Pining & Loving

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  How does she do that?

  Aya walked back in with those proud strides that belied her short stature. In her hand was a cardboard box of tea.

  Gwen accepted it and read the contents out loud. “Stoke-on-Trent blend: A fragrant tea with local flavours.” She looked up at Aya who stood over her. “Local flavours? What, like oatcakes?”

  “Oi! We have other flavours than oatcakes around here. We’re a very tasty city!”

  “Fine, fine! I wasn’t putting Stoke-on-Trent down, just asking. What does it actually taste of then?”

  Aya shrugged. “Put kettle on, duck, and we’ll find out together,” she said in an even broader Stokie accent than normal.

  Gwen went to get up, but Aya put a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. “No wait! You were dizzy. Stay there. I’ll make us tea and find those chocolate digestives.”

  “Okay. Thank you. They’re in the cabinet over the microwave, I think.”

  She watched Aya fill the kettle. Her movements were so efficient, not an ounce of energy wasted. The muscles in her arm and shoulder jostled as she lifted the full kettle and put it into place.

  Gwen leaned her head in her hands and regarded her guest, realising she could watch Aya for hours. She only wished she could draw again. If she could, she knew exactly who all her drawings would be of.

  * * *

  The next morning was a Saturday. Gwen knew this the second she woke because it was late enough to be light out and Charlotte was still home, making breakfast and talking to Meatloaf in the kitchen. The scent of toast, butter, and that fragrant tea Aya had bought wafted into Gwen’s bedroom. It made her nauseous.

  She groaned at herself. If she felt better, she’d get up and greet Charlotte, take over the breakfast duties, and play caterer to her hard-working best friend. She’d apologise for Charlotte being forced to do all the cleaning and cooking and make silly jokes that she knew Charlotte liked.

  If she felt better, she could be a better friend to Aya, thank her for everything she’d done and find ways to return the favour.

  If she were better, she could work. She could draw. She could maintain her appearance. She could have fun. She could be of some goddamn use to the world and herself.

  The self-loathing made her more nauseous than the food smells had.

  Her eyes snapped open. The self-loathing. She felt it more strongly than she had in a long time. She’d thought she was on her way down to that deepest level of her depression ocean – the cold, nothingness. Now, while this wasn’t a good feeling, she was feeling something.

  She forced herself to push the covers off. Then to sit up. Was she improving? She tried to check and found only painful thoughts and that tiredness leeching deep into her bones. No. Not improving. It was never that fast or easy to improve. But she had truly felt something, without the dampening filter depression could cover emotions in. More importantly, she had a quiet thrumming in her veins saying that something had to change. Was there a thin thread of ability to fight running through her now?

  Gwen blinked. She had no idea how, but something had to give. Upping the medication or whatever it took, she wanted to protect that weak thread of wanting to fight. She needed to be better, before everything that she was sunk to the bottom of that ocean for good. Not just for Charlotte or Aya, but for herself, she could cling to that frail thread. But how?

  Wait. You pay someone to figure that out.

  “Charlotte! Could you come in here?”

  Charlotte came rushing in with a piece of half-eaten toast in one hand. “What’s wrong, duck?”

  “Nothing. I just think I need to see Edward right away. Could you please drive me? I don’t think I have the energy to walk.”

  Charlotte’s posture slumped. “Oh, love, you know I normally would, but I’m incredibly hungover. I don’t think I can drive.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll just call an Uber or a taxi.”

  “I’ll do that. You just take your medication and get dressed. Then you—” She stopped. “No, wait, why don’t we call Aya? She’s been dying to help you in some way. She’d love to take you.”

  “I’ve already bothered her enough,” Gwen mumbled.

  Charlotte took a quick bite of toast. “Nonsense. Call her or I will.”

  Gwen found herself coming back from disassociating. How long had she been staring into space, disconnected from the situation and her own body and mind?

  The answer was long enough for her friend to sit down by her side with a worried expression. The toast was gone, too. It must’ve been long enough for Charlotte to eat it. Disassociating was a bad symptom; it belonged at the bottom level of the ocean.

  “I’m calling Aya, and then you’re going to see Edward,” Charlotte stated. “Something’s shifting, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you getting better or worse?”

  “I don’t know. And that scares me.”

  Charlotte combed her fingers through her unwashed hair. She must be really hungover to not have her beloved chestnut tresses cleaned and styled. “Are you feeling something?”

  “Yes,” Gwen croaked.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “I think so.”

  Charlotte gave her a quick hug. “That’s a start. Try to get up and have your medicine and something to eat. Or at least the tea I started making for you. I’ll call Aya.”

  She left, presumably to get her phone, and Gwen watched her leave with the knowledge that she didn’t deserve such incredible friends.

  * * *

  About thirty minutes later, Gwen sat next to Aya in Janet the Jeep. She’d drunk two cups of tea, brimming with honey, in addition to a full glass of coconut milk with her antidepressants. That, and the miracle of wash cloths and dry shampoo, made her look and feel almost human again.

  “Thanks for the lift,” she said, shame roiling in her sloshing stomach.

  Aya didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Please don’t thank me, shug. You know I want to help you.”

  “I should thank you, you’ve been amazing. You’ve spoiled me with attention, support, and those lovely presents.”

  “Ah! That reminds me, I brought your next boost. It’s in the glove compartment.”

  “Aya. You didn’t—”

  “Stop telling me I don’t have to do that. Just accept the gift and make me happy.”

  Gwen hesitated. “All right. Thank you. Again.” She opened the glove compartment. “Is that another book?”

  “Yep. Not on boxing, though.”

  Gwen took out the dog-eared, worn book and read the cover. “Welsh for Beginners?”

  Aya nodded, gaze still on the road. “The second-hand bookshop didn’t have a ‘Welsh for those who learned some as kids but can’t remember all of it,’ so I thought you could use this one. Also, since I bought it in a charity shop, we’re both doing a good deed.”

  Gwen skimmed through the book, trying to focus on the words even though her mind was in flux. “It’s perfect. Wow. I didn’t even know Stoke-on-Trent had a charity bookshop.”

  “Our city has a lot of great things,” Aya said as she stopped to let an old man cross the road. “You shouldn’t write Stoke off just because it’s had a tough time.”

  Gwen watched Aya’s focused face as she checked that the man had crossed safely and then carefully drove past him.

  “Yes. Best of all is its people,” Gwen said, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen onto Aya’s slim nose.

  Aya threw her a quick glance, an amused but maybe a little embarrassed expression lighting up her graceful features. “Don’t get all soppy on me. Now, is your therapist on this road up ahead? To the left?”

  “Yes. That’s his office on the second floor of that grey building.”

  “Great. I’ll wait in the car while you’re in there.”

  “No, Aya. I can’t ask you to do that. You’ll get bored!”

  “I won’t. I have snacks and a game on my phone to play. Not to mention your Welsh book.
I should pick up some phrases for our future trip.”

  “Our future trip?”

  “Sure, if flying to Japan is on our list of boost things to do when you feel better, obviously going to Wales should be, too. We’ll tour the cosy villages you have family in so you can chat to all your cousins about singing, mining, and Tom Jones.”

  Gwen cocked her head with incredulity. “Wow. That was a lot of kindness muddled with a lot of annoying stereotypes!”

  “I give and I take. Now, go see your therapist.” Aya grabbed the book. “I need to look up what ‘can I have three beers and a packet of crisps’ is in Welsh.”

  Gwen got out of the car. “You know, you really are the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Shh. I’m a tough boxer from Stoke. I can’t have you ruining my rep like that.”

  Gwen stared right into those compassionate, dark eyes. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Aya was still for a moment before quietly saying, “And you’re safe with me, Gwen. You’ve shown me what true courage is by fighting this shitty illness you’ve got.” She looked at her hands, which fidgeted on the wheel. “You’ve also showed me the truth about myself. And about Susannah, too. For that… I guess I really want to help you and keep you safe and happy.”

  “Likewise. You’ve got a friend for life, tough boxer. You’re not getting rid of me now.”

  “Well, I will for a while because I’ll be damned if I let you miss your appointment. Hurry on up to your head shrinker!”

  Gwen almost laughed. It was there, bubbling up in her brain. Before it could reach her lips, though, it was dragged down into that unfathomable ocean in her mind. Instead, she blew Aya a kiss and closed the car door.

  She headed up to Edward’s office, her steps a little lighter.

  Chapter Thirty

  Getting Back Up Again

  Aya did one last bicep curl before putting the barbell down on the gym’s scuffed floor. She should’ve done a few more reps, but she was too excited. It was only ten minutes since she’d got a call from her possible future boss.

  The managing director of Explore was back from his holiday and wanted to interview her and the other two candidates for the job. The way the conversation had gone, she thought he was leaning towards hiring her. That was not just her ‘glass half full’ mentality having returned; she was pretty convinced that he wanted her for the job.

  I can’t wait to tell Gwen.

  Aya gulped down a protein shake and headed for the showers. She quickly washed off, got dressed, and put her wet hair up in a ponytail, not wasting time drying it. She almost forgot her deodorant in her rush. She had to tell Gwen her good news.

  On the way out, she gave Bill a resounding clap on the back and said, “I’m off. Take care, you old sod!”

  “You’re in a good mood, kid.” He guffawed. “That girl of yours getting some more flowers?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed along and left. Only when she started the jeep and drove off did she realise that he’d called Gwen “her girl.” She sniggered. She’d have to explain to Bill that they were just friends.

  To be fair, she had bought something for Gwen. Not flowers, but a package of light blue hair dye. She’d given this particular gift a lot of thought. Some of her presents had been nice but, in hindsight, not great as boosts. However, she knew that Gwen got a boost from the blue streaks in her hair. Now that her hair was all faded, even the blue seemed less vibrant. This gift would fix that.

  She parked Janet the Jeep and hurried up to Gwen’s flat, taking the stairs two steps at a time.

  When she got there, she stopped dead. The front door was ajar. Why the hell would that be open? She couldn’t think of any natural, safe reason. Especially not in a big, overcrowded apartment building in quite a rough part of Stoke. She scanned the surroundings but there was no one around.

  Not on this side of the door, at least.

  Fear tingling her skin and making the little hairs on her arms rise, she pushed it all the way open. Gwen was sitting in the hallway, unscathed.

  Aya’s relief made her weak in the knees. Her mind had painted pictures of burglaries, abductions, self-harm. She took a closer look. Gwen was safe and intact, but was she okay?

  Aya crouched down next to her. “Shug, orate?” When Gwen didn’t answer, she made her question less Stokie so Gwen would understand. “Are you all right, shug? What’s happened? Why is the door open?”

  Gwen sat curled in on herself, arms around her knees. She wasn’t rocking back and forth, but she looked like she might at any moment. Dark rings were under her wide eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she wasn’t sobbing or making any noise. It was almost creepy, but Aya pulled herself together and repeated her questions.

  “Breakdown,” Gwen slurred, as if in a trance. “I knew you were coming, so I opened the door in case I couldn’t do it later, and then everything just fell apart.”

  “Fell apart?” Aya croaked.

  “I had a panic attack, convinced my heart was giving out and that I’d die, and then everything… drained away. I think I dissociated. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here. I don’t know how I’m meant to get up. I don’t know anything anymore,” Gwen said in that dead voice, staring into space.

  Aya was lost for words and actions. She tried to tug her hair, but it was slicked down in that wet ponytail. She couldn’t even do that. Panic rose in her. Part of her wanted to shake Gwen, to make her less weird and vacant; another part wanted to hold her close until everything was okay again.

  Aya wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “Okay. Um. I’m just going to close the door. U-unless you want me to drive you to the hospital? Or to your therapist?” She brushed tears away from Gwen’s cheeks. Her face was cold to the touch; only the tears felt hot.

  “No.” Gwen looked at her as if she’d just realised Aya was there. “No, there’s no need. I know this must look bad, I suppose it is, but it’s not dangerous.”

  “Are you sure?” Aya said with a shaky voice, closing the door. “It looks bloody dangerous! I’m worried.”

  “Don’t be, I’ve gone through this plenty of times. I’m sorry for scaring you and for looking this terrible.”

  “You could never look terrible.” Aya realised that she meant it. Gwen was both scary and paler than death, but she was still beautiful to her. Despite, or maybe because of, how her eyes looked now. Gwen’s eyes were pretty and normal when they met; during the depressive phase they’d been dull and listless; now they shone with a supernatural intensity, like they were lit from within. Her skin, while still pale, was less matte and had a slight blossom of rosiness at the cheekbones.

  “I can’t tell for certain if I’m worsening or improving,” Gwen slowly said. “Yesterday, when I talked to Edward, he said these phases often get worse before they get better.”

  “So, this is things being worse? Or improving?” Aya whined in bewilderment. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” She sank to the floor with a thud. “Gwen, you’re crying soundlessly and helplessly on the floor in the hallway with the bloody front door open, and you might’ve done that for hours as far as we know.” For some reason, she paused to tap her fitness watch, as if seeing what time it was would answer how long Gwen had sat there. “Shit. I don’t even know what this dissociating is, but it doesn’t sound bloody good, shug! How can any of that be a sign of that you’re improving?”

  Gwen puffed out a shallow breath. When had she last taken a deep breath? “I know this is hard to understand, but I can promise you that I’ve been through worse. I’ve spent days on the floor, or in my bed, just staring into nothing. No tears coming, no forethought to open the door so that someone could check up on me. I know this sounds crazy, but this could be a step forward.”

  “Okay, I trust you and you know best, but... I’m so sorry, I just don’t get it.”

  They locked eyes for a while before Gwen reached up to cup her cheek and rub a thumb along it. “Aya, it’s never go
ing to make sense. My useless brain is just completely, bloody broken,” she said with a hollow laugh.

  Something in Aya tore open at the dejection in Gwen’s face and voice. She put her hand over Gwen’s on her cheek. “It’s not broken, duck. It’s different and has to work harder. Sometimes that means it gets knocked down. It always gets back up again, though, right?”

  Gwen watched her for a moment. Then she sniffed and in a quiet, small voice said, “Like a boxer?”

  Aya’s heart thumped with affection. “Yeah, shug. Just like a boxer.”

  “Then I should get up,” Gwen said, her voice still small but now with more life in it. “Only, I’m ashamed to say it, but I don’t know if I can. Aya… can you help me off the floor?”

  “Of course.”

  She knew Gwen was probably thinking that she’d give her a hand up, but that wasn’t enough in Aya’s opinion. Gwen had fought enough today without having to fight to stand, too.

  Aya planted her feet. “Shug, I’m going to lift you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. But make sure to let me know if you want me to stop, okay?”

  Gwen’s eye went wide. “What? Lift me? Aren’t I too heavy? I’m taller than you?”

  “Yeah, but you weigh about as much as a cup of coffee,” Aya said while crouching to put one arm under Gwen’s knees and the other around her back.

  She lifted her in a bridal pose. Gwen didn’t ask her to stop or second-guess the action. Instead she leaned into Aya’s embrace, wrapping her arms around her neck and lying there in surprising serenity.

  “I’ll carry you to the sofa.”

  “Thank you,” Gwen murmured, her breath tickling Aya’s neck. “Then let me sleep.”

  “Are you sure? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Sure, if you have a concussion. Not if you have depression.”

  “Oh, right.” Aya cringed. “So, sleeping is a good idea?”

  “Yes, I’ll sleep and maybe I can eat or drink something and see how I feel.”