by Ana Simons
Clearly dumbfounded at the scene, Olivia receives the bouquet in an almost mechanical motion, gives me her best creeped-out smile and heads inside. Then I extend my hand to give the git a handshake.
He’s caught off guard and even to my own surprise, he greets me back. There’s shock written all over his face.
“¿Quién coño eres tu?” He blurts out, his eyes looking me up and down.
Who the fuck am I? I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you bastard.
“Su novio, claro,” her boyfriend, of course, I explain with a feigned smile, acid dripping into every syllable.
“¿Novio?” A deep furrow forms on his forehead.
I nod emphatically. “Yes, her boyfriend.” Then narrowing my eyes at him, I give the final thrust with my chin raised in defiance. “What about you? Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?”
A hard thump followed by the sound of broken glass echoes across the room. I turn and find Olivia looking at me, frozen, surrounded by the gleaming shards scattered all over the floor.
20 Shards
When Olivia’s hands fumbled and the damned vase fell to the ground, I immediately turned around to check on her. She was barefoot, surrounded by broken glass, her body stiff, on her face the expression of utter surprise at my spontaneous and, sure, completely irresponsible answer.
She kept looking at me for a few seconds, seconds that seemed like long minutes, with a serious stare, her forehead creasing deeper and deeper, her eyes narrowing and demanding an explanation she hoped to receive later.
“¿Otro amigo con derecho a roce?” If I was another friend with benefits, the stupid prick inquired, stressing another with his lips curved into a mocking smirk as he glanced at her, jerking his chin towards me in a provocative manner.
“Filipe, vete ahora, por favor.” She didn’t reply to his provocation, though. Instead, she just asked him to go in a politer way than the bastard deserved.
“¿Oye, tío, estás de rollo con ella o no?” Addressing me directly, he demanded to know if I was bonking her or not, on his face the same sarcastic smile, though it was quite evident how anger was rising in his eyes.
“Hey, haven’t you heard her?” I muttered in a low deep voice, with my fists clenching, exasperation simmering in my stomach too. “I think you’ve said more than enough. You should go now,” I finished, permitting myself a sardonic half-grin.
“¿Qué? Es que no te entiendo...” That he hadn’t understood me, he added, with a cynical smile and note of sarcasm in his voice.
Sure, he had. Imbecile.
Boiling inside, I pinned him with a straightforward stare and pointed a threatening finger at him. “Listen to me, if you talk to her like that ever again, I’ll break your fucking nose, you hear me? Now bugger off!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Olivia yelled.
An icy silence fell over the room and her eyes stayed locked on mine, her mind probably trying to make some sense out of a situation that was about to reach cataclysmic levels of bad. As if dealing with an idiot wasn’t bad enough, she was now between a rock and a hard place having to deal with two perfect idiots who were claiming a woman who didn’t belong to either of them.
In the end, I swallowed my own pride. “I’m sorry, Liv, you’re right. I should leave now. It seems you still have a lot of things to sort out. I’ll come back later.”
“No! You’re not the one who should go.”
I wasn’t? She wanted me to stay? It blew my mind. I immediately felt a rush of excitement and clutched her hand tight. The way my heart was pounding like a maniac in my chest was almost unbearable.
Then she faced him and told him in a voice that did not tremble, “Filipe, no hay nada más que decir. Vete ahora y no vuelvas más.” That there was nothing left for them to say, that he should leave and never return.
With a mix of surprise and perplexity stamped on his face, he looked intently into her eyes as he weighed her words. “¿Es verdad? ¿Estás saliendo con este tío?” If it was true, that we were dating, he asked her again, right before a nervous hand began to rub across the back of his neck.
She didn’t bother to reply. Her eyes darted from her feet to the other side of the room instead, to the door, then to the moron’s face, and then back to mine. Tiptoeing around the broken glass, she headed to the door, pulling it open. With a subtle head jerk, she invited him to step out.
He didn’t follow immediately, he kept looking at her with narrowed eyes, waiting for her to answer.
“Sí, es verdad.” She nodded.
It rocked me to the core when, with her deep green eyes peering into mine, so intently that my heart almost skipped a beat, she let that shy yes escape from her lips.
He snatched his jacket in a fury and paced towards the door, fuming like he was going to have someone killed—probably me—growling and snarling something I couldn’t decipher, likely a dozen swear words I haven’t yet mastered.
With that, Olivia closed the door behind him and leant against it for support, looking pallid and worn. As if her body had gone limp, she slid down. Sitting on the wooden floor with her legs bent up, she let out a deep exhale before resting her head on her knees.
“Olivia…” I rushed to her, to soothe her.
However, she quickly composed herself and when I was already on my knees facing her, she raised her hand to stop me. “What was all that? What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” I placed a finger to her lips as I pulled myself close between her legs, our faces so near they almost touched. Pinning her under my gaze, I traced a finger down her cheek and finally leant in to leave a kiss on the top of her head, hoping that the nearness would overrule her reservations and calm her down.
Which would have probably worked with any other woman—but not with this one. What the hell was I thinking? That I would have it the easy way?
“Tell me, what the hell just happened here?” She asked again, shoving her hand into my chest to push me back. “What made you think you could burst into my life after all this time and solve my problems for me? I’m a grown-up woman, perfectly capable of looking after herself. I don’t need any man to come and rescue me.”
I raised her chin, making her look at me. “Hey, the guy was threatening you! What would you want me to do? Walk away? Act as if it’s none of my business? Pretend I don’t care? Let you handle it by yourself for the sake of some bloody feminist emancipation, gender liberation or whatever stupid theory you could possibly throw at my face?”
Olivia didn’t answer to any of my interrogations, she just remained still, looking at me, into my eyes, our faces mere inches apart, our breaths deepening and intertwining. After a bit, she held my hand and let her head fall backwards, against the door. “I’m sorry. God, what a mess!” The words that came out as a deep sigh were followed by silence, moments she probably needed to gather her thoughts and let her emotions settle.
I kept holding her hand, lightly stroking her knuckles with my thumb, respecting her silence, allowing her the time to let it all sink in and release the tension that had built up inside her.
“That idiot barks a lot but he doesn’t bite.” She began, with her head leaning back and her eyes shut. “He’s just angry, maybe a bit desperate too, because things aren’t going his way this time. He thought he could play one of his romantic tricks and that was it, as good as done, in the bag!” She swallowed a small sob. “He booked a flight to Paris and wanted to take me there today. That bastard thought I’d be so thrilled that I’d fall for his smooth talk just like that!” She clicked her fingers. “But you know what I did? I told him to shove those tickets up his arse! He’s used to having everyone kiss his ass and do exactly what he says. He’s pissed off now because I’m not falling for it, I’m not taking him back. The hell I will.”
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“You know what else he told me? That I’m not like other women because I can’t forgive and move on. Because I’m resentful and mean, un
able to appreciate the magnitude of his grand romantic gesture. Arsehole!”
My thumb made tiny circles in the centre of her palm.
“Worse still, he told me I’m going to end up alone, like a bitter and jaded and withered old bag, all because of my pride. Can you see how twisted this is? He sleeps around and in the end, the fault is mine because I’m not humble enough to accept his apologies.” Olivia let out a short, bitter chuckle.
I kissed the tips of her fingers.
“But the thing I don’t get is, why does he keep on coming back? Why doesn’t he leave me alone? Why do men cheat but are unable to leave for good? To have some hot sex on the side and still be able to show off some sort of apparently stable relationship? Tell me, what kind of messed up compromise is that?”
There are a million reasons, I suppose. Some of us are plain stupid, some can’t get enough of the adrenaline, others need to feel like they still have it, the ability to attract a woman, while others have real issues and should pay a visit to the therapist. Maybe the real problem is also why some women put up with it...
Anyway, I took it as rhetorical and didn’t answer. She was obviously nervous, disappointed and mad at him too, seemed to want him out of her life, which was good, and needed to get it off of her chest.
“Romantic! Well, screw romantic, Brian. You know whose invention this is, all the romantic love rubbish talk?” Her features hardened as she shook off my hand.
After pushing back her hair off her face and thumbing the tears from her cheeks, she responded to the question herself. “It was invented by men, obviously! To keep women in their place, subservient to them, waiting for some noble idiot who’s going to appear out of nowhere promising to love them forever. Only to shag anything that moves behind their backs right after.” Her gaze pierced mine, her expression definitely changing from one of sadness to utter irritation. “But you surely know that yourself, don’t you?”
No, Olivia, I don’t…
“Shit, it hurts!” she winced as she held her foot up and analysed her heel. “Tell me, why did you bother coming here? Don’t you think I have enough problems already? Without you making matters worse? Damn it, I’ve got a bloody shard stuck in here. I have to get it out.”
After all that inarticulate rambling, she ran off to the bathroom, leaving me here, alone, on bent knees, not knowing whom she’s really pissed off at, whether she wants me to go check on her or simply leave. Not knowing whether she needs me like I need her—but is too scared to admit it, too afraid to let me in.
A tight knot of dread has lodged itself in my stomach and I’m feeling a miserable ache inside my chest, as if my heart had broken into shards too. I feel so lost now, my mind is a complete blank. The only thing I know already is that I’m in deep trouble. With capital T, I suspect.
21 Armours
‘You don’t seem to care, but let me just say it for one last time: I still love you, in a way, I didn’t know existed. I still miss you, in a way that hurts so badly that sometimes I think I’ll go insane. But I’m letting you go now—secretly hoping it’s true what they say: if you ever return to me, it’s because you have ever been mine. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy 2005. Love, B.’
A shiver crawls along my body as I read this, the same shiver I felt that night when I read a laconic text message saying she didn’t want to see me ever again. The same shiver I felt all those hundred times I called desperate for an explanation, but no one ever answered.
I quickly close the book I gave her—my very last attempt to reach out to her—and put it back on the shelf as if by doing so I could stop the torrent of painful memories flooding my mind right now.
How’s it even possible? It’s been such a long time and I still remember the stabbing pain that shot through my heart. Damn it, I’d almost forgotten, how empty I felt during all those months of unanswered calls and ignored text messages from the girl who had left without so much as a goodbye...
I need to take a long deep breath.
Running a finger along the spine of that same book, I can’t help wondering why the card I wrote back then is still in it. Or the book, for that matter. Why hasn’t she trashed it—like she had done with me?
Oh man, look at the title. P.S. I love you. Really? But is that even a book you give to someone who has just dumped you?
Moron!
I can’t help laughing at the younger version of myself. Well, it’s not really a laugh, it’s more like a painful chuckle of self-commiseration. The stupid things one does when you’re young and life hasn’t yet given you enough reasons to become bitter.
But it’s all just a question of time, I suppose. At a given moment everyone goes through that, I mean, they start to collect bad burns of rejection and gather a handful of stories about how we were once hurt or disappointed.
Fuck. Rejection hurts like hell.
And after a while, you become a narcissistic coward hidden behind some armour so you can pretend you’re numb to feelings and therefore able to dodge pain. This is usually how you get into this fucked up cycle of damage we’re all trapped in: the more you get screwed over, the more bitter you become, the thicker that armour becomes. Out of self-preservation, you don’t allow anyone to break in, instead, you just keep shutting everyone out. Everyone. The ones who could hurt you again, but also the ones who could actually be worth knowing and loving. Then you carry on hurting these people too, up to the point everyone is living in a bloody shell, pretending they’re not jaded and that bitterness hasn’t taken control of everyone’s lives–
“Thanks for cleaning the whole mess here.” A barely audible voice interrupts the erratic thoughts swirling through my mind. I was so caught up in them that I hadn’t even heard her coming near.
I turn and find her staring at me fixedly, her eyes so sad, her hands wringing nervously.
“No problem. It was my fault anyway, so I guess it’s only fair that I take care of it.” I force a smile and a cheerful tone that doesn’t really match with the tense atmosphere in the room. “You okay? How’s your foot?”
“Fine. You?”
“I was just looking around, at your photos here. This one looks really cool, where was it?” I ask, grabbing some silver frame from the top of a stack of books, but I have no idea of what I’m talking about.
“Last Christmas, at the hospital.” Her words are almost a whisper.
“How long have you been there, watching me?”
“A little while.”
The idea is startling, I don’t dare to ask how much of it she has seen. I put the picture back down. Gathering all the bits and pieces of confidence left in me, I muster up the courage to start telling her the truth.
“You’re wrong about me, Olivia. Regardless of what people might have told you, I don’t–”
She says something too, in unison, and neither of us understands the other.
“What?”
“What?”
“No, you go first,” I tell her.
“Just wondering if I should make us some tea...”
I shake my head.
“No? Something stronger? Yeah, you’re probably right, maybe we should–”
“Go out to lunch. It’s such a beautiful day outside, why are we stuck in here and not soaking up some sunshine?”
She’s not thrilled with the idea and wrinkles her nose in disagreement.
“Why not? You’re on a hot date with those horrible sweatpants you’re wearing?”
She gives a light chuckle. “Hey, what’s wrong with my pants?”
“They’re abso-bloody-lutely hideous... Though that top does offer a mighty fine spectacular view!” I taunt her a little just to break the tension, with my eyes pinned on her cleavage.
She snorts and her mouth opens in a half-smile. “Idiot!”
“That was actually the most endearing thing I’ve heard in the last couple of weeks... Feeling a little calmer now?”
She sucks in a breath and then exhales slowly, eyes closed. “I don
’t know... I’m a mess. My life’s an absolute mess. It seems everything is going wrong and I don’t know how to take control of it...”
A deep, painful silence engulfs us as she begins to move towards me with slow, hesitant steps, my eyes always holding hers, boring into them, hoping she can still see through me. And then she stops, on her face the same hurt she had before, a smothered pain I don’t know if I’m able to soothe.
I take a step closer, just one, it’s all I need to be able to run a hand gently up her arm. With my heart hammering in my chest, such is my fear that she may pull away, I caress her face.
“Do you really mean it, when you say you don’t want to get back together with him? Or you’re just punishing him, making him suffer a little before you take him back?”
I immediately regret the question. You should never ask questions when you’re not ready for the answers. Damn, I’m absolutely aching, inside and out...
She lets her eyelids flutter shut at the touch of my hand, into which she tilts her head, inviting me not to stop.
And I don’t.
Holding my hand, she looks deeply into me. “Yes, I mean it. Sure, it was tough at the beginning, dealing with the absence, it always is. But we weren’t going anywhere, I was withering away into someone I didn’t recognise anymore; it was draining and toxic, a constant turmoil that threw me off balance more often than I wanted to acknowledge. It was the right thing to do, I’m finally finding some peace…”
I lean back and look into her eyes with a quizzical stare, trying to read her emotions, to figure her out. “You are? What’s wrong then?”
“It’s not Filipe who’s troubling me...” Her gaze bores into mine.
My breath almost gets caught in my throat. Is she talking about me? I move a little bit closer, so close that our bodies are nearly touching now and I can feel her warm breath on my face, the scent of her hair awakening familiar memories.
“My heart is racing, you know?” I breathe out as I run a thumb across her lips.