by Olivia White
It began in Greece.
More specifically, it began on the island of Crete. Prison of Icarus, lair of the Minotaur, birthplace of Zeus. Popular holiday destination for droves of sex-starved, sun-bleached tourists. Mythology drenched in booze and bodily fluids. An unlikely destination for me, perhaps, but such misguidance can be attributed to the folly of youth and the persuasive abilities of a pretty girl.
Jules wasn't really my type. I think that's why, during University, we went so well together. There are certain expectations which one such as me has to live up to, and being in a relationship with a grant-funded state school graduate was far from one of them. I won't lie; Jules' working-class background and, as my friends said, 'common' upbringing was part of the attraction. She was also incredibly outgoing, extroverted and bubbly. I was--and still am--insular, sullen and problematic. We were not a typical match. I liked this. My inner rebel liked this. My friends found it a constant source of amusement. They accepted her, though. They had no choice with Jules. She wasn't the type to apologize for her lack of airs and graces. You liked it, or, no, well, you just liked it. She was that kind of person. And I liked her, I did. A lot.
That's why, a month after my Oxford graduation, I found myself amongst the throngs of sweaty twenty-somethings clamoring for a pint at a Heraklion bar. Jules was off somewhere, dancing. I was tasked with bringing the drinks over. It wasn't an easy task. We'd met up with a former schoolfriend of mine who I hadn't seen for a few years due to his Cambridge attendance. His name was Jim and he was here on holiday with a crowd of braying, sandy-haired lads. His entourage, although he called them his friends. Being the stubborn, frustrating guy I was, I'd decided to try and retrieve drinks for the entire group. Navigating through a crowd of holiday makers with eight beverages is no easy task. It was no surprise, really, when I made that fateful collision that changed my life forever.
When people talk about first meeting the love of their life, they usually tell you a heart-warming, romantic story. Me, I chucked beer down my beloved's top. Not just one beer, either. Four. Four pints, straight down the front of her stunning black dress. The other four tumbled backwards onto me.
I looked up at the stranger. She stared back. The world fell silent.
"I am so, so, sorry," I muttered. "Shit."
She was stunning. It isn't a cliche to say she took my breath away, and only in part because of the icy beer pooling at my waistband. Beautiful. Dark hair with a tinge of red. Pale skin. Eyes you could fall into. A smile that could melt your heart. And she was smiling, the tip of her tongue poking out the left side of her mouth. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy me. Here, it was endearing, and relieving. Despite the alcohol shower, she seemed amused.
She thrust out her hand, dripping with beer, shimmering in the lights from the club. "Hi," she said. "I'm Katie."
"Did you have fun?" Jules asked. She smiled at me lazily, drunkenly. She lay sprawled across our hotel bed, naked save for her bra which hung off one shoulder. She was tracing concentric circles on her stomach.
"Yeah, it was good," I told her, undoing my trousers. "Was good to see Jim again."
"Did I look nice tonight?" Jules asked. I was taken aback. It wasn't like her to seek reassurance.
"You looked great," I told her. I climbed onto the bed beside her and she rested her head on my shoulder.
"Edward, do you wanna fuck?" she asked.
I frowned. "It's late, and you're drunk. We have that tour tomorrow, don't we?"
"That's Tuesday," she mumbled, leaning against my neck. Her breath was warm. She began sliding my t-shirt up, her mouth moving to my chest, kissing, biting gently. She moved upwards, our lips touching. I kissed her. I thought of Katie. Of her lips, her skin, her smile. Jules' hand toyed with me. I reached down and took it.
"I don't like this when you're drunk," I told her. She pouted at me.
"You're such a square."
I raised an eyebrow. "Gentleman, maybe."
Jules snorted with laughter. "Yeah, whatever."
She guided my hand down between her legs. "Jules, come on," I said. I was finding it hard to resist.
"We can do anything, Edward," Jules slurred.
"Then let's go to sleep," I said. I saw the hurt in her eyes. I relented. I entered Jules. I thought of Katie.
The next day passed by in a blur of intimacy. We stayed in the hotel room almost until late, when we took a walk and joined the other guests for our evening meal. Thankfully, I'd been able to persuade Jules to choose a slightly more remote hotel, so that between hectic party times we would be able to retreat somewhat. To say it wasn't crowded would be a lie, but the majority of tourists here were older than us, and less prone to antics.
There was a part of me which hoped I'd never see Katie again. That she'd be staying on a different part of the island, that ours was a chance meeting, never to be repeated. I hoped I could forget her, that she'd drift out of my life just as quickly as she'd drifted in.
That part soon evaporated at dinner. As Jules and I headed to our table, plates in hand, I saw her sitting across the room, her mouth open in silent mirth. She was not alone. Across from her sat a portly lad of ruddy skin and a Hollywood stare. Propped upon his forehead was a pair of Aviators. He roared with laughter at something Katie said. Reached across the table, squeezed her hand. I felt a stab of jealousy.
"Uh, Edward?" Jules asked. "You coming?"
I saw her looking across at the table, at Katie and the unknown boy. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.
The night before, she had not met Katie. An hour after disappearing for drinks, I'd returned to my group with a story of roughnecked Greeks and plenty of shoulder-barging. Katie and I had spent an hour together. One single, solitary hour. Sitting outside, beer drying on our clothes, smoking and talking. We knew nothing about one another even after that time. There had been chemistry, no doubt about it. Harmless, no-contact chemistry. And that was all it should have been. But here she was, again, sitting nearby. Calling my name.
"Edward!" she called again.
Jules nudged me. "You know that girl?"
"Yeah," I said, offering no further explanation. "Come on, let's go over. You two will get on."
So the boy's name was Chuck, and he was a prick. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't decided this before we even reached the table, but it was reassuring to discover I was right. Typical brash, obnoxious American in his early twenties. Also; Katie's boyfriend. That should have put a lid on it. It didn't, of course. Not by a long shot. Katie was American too. Of course, I knew that. It made explaining things to Jules hard, though.
"So how do you two know each other, then?" she asked, as our main course arrived.
Foolishly, I hadn't thought to prepare a story should this situation arise. Katie winked at me, and to this day I'm sure Jules saw and said nothing.
"Old friend of the family," Katie said. "We used to go to school together back when Eddie lived in the US, as a kid."
I was glad I'd told her about that.
"Oh really?" Jules said. "He's never mentioned you. Huh. Should probably warn you, he hates being called Eddie!"
She beamed at me and tussled my hair. I sat there, dazed.
"Ah, I've always gotten away with it," Katie quipped back. I stole a glance at Chuck. He'd been possessive from the moment we'd turned up, moving his chair closer to Katie's, squeezing her hand that bit too tight. Now he looked positively apoplectic. I almost felt sorry for him. Looking back, now, I'm not proud of my behavior, or of Katie's. But we had that thrill thing going on, that electric, secret chemistry between us. It was a game to us back then, to all of us. We were kids. Heartbreak was in our nature, dramatics our drug. We're a vile, vacuous lot when you think about it. Katie was anything but, I hasten to add. She was just caught up in the moment. Simply being my company seemed to lift her spirits, and the same was true for me.
We talked, then, all four of us, and the mood eventually lightened somewhat. Truth weaved with lies, the e
ffortless way in which Katie spun anecdotes about our childhood had me almost believing it at points. I kept silent at those times, lying never being my strong point. Chuck and Katie's situation amusingly mirrored that of mine and Jules'. He was rich, she was from a poor background. They'd met at University (or college, as they called it). She'd neglected to mention Chuck at all the night before. I couldn't complain. I hadn't mentioned Jules either.
I had no idea what she saw in him. Of course I didn't. I'd already decided Katie was meant for me, even if I wasn't totally aware of it by then. Chuck seemed oafish, boorish and overly opinionated. He spoke loudly of sports and politics, of his admiration of Bush and his dislike of Clinton. He talked, and talked, about the Republicans and the MLB and the NFL, he asked asinine questions about soccer and Blair.
Katie, Jules and I talked too. Handily, Katie thought to throw in the caveat that we'd lost touch for some years, which sidestepped the majority of pitfalls our deception could have caused. Throughout our discourse, Jules' hand danced across my arm, brushing my shoulder, reaching onto my plate to swipe bits of my food. Obvious signs of defensiveness and possession, I realized much later.
The truth is, I can remember almost nothing of that night. The wine was flowing freely, and perhaps that was a factor, but when I think back, all I can picture is Katie. From the first time I laid eyes on her, right up until the very moment I write this now, she was in my head. She filled my thoughts, intoxicating and beautiful. I'd spent no more than three hours with her in total, but she'd already become the most important thing in my life. From that night on, this never changed.
The change one undergoes when one first falls in love--for sure enough, there's no doubt that I had done so--has been well documented in all manner of fact and fiction. To tread that old, self-indulgent ground would do a disservice to my feelings for her. It was quite extraordinary. A powerful, almost terrifying force, obsessive and devouring. To feel love, at least at first, isn't a nice feeling. It's like a fever or a withdrawal, an injection of nerves and nervousness, a psychotropic, mind-altering reaction kicking off in your brain. Distance hurts, closeness hurts. Paranoia rises and doubt clouds. I never understood it before Katie. Since that day, I've never forgotten it. And I wonder, sometimes, has anyone ever felt that way about me without my knowledge? Have they suffered, silently, in love with me until it eats them from the inside out, knowing I was unobtainable?
Lying, unspeaking in the dark, the sounds of the Greek nightlife fading outside our window. There had been no sex, no intimacy. Just myself and Jules, lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, both lost in our own thoughts.
An hour passed, and then a bit more. Eventually Jules spoke.
"They were very nice," she said.
I tried to clear images from my mind. Images of Katie lying in bed, Chuck looming over her, sweat dripping from his fatty chest, grunting as she parted her legs for him. Perhaps, on her lips, a grimace, a slight 'o' of distaste. A sense of resignation. I felt sick.
"Chuck seems a bit much," I said.
"Yeah, maybe," Jules replied. "You really have never mentioned Katie."
"We lost touch a long time ago."
"It was funny, really," Jules said, "that she managed to recognize you across the restaurant. Small world, isn't it? And you didn't seem surprised to see each other at all. Huh."
I sighed. "I saw her last night," I told her. "Bumped into her near the bar. Thought I mentioned that."
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jules looking at me. I didn't turn.
"You didn't grow up with her at all, did you?" she asked.
"No."
I began to say more, to come up with an excuse for the lie, but Jules had turned over onto her side, and very soon after I could hear the gentle, rhythmic sound of her breathing.
I checked my watch. Almost 2 am. I had no idea if the hotel gym would still be open this late, or if they locked it up, but I needed a walk. As luck would have it, the place was open and seemingly unstaffed. I walked down the dimly-lit corridor, past the windows overlooking the pool. Underwater spotlights cast rippling shadows across cerulean tile. I saw a shape in the water, beneath the surface. I wasn't alone. I almost decided to pass by the pool altogether, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, the lonely, dreamlike state of a swimming pool at night. Or perhaps it was hope. Either way, I stepped inside. I did not make my presence known at first. I kept to the shadows, and stood watching the figure in the pool in silence. Her majestic, graceful strokes carried her deftly through the water, an aquatic ballerina. Her every movement struck me with its beauty. There was no mistaking her.
Eventually, she broke the surface, the water parting to make way for this goddess. She looked directly at me, and I stepped forward.
"Hello, Katie," I said.
She did not seem alarmed by my presence, almost as if she'd been expecting it.
"Edward," she said, more a confirmation than a greeting.
"Didn't mean to disturb you. Don't stop on my account."
"Not at all," she said. "I was just getting out."
Katie kicked her way over to the steps and emerged from the water. I tried to stop myself from staring, but I could not. Her skin, so pale in the bluish light, was like porcelain. Her eyes, red from chlorine, wide and vulnerable. And her body, lithe and perfect, covered only by her bathing suit. She saw me looking and smiled.
"Hand me that towel, will you?" she said, pointing to a chair. Silently, I reached for it and passed it to her. She dried her face, her hair, approached me. She was so close I could touch her. Holding the towel in front of her, she spoke.
"Jules not around, then?"
There was a smile in her eyes, the promise of mystery.
"Chuck not about, then?"
Katie shook her head.
There was static between us. Everything ever went through my mind. My heart was beating far too fast. I reached out, took the towel from her, and tossed it back onto the chair. She stepped towards me before I could even guide her. My hands touched her back, her hands touched my arms. She looked up at me, our lips brushed together, we kissed. She tasted of chlorine and cinnamon, bitter sweet and beautiful. We kissed, more, passionately, hungrily, like this was what we were always meant to do. She reached down, pulled my shirt up. My hands found the neckline of her bathing suit and slid it down over her shoulders, down to her waist. She let it fall, stepping out of it, stumbling against me and laughing quietly as it caught on her foot. I held her, one hand brushing against the soft skin of her left breast. Then she was upright, against me, on me, pushing me down. We made love there, then, on the rough hard tiles of the pool room floor. We fit like we were made together, each of our movements mirroring the other's, every breath, every thrust a perfect unity. Time lost all meaning. I was lost in her, and she in me.
When we were finished, she stood up, a shy look passing across her face. I followed her, grabbing up the towel so she could cover her nakedness.
"Edward, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know... I don't know what..."
I shook my head, put my finger to her lips, and drew her close into another kiss. We could deal with the complications in the morning. I just wanted to hold her close, in the shimmering darkness, as our hearts beat the rhythm of war drums.
Tuesday morning guilt turned into a frantic scramble to reach the tour bus, Jules and I too busy to even look at each other. Finally prepared and dressed, we thundered down the hotel staircase and outside, bundling into the tour bus. The bus was almost full, heaving with elderly vacationers.
"Eddie, Jules, over here!" I heard Katie call out. She was sat at the back of the bus with Chuck.
"We saved y'all some seats," Chuck said as we made our way down the aisle, apologizing to overweight old ladies whose arms caught our thighs. Something told me the reservations hadn't been Chuck's idea.
Jules quickly took the seat next to Katie, and I was forced to squeeze past her to get to my window seat. As the bus engine ki
cked into life, metalwork rattling dangerously, the sinking feeling of guilt kicked in. I thought back to the night before.
I won't lie. It wasn't the first time I'd cheated on Jules. There had been someone else, during my final year of University, a girl I'd met while visiting a friend in Newcastle. It hadn't been much, but it had been something. This was different, though. Jules knew the person in question. She was sitting right next to her, talking to her. The risk was far greater.
I didn't know where it was going, really. I was in love with Katie. I wanted to be with her. So why was I already planning ways to keep this thing a secret? I needed to talk to her, to find out where I stood. It suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world. Instead, I listened in while Jules and Katie talked about life, distance, countries. Chuck tried to join in, occasionally. Neither of them seemed interested. I simply kept quiet and surveyed the Greek countryside.
The bus pulled into the designated car park and I got my first glimpse of Knossos. Even in its state of disrepair, the palace took my breath away. While the rest of my traveling companions chattered and laughed, I traipsed out of the vehicle in a daze. Certain places have an effect on me. Important, powerful places, commanding presences that cloud my senses. Knossos was one such place. The history here, the beauty. The sense that it was the epicenter of Crete. Thinking of the myth, the tale, Theseus creeping through darkened corridors, the terrible Minotaur's hot, stinking breath teasing the back of his neck. A dank, musky animal smell, one of death and raw power.
We followed the tour guide. He talked. I dreamed. The palace, the architecture, the labyrinth. I felt a hand brush mine. Jules' or Katie's, I wasn't sure. I took it. I closed my eyes. We walked, listened. I heard Katie speaking, Jules, Chuck, tourists, strangers and friends. The stone spoke out to me. I sensed it, something, beneath the earth. Something ancient, unspoken.
"Everything is about to change," I heard it whisper. I felt a pain in my head, in my chest. The palace of Knossos melted away, stone crumbling to dust, and I saw. Burning, scorched sky. A shadow passing across the sun. I looked up, stared at the broiling flame above my head. This crucible in which sat our world, expectantly waiting, pregnant with a fury so terrible that I knew, then, we were on the brink. I felt the ground give way and I was falling, the abyss opening up to swallow me whole. I stared down as I fell, down upon the wretched earth. And with blinking albino eyes, the earth stared back. With a ravenous snarl and a hungry smile, the earth crawled up to meet me.
"Pass out often then, do you?"
We were sat on a hill, gazing over Knossos, a picnic spread at our feet. My head still hurt from the blow I'd taken, collapsing to the floor like that.
It was a warm day, but a chill had crept into my bones. Nothing felt right. Only Katie's smile, that curious look with the tip of her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth, could do anything to make me feel human again.
"I've never known you to pass out. It's not common, is it Eddie?" Jules said. I hated her calling me that. I'd also noticed that she'd taken to answering whenever Katie addressed me.
"No, it is not," I said moodily. I could not get those eyes out of my head. And so I looked at Katie's instead. Blue, almost green, wide and twinkling. I saw the world in those eyes. I smiled at her.
"Did Eddie tell you he's something of a writer?" Jules asked. It was something she knew I liked to keep to myself.
"Oh really?" Chuck piped up. "Anything I might have read?"
This was exactly why. It 's impossible to talk about writing without having to defend the fact you're unpublished. It was little more than a pipe dream for me. I knew my narrative voice was far too textbook, too dry for fiction. Nevertheless, Jules spoke the truth, I was working on a novel. Looking back at it now, it was little more than folly. At the time, though, I held onto the work with a fierce pride, occasionally tapping out a paragraph or two when feeling particularly brooding. I was around thirty thousand words in by then.
I explained that I was just starting out, that it was something I was doing for myself, that I was under no illusion that I'd ever get published. A lie, of course. Back then I dreamed of it every time I sat at the keyboard.
They quizzed me on genre, subject matter, plans. I explained as best I could.
"Eddie says I'm his muse," Jules said pointedly. "Can't write without me in the house, can you?"
It was true. I couldn't. I liked her being there, reading each page when I was done, telling me what she thought.
"That's really nice," Katie said. "I'm working on something myself, actually."
"Katie fancies herself as a bit of a writer too," Chuck added. "She's not bad."
"You'll have to let me read something of yours," I said, without thinking.
For a while, the vision from earlier was stripped from my mind. We talked of books, of writers we admired, of the trouble with starting out. Chuck's family were big media tycoons.
"I always tell her I could get her a book deal no problem," he said to me. "But she has this notion of doing it herself. Silly, really. Take the bull by the horns, I say."
"I can understand it," I said.
"I can't," Chuck confessed. If he had any idea about Katie and I, then he certainly didn't show it, and something told me Chuck wasn't one for pretense or subtlety. "The offer's there, why not take it? Say, if you're ever looking for a bit of help..."
I thanked him and told him I'd love to take him up on the offer one day, knowing I never would. I longed for him to leave, and take Jules with him. I was bored of them both. It's hard not to be cruel thinking back, but it's how I felt. I wanted Katie, I wanted to hold her again, to be inside her, to taste her lips. I wanted to stroke her smooth alabaster skin, to run my fingers through her ebony hair. I didn't care what pain it might cause the others. Images of the night before pounded through my head, interspersed with the gaping, vile maw of the horror I'd seen in my dream. The juxtaposition wasn't entirely unpleasant. To this day, I can't explain the exact thought process I was going through. People are strange when they're young.
Finally, I had my chance to get Katie alone and took it without hesitation. We'd finished our picnic and resumed our exploration of Knossos, drifting apart from the main tour as I stopped to admire the frescoes. Katie joined me, crouching beside me, brushing my shoulder with her mouth.
"Eddie," she whispered. I took her hand and led her away, not caring if anyone should see. The blazing Greek sun beat down upon us as we stepped from the labyrinth.
"Katie," I said breathlessly, pulling her towards me. "This is crazy, and I'm sorry if you think so, but I've never felt like this before. I love you and I'm in love with you and I need to be with you. I need you in my life, now and forever."
I didn't even wait for a reply. I drew her into a kiss, hungry and passionate. I could feel her heart beating against mine. I could taste the lunch time wine, sweet and red.
"I love you," I said again.
"Edward," Katie said. "I can't. I'm sorry. I can't."
Like a coward, I spent the rest of the tour avoiding everyone. Even Jules, who tried her utmost to gain my attention. Frequently I'd wander off, lost in my own thoughts, my mind awash with apocalyptic emptiness. I ached, physically and mentally. Despite the heat, I kept erupting in a cold sweat and on the occasions where Jules caught up with me, she commented that I looked pale and sick. I lost interest in the palace, the labyrinth, the mythology. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, alone, and wait out the rest of my life. For how could life be worth living if my soulmate was unobtainable?
Back at the hotel, and Jules grew frustrated with my dark mood. She left, taking her purse with her, promising to be back before midnight. I pulled down the blinds and lay on the bed, willing sleep to come but feeling edgy and awake. Soon, my anger descended into sickness and I spent nigh on thirty minutes gripping porcelain, retching into the toilet bowl. If only Katie could see me now, I thought. I wanted her pity. I wanted her to feel guilty.
She'd explained,
of course. Petty, childish reasoning. She owed a lot to Chuck. She couldn't just leave him. He'd stuck by her through some very tough times. He wasn't the pig I insisted he was. When I asked her how she felt about me, she refused to say. Tears welled up in her eyes. I could see the longing there.
"It wouldn't work, Edward," she'd told me. "It couldn't." Bullshit. All bullshit. Love conquers all. Love never dies.
To be young and naive like that again would be both a blessing and a curse.
I checked my watch. Just gone nine. I had no idea when Jules would return. I decided to take a walk. It was just around sunset when I got outside. I walked to the edge of the hotel grounds. Emerging from a copse of trees I reached a cliff-side edge, and despite my sadness the view took my breath away. Heraklion lay before me, beneath me, the lights of the city twinkling in the oncoming darkness. To the left sat Knossos, its twisting corridors a shadowy scar on the landscape. And beyond all that the ocean, moonlight bouncing off the black mirror waves, expansive and terrifying and beautiful.
I stood there, in silent reverie for eternity. I heard footsteps, and sensed a figure stepping from the trees behind me. I did not turn. Somehow I knew who it would be.
"Imagine what it would feel like to jump," Chuck said. His voice was full of wonder. "To jump, to feel that freedom. To soar up, on the breeze, above the clouds. To touch the moon, to glide beneath the stars."
"We can only dream," I told him curtly. "Mankind has no such freedom."
"There's a trick to it," he said. "You only fly at night. There's no sun to burn you, then. Schoolboy error."
He laughed quietly. I nodded.
"I'm not blind, you know," he went on. "I could see exactly what had happened. I don't blame you, either. She's bewitching."
I thought about protesting, then decided against it. I sensed no malice from the American.
"Love's a funny thing," I told him.
"She doesn't love me," he said quietly. "She's never loved me. I know this. I've accepted this a long time ago."
"Do you love her?"
Chuck was silent for a while. I turned to look at him, gazed into the inky blackness of his eyes. Then, a glint of silver in the darkness. I looked down, saw the penknife in his hand. Chuck smiled at me, and in his other hand produced a stick. Quietly, he began to strip the bark away. I watched him work until the branch was yellow and raw.
"See this," Chuck said, holding it out to me. "Return this to me and I'll let you know."
And with that he drew back his arm and hurled the stick from the cliff-side. I watched it fall in an arc, coming to rest somewhere just out of sight. I turned to leave.
"Giving up that easily?" he said. "I'm serious."
At first, it struck me as demeaning, as if I was being treated like a dog. But there was something in his face, something earnest and desperate. Without a word, I walked to the cliff edge. The path down was steep, but not impassible. I scrambled down, and Chuck disappeared from view.
It took me an hour to find that goddamn stick, but by Christ I found it. Once I'd taken the first step, I knew I wouldn't give up until I returned with my prize. With torn clothes and dusty skin, I pulled myself back up into that clearing. Chuck was gone, so I headed back to the hotel. Katie sat in the reception, and came running to meet me as soon as she saw me.
"Have you seen Chuck?" she asked. I told her that I had, that we'd been chatting. She looked down at the stick I held, then back at me. She frowned, confused.
"He's gone," she said.
"Probably still taking a walk."
"No, he's gone. Taken all his stuff. Left me a note telling me goodbye. That he was moving on. That I should too."
I swallowed hard. "That doesn't sound like him."
Katie disagreed. "It sounds exactly like him. You don't know him, Eddie. Reception confirmed that he checked out. He's gone."
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
"I think so. It's... it's what I wanted. You know it is. It's just, y'know. It's weird. Hard to take it all in."
"Do you want to go somewhere?"
Katie nodded. We went back to her room. All trace of Chuck was gone. We were together.
When I eventually returned to my hotel room, I discovered Jules was back from her jaunt into the city. Her face was flushed, and she swayed tipsily as she stood up to hug me.
"Oh, hello!" she slurred in my ear. "How're you feeling babe?"
I held her, tersely, muscles screaming tension. My heart was pounding. I'd imagined her walking in, sober, ready to sit down and listen to what I had to say. Of course, why would that be the case?
"I'm fine. Listen, Jules, there's something I need to talk to you about," I said. Jules laughed, and spun me round in a kind of manic dance.
"Edward, shhh," she replied. "It's okay, it's okay."
She kissed me, hard, and I tasted booze on her breath. She pushed me backwards, towards the bed. I tried to resist. Her hand dropped to the waistband of my trousers, clawing hungrily, desperately. I stumbled back, falling onto the mattress, and saw a glimpse of something pass across her face. A predatory, haunting look. Maniacal. I lay there as Jules straddled me.
"Edward," she whispered, her breath harsh and ragged. "I'm sorry. I found it."
Proudly Jules extended her hand to me, and there it was. The elephant in the room, something I should've thought to deal with the moment I first met Katie. An engagement ring, a reminder of a time which felt like centuries ago, when I'd planned on asking Jules to marry me.
I looked up at her. She was flustered, drunk, possession sparkling in her eyes.
"I do," she said, and leaned down to kiss me. I put my arms around her. A chill, like icy ocean water, flowed down my throat, into my chest. And for a moment I was back under that apocalyptic sky. I could smell the singed hairs on my arms, could hear the screams of suffering from distant trauma.
There was a presence. Something on my chest, crushing me, sucking the breath from my body.
'Everything is changing,' the voice whispered, and the immediacy terrified me.
"I'm not ready," I gasped. "Not yet."
The weight lifted. I was back in the hotel room. Jules had stood up, off me, and was now staring.
"Edward," she said. "What are you talking about?"
I looked into her eyes, then to the ring and back at her. I thought of Katie, alone now in her room, waiting for me. I thought of the lies I'd have to tell, of the typical youthful heartache evoked by those who can't say what they have to. Of convention and cliche, of how this would pan out. How I'd pretend, how I'd string Jules along, the love triangle, the longing.
I looked into her eyes again. She knew. She'd always known.
'Everything is changing.'
"Jules," I said, numb courage replacing the coldness. "It's not working. I'm sorry. There's someone else."
I won't lie and pretend it was easy. It wasn't. Jules took it remarkably well though, I thought. She insisted on seeing the holiday through to its bitter end. Even spent a lot of time with Katie and I. It was awkward, strained, but what could we say? She was being so nice about everything. Even took Katie shopping one day. That made me feel sick. I didn't like the thought that they were talking about me. Katie told me they hadn't, at all, and somehow that made me feel worse.
In the Times Without Jules, we talked and planned. I tried not to think about the fact only days before, Katie had told me it would never work. I'd changed her mind, I thought, or maybe it had been Chuck. But whatever had happened, I was determined to make it work. At first I tried to persuade Katie to come back to the UK with me. Wasn't happening. So, I decided, I'd be the one to give way. Move to the US. Work on my book. Nothing was stopping me going straight there. Apply for a Visa once I got there. Get my stuff shipped over. I had money--lots of it--and plenty of time.
I was surprised just how easily I managed to persuade Katie. We'd get a place together, dive in at the deep end.
When Jules was ready to leave, I accompanied her to the airport.
She bid me a tearful farewell, and promised we'd always stay friends. Telephone, email, visits, she'd always be there.
I never heard from her again.
From that moment on, Katie was my life. I had no friends in America, and we'd moved to Utah (on a whim; Katie literally stuck a pin in a map) which was a distance from her home as well. We had each other, and we had the small town whose outskirts we haunted.
We spent a lot of time in the bedroom, of course. But we also spent a lot of time separately, as individuals, writing. We had our own offices. It was very bohemian. I'd be hard at work and she'd come in, a cup of tea in hand (she always found my love of tea very quaint and amusing), or I'd go and visit her and kiss the back of her neck, try to distract her.
Almost a year passed. A beautiful, blissful year. Every so often I'd try to contact Jules, only to find out her number was still inactive, or that emails would bounce back. It made me sad, but I tried not to let Katie see this.
Katie was perfect. "I love you," she'd say, over breakfast, and for the first time in my life I believed someone when they said that. The closeness, the companionship, it was something I'd always dreamed of, something I'd never had in quite such a way before. In summer, we'd sit in the garden reading or scribbling in little notebooks. In winter, we curled up by the fire and drank and talked and laughed.
It was almost a year to the day that we'd met in Crete when Katie got the letter.
'Dear Ms. Gabriel,' it read. 'Thank you for your article submission.'
"They want it!" Katie shrieked. "They actually want to publish it!"
She ran up to me and thrust herself into my arms, her face glowing. She'd submitted numerous articles to numerous publications over the past year, and I knew she'd been beginning to lose hope. But this, this wasn't some small rag either. It was a big-deal New York publication, lifestyle and fashion and current affairs. I couldn't even recall what her article was about. She'd written so many.
I looked down at her, at her smile, her happiness. I felt like I'd taken a punch to the gut.
You see, while she'd been pursuing a career in journalism, I'd never given up on my dreams of fiction. There was the book, of course, that illusive novel that I couldn't quite pin down. But to offset that, I'd been working on various short stories, sending them off to anthologies, magazines, the like. Waiting for someone to bite. There was no market, they said. I wasn't what they were looking for, they said. Solid ideas but a lack of mainstream appeal, they said.
"Edward?" Katie asked.
"I'm so, so proud of you," I lied. I was too bitter to even start hating myself, in that moment. I hugged her and kissed her head. Her touch stung like thorns.
Unless you're the kind of person to experience envy, it's hard for you to understand what I mean here. It's a terrible feeling, resenting the person you love the most. Yet there it was.
'Everything is changing,' that nagging, taunting voice sang in my head. Fire. Wreckage. Metal twisting against stone. Hatred.
I tried to shrug it off. I promised myself I'd keep working on my book, that this would be my break. After Katie's first article, the commissions came in thick and fast. Sometimes she'd have to travel, to meet editors, to network. Those times were the worst. I'd stay at home, mulling over my book, which to be honest was quite obviously a piece of shit. I scrapped chapters like meat cuttings. I didn't have writer's block; it was worse than that. I could churn out pages and pages, only to read them back and realize they were utter tripe. I missed Jules. She wasn't a writer, she would read my stuff and help, and give me feedback, and set me on the right track. I never liked to ask Katie. She was busy, and worse, she was creeping into my writing. I saw her in every character, on every face. The story became one-dimensional, love destroying creativity, obsession tainting each word.
Katie had just returned from a trip to New York. She'd been gone nearly a week. I'd spent the entire time pawing through loose leaves, tearing up printouts and shredding paragraphs. The bed was cold, I missed her, and every so often I'd burn with a seething jealousy, both of her success and of what she might be up to. She called me every night, of course. She knew nothing of how I felt. She knew I was struggling, of course, and she was forever supportive. It made me more resentful.
The worst part is, I still loved her more than anything. And by then, the self-hatred had crept in. I resented myself for resenting her.
I heard her key turn in the lock, echoing through the dead air.
"Eddie! I'm home!" she called. I deliberately took my time before answering.
As we hugged, kissed, exchanged pleasantries, I knew this time I was struggling to hide how I felt. She unpacked and we sat in the living room, awkwardly like strangers.
"How was it, then?" I asked her.
"It was good," Katie said.
"You never called yesterday."
"I did. You didn't answer."
I shrugged. "Must've been busy."
"Eddie, you okay?" she said.
"Yeah, sure," I replied, too angrily. "So, meet any nice guys out there?"
"What? No. Oh God, you're not gonna be like this are you?"
"Like what?" I snapped. "Legitimate question, isn't it?"
"You know I didn't," she said.
I could see the hurt in her eyes, and I willed myself to stop. But the resentment was bubbling up inside me, coloring my vision.
"Don't know anything," I said. "Dunno what your New York mates are like, do I?"
"I asked you to come with me!" she said. "It's not like I'm trying to keep you away."
I took a sip of wine. "Fuck it," I said. My heart was beating fast. I pulled her to me and tried to kiss her. She moved away.
"Stop it."
I slammed my glass down on the coffee table, and barely heard it topple and break as I stormed out the room.
The next day, I emailed Jules. Over and over and over. Every time, they bounced back. Of course they did. Katie would barely speak to me. I'd barely speak to her. I could tell she had no idea what she'd done wrong. How could I explain it? She'd done nothing. Nothing at all.
We reconciled that night, but things were strained. I kept telling myself that if I could just get my break, just get one editor to take a chance with me, I'd be fine. We'd be fine.
The next time Katie got a request to visit New York, she turned it down. This annoyed me even more. I was annoyed at myself, of course, but I took it out on her. I called her stupid, petulant. She called me an asshole, we slept in separate rooms for two nights. As I lay there, thinking about her alone in the guest bed, all I wanted to do was hold her. She invaded my every thought.
This is love, I thought. This is how it'll always be. I began to understand--or at least believe I understood--why Chuck and Jules could walk away so easily.
We were fine after a couple of days. Always were. The next time they asked her to go to New York, she said yes. I was okay with it. I kept telling myself I was okay with it. She was gone a fortnight.
"Edward," Katie said. "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to think really hard about it, and don't dismiss it outright, because I think it'll be good for you as well as me."
I looked up from my breakfast. "Hmm?"
"I think we should move to New York."
"Why?" I asked. "You're a freelancer. You don't need to be there all the time."
"They've offered me a job," she said. "It's an editorial role."
"Oh."
I was still getting nowhere with my own writing.
"Oh?"
"Congratulations," I muttered. "What more do you want?"
Katie sighed. "Does it have to be like this every time? Edward, I love you, so much. I want you to be happy for me. I want us to be in this together."
What she didn't say was; I don't want you to ruin this for me. But she was thinking it. I was thinking it.
"I'm not moving to New York," I said.
She hid the regret well. "Then neither am I."
A month passed, then two. The w
hole time, every day, every fucking minute, Katie tried to make the best of things. Tried to see the best in me.
I was having nightmares. Visions, much like the one I'd had in Crete, haunted my sleep. Katie suggested I channel them, write about them. I told her, affronted, that this would lead to genre fiction. I walked to my study door and locked it. She stopped trying to help after that.
What particularly struck me about this dark and sordid time was just how tender and loving we were with one another even despite the strife. We'd argue, snap, deride, but when we held each other it was like that first time, by the swimming pool. That never changed. No matter how angry I felt, how resentful, I always knew one thing. I loved her so much. She loved me too.
In the end, though, it was too much.
One day, Katie was gone. She'd taken the job and left. She must have known she was going to do it for a while before it happened. I never suspected a thing. She didn't even leave a note. She called me from New York, as soon as she got there. Explained herself. She couldn't do this any more. She loved me, more than anything, but we were hurting each other. It wasn't working.
She was right. I knew that, but I hated her for it anyway. Hated her and loved her and missed her. For the first week, I'd slam the phone down as soon as I heard her voice. During the second week I spoke to her, tersely at first, then eventually warmed up. It was guilt, though. Inside I burned with rage. She seemed happy, and I was miserable, and I resented this even more.
"Have you met anyone else?" I asked once.
"No?" she replied. She sounded shocked. "I still love you, Eddie. I don't want things to be like this."
She told me she'd wait for me. At the time, I didn't understand what she meant.
Three, four, five months passed. We spoke every day. There was a sadness in her voice a lot of the time, a longing. We missed each other. We needed each other. It was pathetic, I knew it, but I refused to do anything about it.
Then, one night, I gathered up everything I'd written since meeting her. I took it outside, and put it in a metal oil drum. Then, I went back in and got everything I'd written before we'd met too. It joined the pile. Then petrol. Then a match.
I stood and watched the flames consume my life's work. I smiled. It was okay. It meant nothing. I stared into the flames, the abyss, and the only thing I saw looking back was Katie. Her touch still lingered in the house. Her scent, her taste, photographs and memories.
It took me another fortnight to gather up the courage to ask if she'd forgive me.
I am flying, like a bird, soaring across the night sky. I am Icarus, and there is no sun to melt my wings. Everything is changing. I swoop and pirouette, my feathers catching the updrafts, I lack form and meaning. Up, up beyond the clouds, not to the sun but to the moon. I am Icarus, and there is only freedom. Up here, amongst the stars and the crows and the ravens. To freedom, to the future. Love and obsession is nothing. Everything is changing. I am Icarus with broken wings. I fly to the moon.
It's dark, still, when I land.
After gathering my luggage I take a cab through the busy streets of New York, to the hotel. The morning is tense, electric, or maybe it’s just me. Commuters are emerging, bleary-eyed, onto the streets on this warm September morning. The world is waking, just another day for them, the beginning of the rest of my life for me.
Leaving my bags with a porter, I hurry to the address where she proposed we meet. A cafe More of a diner. Joe’s Dinner, in fact. A mistake? It amused me.
As I step inside the door of the almost-empty coffee house, I see her sitting at a table, a booth near the window. Outside the sun shines upon her pale face and she looks like she’s on fire. I think back to Crete, to visions, and to the sun.
She looks up immediately, and smiles, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth in the way I love so much.
"Edward," she says, standing up.
"Katie."
We embrace.
"I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry."
I have to fight to keep the tears from falling.
"It’s okay. It’s really okay," she tells me and we sit down.
The waitress comes over. Her name tag reads Barbie and I smile. She smiles back. Katie and I both order black coffee, which is brought over just as a ray of sunshine falls on Katie's face.
"Can you ever love me again?" I ask her.
"I already do," she says and smiles and I smile too and know she means it. We are lost in each others’ eyes. Our hands join over the table. It's like nothing changed, ever.
'Everything has changed,' the voice whispers. I smile.
"Can we try again?"
"We already are."
I ask about her job, about her apartment. I realize I don't know where she lives; if she lives alone, or with a flatmate. She lives alone. The job's going well. She's told me these things on the phone, she says. She's not angry, though. She called to me, and I came to her. There is no anger, only love. It's perfect. It's what it always should have been. It's what it used to be. We are meant for each other. She is my world and always has been.
We kiss, plan, go outside. Katie has to go back to work, but only for a little while. She tells me her address, tells me to meet her there. Gives me a key.
"I had one cut for you," she says. "Don't lose it."
I don't want to let her go. Everything has changed. This is it, now.
"I'll see you soon, then."
"I look forward to it."
"Don't change your mind, Eddie. Please." She's only half joking. I promise that I won't. We hold hands as we separate, our fingers lingering together before we let go. She turns. I stare after her. She walks. I glance at my watch to check the time. Quarter to nine. Plenty of time to do a few things. I look at Katie again. She's at the street corner now. The lights turn red, and despite the crowded streets, she is the only one to cross the road. She’s half way across and she freezes. Just freezes. She turns to me. I raise my eyebrows at her.
"Everything has changed," I call out. She's too far away. She won't hear me.
A hot, burning wind blows in, teasing my exposed flesh. I shiver, even though it's not cold.
Katie is looking at me. She's not moving. I feel a sensation like a punch to the back of my head, and suddenly ideas begin to flow. Novels, scripts, dialogue, words pounding my mind with perfect clarity. I close my eyes. Characters chatter, scenes play out. I have it all. I am inspired. Everything has changed.
Katie still hasn't moved. She stares, and a smile creeps across her face. A manic, predatory smile. No tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth. Just anger and temptation and a familiar expression that I haven't seen in years.
In my mind, chapters form and sentences ooze into life, boring through my brain like insidious worms.
I hear the sound of tires squealing. Everything happens in slow motion and as it does, rich white text forms across the world, narrative becomes reality.
As the car hits her, Katie’s body is thrown to the side, like a beautiful porcelain doll, white and crimson on the stark road surface. Someone screams and I try to push forward, fighting against the crowd, the words, as they begin to circle around the prone form of my love. In a gap in the sea of faceless commuters I see the driver who ran the red light climbing out of his car, trembling and shaking his head, mouthing silently. I know what he's saying. I know what I'll write down later.
Someone shouts for the paramedics and the tears are already pouring down my face as I fight, breaking through the crowd.
I stare down at her. Neck at an improbable angle, smile on her lips. But it's not her, not any more. I see that face and I stare into those eyes and suddenly she's my soulmate again and time speeds up.
Seconds tick, 8:46 and 27, 28, 29.
Tick.
And eyes are no longer on Katie, bleeding her life away on the cold, hard ground. The maddening crowd freezes like a Polaroid There is a hideous noise, an echo of the beast just born. A deafening cry formed by metal on stone, a fanfare f
or the end of days.
As one, we turn and look, love and life and memories forgotten in that terrible, fateful instance. Our gaze shifts, we stare not to the earth but the heavens, as nearby the sky falls, and the world changes forever.
III - Over Easy