by Amanda Day
“Your motorbike doesn’t make you a badass, you know,” I said. “It doesn’t matter how much you try to hide it, I know your heart is beating in here.” I put my hand on your chest. “I know it’s big and kind. You can’t pretend with me.” I was smiling as I said it, half joking, half-truths, as jokes tend to be.
You reached up and laid your hand over mine.
“I’m not as nice as you think I am,” you said. You were smiling, but it didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t your proper smile and I didn’t like it.
I picked up your hand and kissed the knuckles, trying to chase it all away with affection.
“Don’t be silly. I see you, Drew. I know you.”
You chewed your bottom lip and said nothing.
“Well,” I said brightly, wanting the tension in your face to lift. We had had too many hard moments in the previous hours, I just wanted things to be normal between us.
“Call me later?” It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Remember how as soon as you left me you would always text to tell me what a good time you’d had? How pretty I was. How fun I was. How much you liked spending time with me. How you hated it when we had to go our own ways at the end of a day or night together. Asking you to call me later was standard for us, and you always called. Never late. Never missed. You were always there.
“Course,” you said. Your smile was still not quite right, but I told myself I was just being sensitive, looking for something that wasn’t there. I was still panicking that I had said too much, too soon, and gone too far.
You leaned down and wrapped me into a tight hug. I put my head on your shoulder and laughed.
“I don’t want to go either, but I need to get changed.”
You let me go, framed my face with your hands, and kissed me, long and deep and desperate. It left me breathless.
“OK.” Was all I could manage afterwards. With a peck on your cheek and a squeeze of your arms, I turned and skipped up the steps to my door.
I turned back to wave once I had unlocked the door, but you were already walking away. I waved, but you never saw.
It really bothered me.
The Weight of Silence…
Silence has weight. Did you know that? Did you know that silence, whilst being empty, can also be full? With intention. Unsaid things. Regretted things. Wondering. Pondering. Churning. Painful. Silence is rarely empty, in truth. For a while I forgot the pleasures of silence, because it eluded me. Instead, any quiet I got was filled with you. The ghosts of you howled in my ears and mind, and I forgot how to be comfortable with the absence of all else. I had always liked it before; as an artist it gives your brain time and space for new ideas to pop in and grow. That didn’t happen for a while because after we met I stopped drawing. I stopped sketching and painting. There was no room for any of that because I was so preoccupied with you. Somehow I allowed myself to stop doing all the things I like. To stop thinking the thoughts that used to occupy my mind. Instead I lost my way and lost myself. I filled the space that used to be me with thoughts and feelings of you. I used my precious time when I wasn’t with you, to think about you. To think of the things you had said to me, things we had done, ways you had looked at me. Then when I was done with that, I planned all the things I wanted to say to you. Things I wanted us to talk about. I wondered about our future. I pondered what our children would look like and what kind of wedding dress would you like me in best. Maybe I lost my mind. Love does that sometimes.
You didn’t call later that day. It was the first time you hadn’t kept your word. By the time I went to my shift at Pizza Planet, there was still no call. By midnight I was starting to worry. I text you to ask if you were OK, but you didn’t reply.
By two am I was almost out of my mind. I text two more times and called once, all unanswered. I started having visions of your bike spinning out of control and you in the hospital. I realised that if that happened, no-one would let me know. No-one knew about us. We were a secret. Three months of secret phone calls and texts, of lurking in the background and meeting in dark or obscure places where we were unknown. Who was going to tell me if you had an accident?
I hurried out of work at three am, thinking I could just drive by your house and see if your bike was there in one piece. I needed to know you were OK. But I needn’t have bothered. You were there, propped up against the wall outside, your eyes glazed. The rush of relief hit me so hard it made me dizzy.
“Drew!” I hurried over. You grinned at me, lopsided and goofy.
“Hey, babe.” Your voice was slurred.
The smell of alcohol hit me before I got within an arm’s length of you.
“Drew, are you OK?”
You tried to stand independently, stumbled, then leaned back on the wall.
“Course. I always am, aren’t I?”
I frowned at you, not sure what exactly was going on. It was the first time I’d seen you drunk.
“I tried to call you. And text. I was worried,” I said.
You looked at the floor and shrugged. “I needed to go out. I’ve been trapped inside for too long.”
I raised my eyebrows, instantly rattled. “Trapped inside? You’re never trapped inside, you spend most of your time at work or with me.”
You looked me in the face, square on, and said, “Exactly.”
My breath caught in my chest. I’d never seen you like that, so distant. It hurt.
“You don’t have to spend that much time with me, you know,” I said, starting to get angry. I was wondering how could you ignore me all night, make me worry, get drunk, then turn up at my work and be an asshole?
You waved a hand in the air clumsily. “Of course I do. You’re so needy.”
I think it was that point at which I felt my blood actually start to boil. Tears prickled my eyes.
“Needy?” I echoed.
You nodded, your chin almost touching your chest as if your head weighed a ton. “Needy. Always wanting to talk or be in touch. Jesus, Mina. I have a life, you know?”
The last two words slurred into one.
I sniffed the tears back; I was not going to cry in front of you.
“Why don’t you go home and sleep it off, Drew.”
I turned away and started to my car. I didn’t want to leave you there like that. What I wanted was to cuddle you and you hold my head like you always did, kissing my hair. Not insult me when you could barely stand up. It really hurt to know that when people are drunk they often cannot hide their true selves or thoughts, which meant you really thought I was needy. I was ashamed of myself and thinking back now, that really pisses me off. Who were you to make me doubt myself or make me embarrassed about wanting to be with someone I loved. Someone I had hoped would love me back.
“Pan isn’t needy you know, Min,” you called after me. “Pan doesn’t care. Talk to her, don’t talk to her. She doesn’t care. As long as she shares my bed, she doesn’t care.”
“Then go home and fuck Pan, Drew, because I don’t care either.” I shouted so hard it hurt my throat. And I did care. Of course I did.
The next morning I had four missed calls from you by ten am. I switched my phone to silent so I could think. I just couldn’t work out what had happened. I wondered if you were just an angry drunk. If I’d upset you. If I’d done something wrong. Was it because I had finally opened up to you? I didn’t see anything unreasonable in my words about leaving Pan and being with me. Nor did I see any wrong in loving you and saying so, I mean, surely it had been obvious anyway. But still, part me regretted it and wished I had left things as they were; perfect and blissful. Perhaps naming something is what changes it, and not always for the better.
I called you back just after one pm. You sounded groggy but relieved.
“I’m sorry,” were your first words.
“For what? Ignoring me? Turning up at my work shitfaced? Or being an utter asshole?”
You sighed right into the mouthpiece and into my brain. “Don’t be like that, Min. I feel like crap as it
is. I’m sorry for all of it. OK?”
Your voice was short and clipped, like you were mad at me, yet I knew I had done nothing wrong.
“Things were just getting to me,” you carried on. “I needed to blow off steam. Things have been intense lately. Can’t we just forget it happened?”
“What things?” I asked. “What things have been getting to you?”
“Work. Pan… Us.” You sighed again. “Mina, I said I’m sorry. Why do you have to make a big deal out of everything? God, artists are such hard work. Just let it go, alright? I was drunk, big deal.”
I started to wonder, was I being unreasonable? Were you right and I was overreacting?
“Can I see you?” you said, your voice quieter and softer, and more like… you.
My heart melted a little. I wanted things to be normal. I didn’t want to fight.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said, barely even convincing myself.
Later that day we met at that park we liked, the one that was forty minutes away, just to get away from the risk of being seen. You know what, Drew? I never minded driving out of my way for you, because I thought you were worth it. I would have driven anywhere in the world if you had asked. What an idiot.
We walked together, talking and laughing like nothing had happened, except you didn’t reach for my hand like usual. I noticed straight away. I didn’t want to ask why because I had a sense that you were barely being the Drew I knew, and I didn’t want to spook him when he’d only just returned. So I just accepted it. Instead, eventually, I looped my arm through yours, just to be close. You never said anything or pulled away, so I guessed it was OK. I never asked what happened the night before. Why you got so drunk or why you said the things you did. I wasn’t even sure if you would remember them. I just enjoyed being next to you, and pretended everything was fine.
Yet again, as I rethink all that happened between us, I can’t believe I let you make me doubt myself. I allowed you inside my heart and instead of being amazing, all falling in love did was tire me out. In less than two days I had become unsure of who I was, what I felt, and what I was doing. What we were doing and where we were going. You got under my skin and unsettled my mind, and I didn’t even realise it was happening.
How clever you were.
Mea culpa.
After our walk, you took me to my car and hugged me tight. You said goodbye without looking me in the eyes and without so much as a kiss on the cheek. As you turned away from me, I knew I was losing you. I don’t know why, but I knew in my heart you weren’t just turning to walk away, you were turning away from me completely. Slowly turning to stone in front of my eyes.
I reached out and grabbed your hand, you paused. Your skin was warm which surprised me. For some reason I had expected it to be cold. Like the ice that was spreading between us, slowly cutting me off, was going to be on your skin.
You looked back at me, eyebrows raised, impatience on your face. I felt like a petulant child aching to be loved.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a hurry. I wanted to rush my words out and make it all OK. I wanted your coldness to melt and you to be just like before. The Drew I knew and loved. But you just looked at me, unreadable. “I’m sorry I got mad at you,” I pressed on. “I’m sorry if you think I’m needy, I just like being around you and I miss you when we’re apart. I shouldn’t have told you to leave Pan for me. It’s your choice to be made in your own time. I just thought you should know that if you wanted it, I want it too. I’m here for you. I won’t rush you into anything and I don’t expect you to love me back before you’re ready. I just want us to be OK.”
Your eyes almost burnt my skin you watched me so close, but I still couldn’t read your face. I didn’t know what you were thinking.
“We are OK,” you replied. You gave me your best arrogant smile, kissed the palm of my hand and walked away.
You lying bastard. We weren’t OK.
You Are You And I Am Me… But We Are Not A We…
I didn’t hear from you for two days. It was longest we had gone without talking and the biggest, most painful, silence of my life. But I didn’t break it. I never called. I never text. I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to be needy or annoying. I thought if I left you, you would figure out whatever it was you had a problem with, then we could just carry on same as before.
On the third day I cracked and called you.
You were at work and said you were too busy to chat. You said you would meet me at my house later, eight pm.
At eight pm you weren’t there. I had my jacket on because the summer was ending and the nights were getting chilly. I waited by the window.
At ten pm I heard your bike roar. I had long abandoned the window, watching TV on the sofa with my mum instead, my jacket still on. At the rumble of your exhaust, I jumped up and came outside. You propped the bike up at the kerb and took your helmet off, running a hand through your dark hair. It gave my butterflies. You were so gorgeous. I remember thinking no wonder. No wonder he is bored of me. I could never be enough.
“Sorry I’m late,” you said without a flicker of a smile or sincerity. “Pan needed me.”
Your words hit me straight in the chest, but I swallowed them away, telling myself they meant nothing. “Is she OK?”
You shrugged. “Work drama. I don’t know. She needed a shoulder to cry on and all that.”
“Do you think she knows about us?” I asked.
You looked at me and crinkled your eyes. “Why would she?”
“I don’t know. You’re hardly at home, I suppose. I guess if it were me I’d wonder where you were.”
You put your helmet in front of you and leaned your forearms on it. “She tries to ask me stuff, but I don’t answer. I don’t answer to nobody.”
I nodded, but said nothing.
“The thing is, a while ago Pan cheated on me,” you said with a sigh. “When I found out she went to pieces, begging me to stay with her. She said she never wanted anyone but me. That she loved me and had nowhere else to go. Like I said before, life with her is easy. She’s hot and I was used to having her around, so I took her back. She knows she loves me more than I care about her, and she’s alright with that. She has to live with the consequences of what she did. So when I don’t let her question me, she can’t say much about it. If she does, I remind her what she did and what she ruined. It shuts her up quite fast. I suppose I am grateful in a way, Pan taught me that you can never give one hundred percent of yourself to someone. It gives them too much power and control, and then they use that power to hurt you. Pan can’t expect me to give her very much at all, because how could I ever trust her again?”
I swallowed, starting to understand your reluctance to commit to her, or maybe me. “So why stay with her? If she hurt you so badly?”
You looked me in the eye and, unflinching, said, “I can’t imagine finding anything better than Pan, so I might as well stick with what I’ve got.”
Dumbstruck, I said nothing. You knew I loved you and you had just looked straight into my soul and told me you couldn’t imagine finding someone better than Pan. I couldn’t believe it. Part of me wanted to shout, what about me? I’m better. I love you. I would never hurt you. But I didn’t. Instead I stood there and let you crush my heart with your cruel words.
“You need to learn that, Mina, to keep yourself safe.”
“What?” My voice was practically a whisper.
“You need to see that letting someone in is just pointless because they will fuck you over in the end. Everyone does. You can’t trust anyone or give them any sort of power. You’re better off holding pieces of you back. It’s safer.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong. If you love someone, you have to be open to them. Completely open. It lets your souls twist together and you become a part of the other. How can you do that, if you won’t give someone everything? You’ll never be truly committed to them. You’ll never belong.”
You shrugged. “Whatever. I used to think a
bit like you, but now I understand that love isn’t what people make out.”
“Apparently not,” I said, unable to think of much else to say. I was blown away by this stranger standing in front of me. I wondered where you had gone to? The Drew I had fallen in love with and loved still. You certainly were not him.
Your phone beeped with a text and I waited, wordless, while you read it. The screen lit up your face and in it I could see anger in your eyes. Anger at me? Perhaps.
I felt like I didn’t know you anymore. In less than a week you had become a stranger once again. The sort of person I never thought you were capable of being. Where were you? The sweet you? The kind you? The affectionate you? It broke my heart to see what you were in place of that man. That was the man I wanted. That was the man I loved.
You picked up your helmet. “I have to go.”
“Already?” I asked, despite myself. You were making me miserable, but I still wanted to be near you.
“Someone needs my time,” was your response.
What kind of reply is that?
“Drew,” I stepped close to you. You vaguely smelt of perfume, Pan’s I assume, and I tried to ignore it.
You paused, phone still in your hand.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, or why you seem to be so mad at me, but can we sort it out? I hate that things are not right between us. If I did or said something to offend you, just tell me. I miss us, the proper us, not this weird version.”
You looked at me, long and silent, before you held out your arm for me. I climbed inside it like it was a rope down a well. You held me tightly against you and I breathed you in. Your familiar smell mixed with Pan’s perfume. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough to make me feel a little better. In your other hand your phone beeped again. I glanced over my shoulder at it instinctively, not really thinking what I was doing, and I saw a text on the still-lit screen. It was from Pan:
Come home baby. I want more.