Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  I nod and stare at her hand on mine. Everything just hurts so much, like there’s this hollow pit inside of me that is tearing at my soul. It’s horrible.

  “Perhaps I should stay with you tonight? I’ll give Steve a ring and let him know I won’t be home.” She releases my hand as she searches through her bag for her phone.

  “No Mum, I’m fine. I just need to sleep. You can go. Tell Steve I said hi, and I’ll call you tomorrow OK?”

  Looking at me with worried eyes, my mother withdraws her hand from her bag, letting out a heavy sigh. “All right sweetheart. But, if you haven’t called me by midday, I’ll come hunting for you,” she threatens half-heartedly.

  I thank her for everything and kiss her goodbye before I collapse onto the couch, my feet hanging over the end. I can’t even be bothered making it to the bedroom.

  Despite my exhaustion, I lie there for almost an hour, unable to sleep. Grabbing my keys, I get into my car and head to the bottle shop where I pick up some wild turkey, take it home and drink it straight from the bottle. What the fuck to I care about a glass right now?

  I obviously need to punish myself, because I pull my damaged phone out of my bag and plug it into my laptop, downloading all the data off it. I spend the rest of the night sitting on the couch, getting thoroughly smashed as I flick through the images of Paige and me in London. When I land on the one of her in our room at the B&B, when she let me take a picture of her back, I stare at it for a long time. It’s the last one I took when everything between us was perfect. I fucking knew something was up all week. I thought it was nerves, but I should have pushed her to talk to me. We could have sorted this out.

  I pull the sim card for my Australian service out of my wallet and put it inside an old handset, charging it while I transfer the backup file from my damaged phone. Within twenty minutes, all of my photos, messages and contacts are back in my hand. Thank god.

  Scrolling through the contacts, I stop when I come to her number. Everyone knows you shouldn’t drunk dial, but when you’re drunk, you really don’t give a shit about stuff like that. I tap the screen and dial. It takes a little while to connect but when her voice fills my ears, I can hardly speak.

  Paige

  My phone flashes the word ‘international’ as it rings, causing my heart to lodge itself firmly in my chest. I grab for it, needing to hear his voice. Who else could it possibly be? “Hello?” I say down the line, “Elliot? Is that you?”

  “It’s me,” he says back, his voice sounds strange; it's slurred.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  He sighs. “What does it matter, Paige?”

  He’s right. I feel instantly bad for questioning him. “I’m sorry, Elliot. I'm so so sorry. Are you OK?”

  “How could I possibly be OK?”

  Tears sting my eyes as I start to cry. It feels like his pain is pouring into me over the telephone. “I’m sorry,” is all I can say.

  “Just tell me you love me. Don’t give me any bullshit about how you’re bad for me or undeserving of love. Just fucking say how you feel. I need to hear you say it.”

  Closing my eyes, pain stabs through my heart as I fight for the words I need to say. “I-I love you, Elliot,” I force out. “With every fibre of my being, I love you.”

  I can hear him sigh. I can hear breathing, thick with emotion. He’s so far away. My chest hurts. “I’m sorry I ruined us.”

  “You didn’t. I’m coming back for you.”

  “What? Don’t Elliot, please don’t. This can’t work. I know you think it can, but it can’t. I’m too messed up. Please, just let me go.”

  “Fuck you, Paige, you don’t get to decide this. I’m coming back. Deal with it.”

  My mouth drops open as the line disconnects, and I burst into tears all over again. He’s coming back? He can’t come back. Our relationship was supposed to be a beautiful moment in time. It’s not supposed to be forever. I can’t be his forever. I spent my past prostituting myself for accommodation, for food, for alcohol and drugs. It cost a baby girl her life. People like me don’t get happy endings. I shouldn’t even have a life at all.

  Elliot

  A loud banging on my front door wakes me from my alcohol-induced sleep. I sit up slowly and eye the almost empty bottle sitting open on the coffee table, screwing the lid back on and pushing it away.

  My laptop is sitting open, so I hit the space bar to wake it up, expecting to find pictures of Paige. I need to set eyes on her, even if it’s just a photo. Instead, the website for the UK Border Agency is on the screen. I've applied for a new Visa.

  Bang bang bang! “Come on, Elliot! We know you’re home!” I hear on the other side of the door.

  I drag my eyes away from the computer screen and go and open the door. Standing on the other side is my old uni friend, Gary, and his wife, Stephanie.

  “You look like shit,” Gary says as he takes in my appearance.

  “Oh my god, Elliot. Did you bathe in bourbon? You reek.” Stephanie fans her hand in front of her nose.

  “Nice to see you too,” I deadpan.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, we just weren’t expecting…well…this,” Stephanie says, gesturing at my appearance.

  “It’s been a shitty couple of days. Come on in,” I say standing to the side.

  Stephanie goes straight into my kitchen and tells me she’s going to make a strong pot of coffee. I don’t complain because I really need to check what I did last night. I can’t believe I applied for a visa while I was off my face. I go into my email and check all the confirmations. I’ve set up my biometric interview and everything. Shit.

  Stephanie walks back into the lounge room balancing the three coffees. Gary—who’s been sitting on the other couch watching me curse myself repeatedly—jumps up to help her.

  I nod thanks as she places my coffee beside me on the table, and I continue to wildly scan my application, checking that all the details I gave were correct.

  “Elliot,” she starts. “Is there something wrong? Is there something we can do?”

  “No, just… ” I click through to the last page of my application and let out a steady breath. It’s fine. I didn’t fuck it up. I sit back on the couch and put my hands on either side of my head, suddenly laughing.

  Gary and Stephanie look at me wide-eyed, “Everything OK, mate?” Gary ventures.

  “More than OK, everything is great,” I tell him, smiling like an idiot.

  “Well, how was your trip? Oh! What did you think of Naomi? She’s cute, huh?” Stephanie asks.

  “The trip was… life changing.” I turn my laptop around to face them. “I’m going back there to live.”

  “What!” they both spit in unison.

  “I met someone on the way over there—not Naomi. She’s a nice girl though—her name is Paige, and she’s staying there indefinitely, so I'm going back there for her.”

  “Paige, huh?” Stephanie leans in with a curious expression. “I’ll need more info than that if I’m going to forgive you for not fawning over Naomi. I had dreams of couples holidays and same aged kids.”

  Releasing the first chuckle I’ve managed since Paige walked away, I take a mouthful of coffee before I begin. “She’s a goddess,” I start. “Well, she’s my goddess.” Then I tell them everything wonderful about her, show them a couple of photos but avoid talking about all the bullshit that kept her there. I don’t want to focus on any of that right now. I just need to focus on getting back to her. The whole process will take around three months, and I need to be patient until then.

  As I sit back I drink my coffee, listening to Stephanie and Gary as they catch me up on their lives while I’ve been away. The memory of talking to Paige last night filters back to me. She said she loves me with every fibre of her being, and still, she was fighting with me to let her go. I have to convince her to stop trying to force me away, because I don’t want a life without her. I won’t let her ruin us because she’s scared. I’m strong enough for the both of us.

&nbs
p; Twenty-Nine

  Paige

  Applying the handbrake as I pull up outside the house, I take a slow and steady breath before opening the car door and striding up the driveway. I drag my suitcase behind me and knock on the door. I won’t be turned away.

  When the door swings open, I’m confronted with my mother’s surprised face as she drags her eyes over me, pausing when she reaches my luggage. Her eyes fly back up to mine in question. I’m sure I’m the last person she expected to be opening her door to.

  “I need a place to stay. I think it’s the least you can do for me considering.” I stare at her boldly, refusing to be polite as I step past her and into her home.

  “Of…of course,” she stutters, scrambling down the hallway and opening a door for me. “Y-you can stay i-in here.” She flicks on the light and stands aside so I can enter her guest room. There’s a single bed with a mustard-coloured quilt and a three-legged bedside table featuring a crappy retro lamp, and an alarm clock that tells the wrong time. “You can put your things in the cupboard. There should be enough space.” Her eyes drift to the single door of the built-in wardrobe then back to me, clearing her throat. “Uh, the bathroom’s just around the corner, and the kitchen is at the end of the hall. Can I get you anything? Food? A drink?”

  “No,” I answer, stepping into the room with my suitcase in hand. I turn around to look at her expectant face, an unfriendly glare on mine as I reach out and close the door. Before it’s almost clicked shut, I open it slightly, meeting her eyes once again. “This doesn’t change anything between us.” I don’t want her getting any ideas that we’ll be playing happy families anytime soon.

  “Of course,” she whispers, her eyes swimming with tears. I click the door closed and spin the lock on the other side.

  Pulling the covers back on the bed, I remove my shoes and climb in, curling myself into the foetal position as I close my eyes, thinking about everything that has happened this past week.

  After the airport, Naomi took me back to the flat where I spent every day since lying on the couch and refusing to move. I was offered my bed back, but I couldn’t bring myself to live there again, not when being there reminds me so much of him. She keeps telling me to call him. “He’s coming back for you,” she’d say, like that was supposed to lift my spirits. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want him to come back. How am I supposed to face him now? How am I supposed to behave now that he knows what I’ve done, what I was? Do I give him the details, or does it become this dirty grey cloud we keep trying to ignore while we sit in the sunlight? I’ve felt constantly sick with anxiety, and I can’t seem to eat or keep anything down. My world feels so uncertain, and despite missing him terribly, I wish I’d never met him. The only world I’ve ever known was absent of love. It’s really hard living in one where it’s a possibility. I don’t know how to be here, especially now that I can’t wear my mask.

  Eventually, I had to get out of the flat to escape his memory. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving or where I was going, because I’m an arsehole. I just waited until they were all out of the flat and wrote a thank-you note before leaving and driving here. That’s right, I left a note again. They’re always easier than official goodbyes. I had a whole weekend to farewell a close friend once, and it was awful. I prefer the ones that are short and sweet. Or better yet, no goodbye at all.

  It didn’t take much for me to come my parents. Perhaps I’m still trying to punish myself, or perhaps I’m trying to punish them. Either way, I feel like this is the last place Elliot would think to look for me.

  I’m sure it seems like pure insanity to keep refusing him. And maybe it is. He calls me every day, but I haven’t spoken to him since that night he called me drunk. When he calls, I watch the words ‘International Call’ blink on my screen and wait for it to go to voicemail then listen to it later. I don’t want to give him hope by answering and talking to him. It would be cruel. And I’ve already been cruel enough.

  I’m ignoring him to be kind. I took a vow of celibacy and sobriety when Phoenix was born, and I broke it with him. I need to get back on track and focus on the memory of my little girl. She's more important than anything else in this world, and even though I never got to know her or watch her grow, I live my life for her. Taking her into consideration with every decision I make. My inability to control my impulses and walk away from a party is what got me in trouble. Sex and drugs ruled my life, and in her honour I gave them up.

  I gave them up. For her. It was the very least I could do when she gave her life.

  Am I making sense yet? Is anyone besides me able to understand?

  This is my punishment. I won't allow myself happiness when all Phoenix ever experienced was drugs and death. Nothing will change how I feel about that. Not even Elliot Roberts.

  When I lie on the bed, the springs creak. I close my eyes and drift off. Maybe if I stay like this for long enough, I’ll die. Then it can all be over.

  What happens to me if you die? Phoenix asks.

  We’ll be the same if I die. I'll get to hold you instead of you holding me.

  OK then, she says. You can come to me.

  I’d like that.

  I don’t know how many days and nights pass, but I have vague memories of food being offered and refused, along with conversations between my parents as they hover about, not sure what to make of the wreck of a daughter who's returned to them. Just let me go.

  Thirty

  Paige

  A cool hand touches my forehead.

  “Is there something wrong with her?” That’s my mother’s voice.

  “There’s no fever.” Another female says before something cool, possibly a stethoscope, touches my back. “Does she have a history of mental illness?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t you say she was your daughter?”

  “Yes. But we’ve been…estranged. For quite some time.”

  “I see.” Light flicks in my eyes. “And she’s been unresponsive like this for how long?”

  “Almost a week. She won’t eat or drink. Sometimes she mutters like she’s talking to someone but she won’t respond to us.”

  “Hmm.” The light goes away. “Paige,” the woman says rather loud. I hear her. But I have no desire to respond. “Can you sit up for me?” She tries to move me, but I don’t shift. I don’t want to. And I can’t.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing physically that I can tell. Mentally… I couldn’t say without knowing more about her history and running tests. It does look like a severe depressive episode. I think we need to take her in for observation. Even if it’s just to get her hydrated.”

  They struggle to find a vein. The IV sticks out the side of my wrist as I lie on a white bed in a white room, grey clouds showing through the window. I stare and I stare. Day turns into night. Night turns into day. And I’m still here. I’m still alive.

  Does this mean you won’t come and be with me, Mummy? Phoenix asks growing distant when a nurse injects something in my IV line.

  Where are you going? It's like I can feel her withdraw from my mind. Phoenix!

  “No drugs,” I gasp, my voice hurting from its lack of use. “I don’t want any drugs.”

  The nurse smiles. “Is nice to hear your voice.” She hands me a cup of water and I drink before speaking again.

  “I can’t take drugs. I’m an addict.”

  “This is saline for hydration,” the nurse says, pointing to the bag hanging on the IV pole. “And what I just gave you was an antidepressant and an antipsychotic. It’s what’s bringing you back to us. How’re you feeling?”

  “What? Why do I need those?”

  She touches my knee and gives me a sweet smile. “I’ll get the doctor to explain things to you.”

  Sitting up slightly, I look around the room. There are flowers all along the table. “How long have I been here?”

  “A few days. Your Ma and Da have been sitting with you. They brought you the flow
ers.”

  “Oh.”

  As if on cue, my mother appears in the doorway with a shopping bag on her arm and pink lilies in her hand. “She's awake,” she gasps, looking at the nurse. “You’re awake.” This time it’s aimed at me.

  “I’m awake,” I state as the nurse excuses herself to find the doctor.

  “I’ve been worried you’d wake up and I wouldn’t be here. I didn’t want you to think I’d abandoned you again.”

  Why can’t I feel Phoenix?

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I was worried. You wouldn’t eat or drink. You were having an episode.”

  “An episode? Is this a hospital, or a psych ward?”

  She presses her lips together. “It’s both. It’s a private facility. You’re getting the very best care.”

  “Why?” I whisper, eyes burning. Phoenix! “Why am I getting the very best care?”

  “Because you’re my daughter, and I care about you. And because you’re carrying my grandchild. I care about your baby too.”

  “But, I’m not,” I cry, touching my head. “I can’t feel her anymore. She’s gone. She was in my head, but now she’s gone.” I place my hands on my ribs. There’s no pressure anymore. “She’s not here. What did they do to her?”

  “In your head?” Mum’s eyes shine with concern. “I don’t understand what you mean. The baby is in your stomach, Paige. You’re twelve weeks pregnant.”

  My heart stops. “What?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  I shake my head. I’m pregnant? “My cycle has been irregular ever since….”

  She presses her lips together. “Since you lost your baby,” she finishes for me. When my eyes meet hers in alarm, she explains. “We saw your records.”