by Tej Turner
Why was he smiling?
Plan A had been a failure of epic proportions. So it was time to initiate plan B: just a simple, hasty exit would have to do now.
He intercepted Plan B by stepping in my path towards the door. Fail.
Plan C.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I screamed.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a plan but at least I managed to complete this one.
He held his hands up in the air innocently. “I just came here for a drink...”
“This is my club and you know it!”
“It’s a free country.”
“You knew I would be here! Why couldn’t you go somewhere else? You could have gone anywhere! Anywhere but here!”
That wiped the cocky smile from his face but his features twisted into a nasty scowl. His eyes became cruel. I could barely recognise him anymore.
“Get over yourself!” he spat.
I walked past him, swung the door open, stepped outside, and slammed it behind me.
It was late. The street was dark and desolate. I could still hear the burble of people chatting and the door behind me was vibrating with music. I looked at the road but I couldn’t see any vehicles and I wondered how hard it would be to find a taxi at this time of the night.
I then realised that I didn’t even know what the time was. Just as reached for my phone, the door behind me opened, and Neal appeared in front of me.
“Don’t go!” he pleaded.
The cruel ice of his eyes had thawed and they were warm again, it was the eyes of the real Neal, the one who cared about me. The person he was when he wasn’t playing weird games. When he wasn’t hurting me.
“I’m sorry!” he said, gripping my shoulders. “I just came here... because I wanted to see you!”
He was close. I could smell his intoxicating scent. It enters my nose, warms my chest, melts my insides.
I couldn’t understand why he had such an effect on me. He wasn’t my usual type. He was twice my age, and shorter than me. I usually go for taller guys; calm and collected guys like Harry.
There were things I wanted to say to him but his arms were around me and my will to resist wavered. The feeling of his body against mine quelled my will to run. His tongue liquefied the words of protest from my lips.
In the morning I awoke in a bed that was beginning to become not so unfamiliar, with Neal beside me. I sat up and watched him sleeping for a few moments.
I couldn’t believe I was there. The amount of times that I believed I would never lie beside him again, but each time I somehow ended up back there. It made each time like a new beginning, and I began to wonder if that was why he kept doing this – was it all in the thrill of the chase for him?
I shook my head. I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was becoming tiring.
He was snoring, and I realised that there was no way I would be able to get back to sleep again so I decided to get out of the bed and go downstairs to make us both a cup of tea.
I entered the kitchen with the intention of filling the kettle but both of the dogs started to jump and bark around me. I patted their heads to try and calm them down.
“Down Chaser!” I said. I wondered if all of the fuss was because they were hungry, but then I noticed Missy was scratching the door and understood that they wanted to go outside.
“Okay, okay,” I said, reaching for their leads. “I’ll take you.”
The dogs dragged me through the field as I tried to maintain a tenuous grip on their leads. It was autumn and the air was crisp. I don’t often see this time of the day as I usually stay up till late at night painting but walking through the field that morning made me realise why people would choose to live in the countryside. My shoes became wet with morning dew and the clouds had descended from the sky and obscured the hillside in fog.
It felt good to be back here but I also knew that Neal and I needed to talk. Last night we were both drunk and so relieved to be back together that we just enjoyed each other, but now it was morning and I knew that there were still some things I wanted to say, some things that needed to be resolved.
I was going to put it to him straight. If he wanted to get to know me more and spend time with me, that was fine. If he didn’t want to I would be a little upset but I would get over it, and that was also fine. I just wanted a bit of honesty. I wanted to know where I stood.
When the dogs dragged me back into the house he was already dressed and waiting for me in the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I took them for a walk,” I replied.
He crossed his arms over his chest and I realised that, somehow, I had angered him.
“I came down because you were still sleeping...” I mumbled. “They kept running to the door... so I thought...”
“You took my dogs out?” he shouted
I hate it when people shout at me. It makes me nervous and I don’t know how to respond.
“They wanted—” I began.
“You just thought you would make yourself at home?!” he asked. “You think that by taking my dogs out in the morning you have some kind of hold over me? That you can make this more than it really is?”
I shook my head. “No... it was nice outside... I just wanted to.”
His eyes were flaring at me and I didn’t know what to do or say.
“You want her shoes don’t you!” he carried on. “This is what this is about isn’t it! That’s why you want me to call you all the time! You think that you can take her place!”
His sudden anger put me in a state of shock and nothing he was saying made any sense. I opened my mouth to speak but his words had tied my tongue in knots.
I didn’t know what to say to him anymore.
He carried on shouting but his words lost their meaning and garbled in my ears.
And I realised that I didn’t want any of this anymore, so I turned around, stepped out of the door, and covered his pathway with my footsteps.
Ten minutes later I was walking down the road and heard a car pull up behind me. I cursed under my breath – it was one of those narrow country lanes so it probably needed to get past. I sidled up against the hedgerow.
The engine roared for a moment but then the brakes engaged again, and the car halted.
I then realised it was Neal’s car. The window rolled down and I saw his face.
“Get in,” he mumbled. He still had that cold look in his eyes but there was something else inside them as well now. Something I couldn’t read.
I shook my head. “No. Leave me alone!”
“You can’t walk all the way back to the city from here!” he exclaimed.
“I’m young, I will make it.”
“Well you won’t because you’re walking in the wrong direction...”
The next thing I knew I was in the car and we sat in silence as he drove me back home.
I still couldn’t believe all of the things he had said to me. They repeated in my mind over and over again and I couldn’t make sense of them. All I had done was take his dogs for a walk, how had that incurred such a reaction from him?
My tongue was still tied. I couldn’t speak. I had nothing to say to him. Was this all to do with him having commitment issues after the death of his wife, or did he just enjoy fucking with my head because it made him feel good about himself? I just didn’t know anymore.
I just sat there beside him and thought about what I would say to him if I could.
I never wanted her shoes, Neal. I wanted to stand in my own shoes. But you never gave me any. I was barefoot, and you asked me to walk across hot coals.
And I did it for you.
But not anymore.
The scent of your sweat still lingers on my skin. I can still feel your lips on mine, but my ears remember, and keep repeating your poison. I still have red marks in the shape of your teeth on my nipples. It is all I have left, and they will fade away.
They say that once you have kissed someone their sali
va stays in your mouth for six weeks. Yours will be in mine for another five weeks, six days and seventeen hours. When you make love with someone how long do they stay within you?
You unravelled my skin, twisted your fingers through all the muscles and sinews, you caressed my cheek while you snapped my bones and sucked the blood out my arteries to nourish your soul.
Before you went away you took something. My insides are twisting in knots.
I wish I had never met you.
When I got home I undressed so that I could get into the shower to wash him away. When I took off my jeans I emptied the pockets to find Harry’s business card.
I stared at the number for a few moments but I knew that I was not ready for that yet.
I tossed it onto the table in case it appealed to me another day.
3
Bruises
He lived for order. For procedure.
Each day he’d wake to his digital alarm clock. He’d shower and then shave with his electric razor. He’d brush his teeth and then dress in a suit and tie.
Downstairs, Weetabix with skimmed milk and a spoonful of sugar. Then he’d get into his BMW (which he filled with petrol every Tuesday).
Life was routine. His job was something to do with numbers. When he got home he would open his freezer and choose which of his selection of microwave meals he would eat that night. They all had numbers on them too; listed daily nutrients. He’d take one out of its box; place it in the microwave; ping; eat; throw the plastic in the bin.
Every three days the dishwasher was filled, then, with the press of a button; clean plates. He took Prozac to keep his mood in check, and Codeine for his back.
When I moved in I disturbed this order.
I cooked meals. The first sight of me chopping vegetables, dirtying his knives and spilling scraps of food over the kitchen counter freaked him out, but he eventually acclimatised to it and my meals were integrated into his system. With his sense of order it was only fair that he also started cooking meals for me every now and then. He tossed a pre-sliced stir-fry pack, cubed chicken breast and some ready-to-wok noodles in the pan, and, a couple of minutes later, came to the dinner table with two steaming plates, looking very proud of himself.
In the first few months when we made love he experimented, but eventually he had me deciphered like a puzzle at work. He knew the points where I was most sensitive and the exact order to roll his tongue over them.
I was part of his routine.
One day, when he was at work, I broke the routine. I broke the brush off his broomstick and tore a section out of our bed sheets. I piled up some of my possessions – in no particular order – onto the sheet, tied it in a bundle onto the end of the stick, and slung it over my shoulder.
On my way out the door I kicked his suitcase down the stairs.
My feet were light on the pavement; my body was on autopilot. My mind was racing, but I could think of nothing at all. My legs led me to the only place I could think of.
Janus.
I opened the door to the dingy interior. It had been a long time since I’d been there but this place had always felt like home: the same rock music was blasting out of the speakers, angry kids were sitting in the corners, the air stagnant with nicotine.
I bought myself a drink at the bar.
“Hey!”
There was no mistaking that voice. I turned around to see Pag wobbling his way towards me with a wide grin that was split by a missing tooth. I was there when he lost that tooth; I never found out how he’d got into that fight with those kids – he couldn’t even remember himself – but I’d helped him out all the same.
He greeted me with, “Dude!” as he landed on the stool next to me. It must be easy being Pag: to him it didn’t matter whether you were male, female, old or infant, tramp or royalty, everyone had the same name – dude.
“Not been ’ere for a while. Where the fuck have you been?” he asked.
“I tried the settling down thing. Didn’t work,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t ask more questions.
He looked at my bundled possessions tied to the end of the stick. It was balanced against the bar counter. “Wow, dude. You okay?”
I nodded.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” he said.
I smiled, and I was about to take another gulp from my drink but he jumped from his seat and snatched it from my hand.
“Nah. Fuck drowning your sorrows,” he said as he slammed my glass back down on the counter. He grabbed hold of my sack of possessions and handed them to the barman, who accepted them silently. I was just about to protest – that was now all I had in the world – but Pag grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Pag led me up the stairs.
“Mr M. He has all the things you need.”
We were now in a quieter part of the club. This place could be a maze sometimes: different rooms were cut off and opened each week. It seemed like it was always in a peculiar state between development and repair.
We passed through a grimy corridor on the third floor and reached a small room. Pag opened the door and there was a man wearing sunglasses, sitting at a table, with two men standing before him like bodyguards.
Pag walked up to them. “We want to see Mr M.”
“Why do you request the presence of Mr M?” one of the bodyguards asked monotonously.
“Why you think man? Drugs,” he said in a hushed voice.
Pag stepped past them but, just as I was about to follow, one of them blocked my way with a firm hand on my shoulder. “One at a time.”
I scowled but sat myself down on the nearest chair to look at Pag and try to guess what he was saying by reading his expressive hand movements.
Eventually he came back. “Your turn,” he said, winking.
I walked past the two men and nervously sat down with Mr M. For a while he just stared at me while he stroked his chin. I found him unnerving. I hate sunglasses. You can never tell if someone is looking at you or not. The club is a dingy enough place as it is so I’m not quite sure what benefit he could possibly be gaining from wearing them.
Pag’s friends are always a bit fucking weird.
“You seem tense,” he eventually said, in the manner a doctor asserts just as they are approaching diagnosis. “Upset. Let me offer you a choice.”
He opened up both his hands and there was a pill in each one.
“If you take the one in my right hand it will numb your mind, ease all those little thoughts that trouble it. The one in my left hand will help you gain insight, and see through the boundaries.”
What’s this garbage he’s waffling on about? I wondered, beginning to suspect that this dealer had been sampling a little too much of his own wares.
“Can’t you just give me a tab?” I groaned. “Or an E or something? What did Pag have?”
He shook his head. “You’re at a crossroads. Two possible doors now lay before you. You must choose one.”
I clenched my fist under the table, keeping a tenuous grip on my frustration. Did I really have to listen to this inane drivel just to get my hands on some drugs?
I looked back at his hands: two options before me. One pill to make me numb, and another that sounds like it could, potentially, turn me into an overanalysing, hysterical wreck. The former option seemed tempting just after leaving someone I thought was the love of my life. I could escape it all. Have a night of ignorant bliss…
Only to wake up in the morning where I started? No. I needed to evolve. I needed to take the left pill.
I grabbed it and placed it in my mouth.
Is this really the right choice? I looked at the remaining pill resting on his other palm. Who says I can only open one door, anyway?
Fuck it.
I snatched it from his hand.
“Don’t!” Mr M shifted forward in a vain attempt to stop me.
It’s too late now, Mr M, I thought, feeling rather pleased with myself as the duo rolled do
wn my throat.
“You… shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
I walked back to Pag.
“Sorted?” he asked.
I nodded.
He put his arm around me and led me back down the stairs. “We’re in for a fucked up night, dude!”
Next thing I knew, Pag and I were back downstairs in the main bar. A group of kids waved at him from one of the tables so he grabbed my hand and guided me over to them. He started to greet them with hearty handshakes while I stood there, awkwardly, not recognising any of them. Where was Halann? She and Pag used to be inseparable. The three of us used to be inseparable, but then I stopped coming here. How long had I been away from this place?
Pag sat himself down in the middle of the gang, and the only space left for me was at a small table to the side. I looked over at him but I couldn’t make out what he and his friends were saying to each other, let alone join in the conversation.
I shrugged and turned to the girl sitting on the other side of my table. A petite goth girl with a slender frame and a cigarette balanced between her tiny fingers. She took a toke but wasn’t really inhaling – it was just an accessory.
“That’s Jenka, by the way,” Pag yelled at me.
She looked up from a piece of paper she was writing on and smiled.
Thanks Pag, I thought. You just chat to your friends and leave me with this crackpot.
“So… what is that?” I asked. It was a weak attempt at conversation but her eyes lit up as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask.
“I am writing.”
“Cool,” I replied, suppressing a yawn. When were the pills going to kick in? “What are you writing?”
“It’s about bruises,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow.