinner in the evening. Not minding the tacky commercialism of it all. The tables for two crammed together. The cheesy menu with titles like ‘Sweetheart Soufflé’, ‘Be My Valentine Veggie Salad’ and ‘Melt My Heart Marinade Sauce’.
Yes, she wanted that. Yes, my name is Sasha and I want the whole tacky commercial Valentine’s experience.
But instead, she was sitting in the skanky coffee dock on her own, eating a packed lunch, with no plans for Kirk to visit her any time soon.
Looking back, she realised this must have been the time he was grooming the new girl. Getting number two lined up before getting rid of number one; keeping his options open. Of course she didn’t realise it at the time. She was in a tunnel of denial, blindly hoping that everything would work out fine; that things would go back to how they were at the start of their relationship. But in hindsight, she realised that his distance meant something else. He was stringing her along; when all the while he was flirting with someone new; paving the way for a new relationship. All the signs were there; distancing himself; taking a step back; putting less and less effort in.
Despite herself, the tears fell. There, in the coffee dock, at work, when anyone could have turned up. She wiped them away surreptitiously, aware that CCTV cameras were watching her. Aware that the receptionists in the main office could look at the CCTV screens now and see her patting at her eyes. How they would look at her with pity. ‘Aw, look at Sasha – she’s crying on Valentine’s day. Things must be going badly with Kirk.’ Meanwhile they had flashy engagement rings on their fingers, huge bouquets from their loving partners adorning the reception and dinky little gift boxes of jewellery or chocolate sitting proudly on their desk.
Sasha knew she was full of self-pity. She knew there was other people in the world with bigger problems to deal with – much bigger problems. But this was her pain and things just weren’t right.
Sure enough, the end did come shortly after that. It was a month later. Kirk had arrived up on the Saturday morning. They’d had a perfectly nice day together. All seemed fine. But Sunday morning was an entirely different story. Kirk had that ‘bear with a sore head’ look on his face. Sasha didn’t know about the drugs at that stage. He’d kept all that secret. Little did she know that he had become addicted to painkillers – and he’d just run out. He was on edge; desperate to get out of there so that he could rush to a chemist and stock up on codeine; anything to numb the pain.
Sasha had gone to great effort to prepare a nice breakfast. She had shopped during the week and bought sausages, eggs, bread, beans. Kirk had had a long lie-in. When he finally arose, he looked grumpy and tired.
Hoping to lift the mood and create a romantic Sunday morning, Sasha tried to enlist his help while cooking the breakfast. He became narky and impatient; annoyed at her timid caution when the saucepan angrily spat oil in her direction. He aggressively took over; edging her out of the way so that she tried to busy herself with setting the table; making the coffee.
During breakfast, he was sullen and quiet. She tried to spark up conversation; to suggest plans that they could have for the day. But his face was drained; uninterested. He shrugged his shoulders in indifference. She had no idea then, but he was craving his next fix.
“What’s up?” he asked her, sensing her worry and unease; cleverly pointing the problem at her, rather than admit his own grumpy mood.
“Nothing,” she said, defensively.
“There’s a vibe,” he said. His face was set, as though itching for a row again.
“Actually, I thought your vibe was odd,” she pointed out gently.
That was all she said. “I thought your vibe was odd.” But those were the last words. The six words that ended their relationship. He rolled his eyes, stood up abruptly and went into the
bedroom.
She followed him. She watched as he grabbed his bag and began putting his clothes inside it. Little did she know that this would be the last time she’d see him doing this.
“Please don’t do this,” she begged him. “Please don’t go.”
She knew she sounded needy. She knew she sounded ridiculous. But she didn’t care. Looking back, she wondered why she just didn’t say ‘fuck off, then.’ But it was love. She was in love. And love is blind.
Instead, she cried. Deep, heart-wrenching, wrecked tears. Tears that came from the very pit of her stomach and spilled down her face. She slid to the floor and cried endlessly. She could hear herself. She sounded like a wounded animal. She had the distressed wail of someone who really couldn’t figure out what to do anymore. She had tried everything. And now this, now it was her ‘vibe’ that wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough for him.
Because, actually, he wanted to get home to get more drugs.
She stood up again, finding a second wind of energy. She saw him standing with his bag on his shoulder, his coat on, the taxi booked. She couldn’t believe it, that this man who supposedly wanted to marry her, who had spent days dreaming with her about their perfect wedding, was now walking out, because of a vibe.
Anger erupted from somewhere. Fierce, raging anger.
“Okay, fuck off then!” she screamed. “You using bastard, fuck off then!” Her voice was loud; ferocious. Her hand jutted out and pushed him. She saw him flinging back, his face alarmed. She couldn’t believe it. Was that actually her hand that did that? Was that actually the love of her life, recoiling from her like a frightened animal? Her blood literally pulsated in anger. She could feel it, racing.
Oh my God, she thought. This is what it feels like to be a raving lunatic. This is what it feels like.
And then he was gone. In the taxi. Away. She wouldn’t hear from him again. Not for a very, very long time.
But he would be back.
The Year of No Rules Page 5