“Okay. I’ll put you down on the sofa. After that I’ll get you some biscuits and leave them on the coffee table for when you wake up.”
“No, stay with me,” Gwen said, her voice suddenly urgent.
Aya was by the sofa now, still with her arms full of Gwen. She scanned the room for places to sit. “Um, sure. I’ll go get a chair from the kitchen.”
“No, I meant stay with me on the sofa. Your hair is wet and you smell of that pine soap from your gym, so you’ve worked out and you’re probably tired. Rest with me?”
“Okay, Sherlock Holmes,” Aya joked.
She gently laid Gwen on the sofa and tried to settle in next to her. There wasn’t much room, but her hostess budged over so they could stretch out close to each other without Aya falling off the sofa.
Gwen’s body now radiated feverish warmth. It was a striking contrast to how cold she’d been lately.
Aya propped her arm under her head as a pillow. All was silent for a moment.
“You know,” Gwen said, so quiet that Aya had to strain to hear her, “no one has ever done this.”
“Done what?”
“Not tried to fix it, like my friends tend to do. Or shied away, like my parents. No one has just… stayed with me. No one has seemed this comfortable, this… secure, despite me being like this.”
The statement, as well as Gwen’s vulnerable voice, made Aya’s heart crack into a thousand shards.
“I’m not scared. And I don’t need to cure you. I’ll stay right here with you for as long as it takes. Hell, I’ll stay until the stars go out. You just rest, shug,” Aya replied.
“Thank you. For staying.”
“Thank you for needing my company. People don’t usually need me around. I’m glad you do.”
Their bodies lay puzzle-piece tight against each other, their hips and arms pressed together and everything else brushing close. They could feel every movement and fidgeting of the other. The heat where their bodies touched was so palpable that for a moment it distracted Aya from everything else. She engaged her muscles to keep her frame from encroaching on Gwen’s space, not wanting to disturb her or distract them both by touching too much.
Aya watched the faded ceiling but was very aware of Gwen’s breaths slowing and deepening. Her own breaths were calming, too, as her worry over Gwen—and any possibly distracting touching—quieted. Her usual positivity took its place. Gwen knew her mind and body; if she said this change was improvement, it was. Aya only had to trust her and keep asking how she could help.
I can do that.
She relaxed into the sofa and against the warm woman next to her. All was quiet but for the ticking of Gwen’s wristwatch and Meatloaf snuffling about in her cage.
“Have I scared you off yet?” Gwen mumbled, half asleep.
Aya considered that for a while. “No. You’ve given me a purpose. I’m meant to be by your side. I get to have your back while you’re fighting. I like that.”
“I like it, too. I’m so glad to have someone who just rides out the storm with me.”
Something occurred to Aya. “What did you mean before, by that your friends try to fix it?”
“Most people, even Charlotte at times, get scared and want to do something to make me better again, to make me normal,” Gwen said, her voice muffled by drowsiness. “They freak out when they can’t find a solution. It’s a kind sentiment, but not what I need.”
“This was scary,” Aya admitted, “but I’m learning how to handle it.”
“Just wait until you’ve seen me have a real panic attack. Charlotte called an ambulance the first two times.”
“Then I’ll ask her what she does now instead.”
Gwen hummed her agreement.
Silence fell again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to leave?” Gwen whispered.
“Leave what? The sofa?”
Gwen shuffled a little, making their fingers brush. “No, this friendship.”
“I’m sure. It’s where I belong.”
“Where you belong?”
Aya kept watching the ceiling. It was easier to admit to things now, when they were sleepy and quiet and there only seemed to be the two of them in the whole wide world. “Yeah. This is a terrible thing to say when you are fighting for control of your life and mind, but things are falling into place for me.”
“They are?”
“Mm-hm. I know what gives me pride and confidence now, and it wasn’t what I thought it would be. I figured it was something like being a famous boxer and dating someone like Susannah. I know better now.”
Gwen shuffled about again. “Okay. What is it then?”
“I think I’m about to be employed again, and that’ll give me a sense of pride; I’m sparring with a young boxer, helping her fulfil her dreams.” She turned her head to face the sleepy blonde next to her. “And most of all, it feels like a win whenever I can help you. And whenever someone as smart, funny, kind, and good as you wants to be with me… and, I don’t know, approves of me…” Aya groaned. “Not that I just want to be with someone I can help. Or someone who approves of me.”
“I don’t approve of you. I admire you,” Gwen answered without hesitation.
“Oh, give over!”
“No, I mean it.” Those blue eyes shone with sincerity. “Your life fell apart, and you had to rebuild it. Most people would’ve rebuilt it like their old life and their old dreams. You dared to start over, to go where life led you.”
“It led me to you,” Aya said with a shrug.
“Yes, but you decided to take the steps towards me. To not run from the mess that comes with staying with me. And you decided to help that young boxer. And to get a job that wasn’t all excitement or fun. What does that make this new Aya?”
“An adult?”
Gwen stifled a yawn. “Sure, but also selfless and responsible. That’s something to admire. That’s something for you to be proud and confident over.”
“That’s what I was trying to say! I just didn’t have all your insightful words for it. How do you do that, clever clogs?”
Gwen tapped her skull. “Side effect of a broken brain.”
“Nah, I think you have a gift for understanding people and our complexities. You should use that in your art.”
“Well, I might have lots of time for that,” Gwen said, frowning. “Coffee4U can’t keep letting me take sick leave. They can’t stay this short-staffed, and they can’t afford to pay both me and someone else to take my shifts. They can’t fire me, but they could nicely ask me to leave.”
“Then do it, shug. Focus on your art full time. Sell more drawings online. Or get a job as an illustrator. You’re brilliant; we’ll see if we can’t find a way to make it work.”
Gwen yawned. “Thank you. Maybe. Let’s not talk about that now. I need sleep. Then food. After that, I can examine how my mind is doing. Thinking about what to do for a living will have to wait.”
“Of course, beautiful. Just sleep. We can solve everything else later.”
“Okay.” Gwen moved her head to rest the tip of her chin on Aya’s shoulder and then closed her eyes. Their faces were so close that Aya felt her every breath.
She watched Gwen fall asleep, worried brow smoothing and a slight smile forming on those lips that had been so tense earlier.
It was like seeing a miracle.
Chapter Thirty-One
Thoughts
That night, Gwen was on her own. After they’d woken and eaten some sandwiches, Aya had left to spar with… what was the girl’s name again, Jenny? She’d been buzzing; clearly the sparring meant a lot to Aya.
Now Gwen was alone, but not lonely. She had Meatloaf in her arms, and soon Charlotte would be home. Charlotte. Gwen would have to tell her about today’s breakdown.
She stood by the window, patting Meatloaf and looking out at the view. On one side was Stoke, and in the other direction was Hanley. She tried to figure out in what direction Muscles & Mitts lay. Where was Aya’s gym, and
where inside the building was Aya? Was she sparring in the ring? Working out in the main area? Chatting to Bill somewhere? Showering that frustratingly perfect body?
Where was Aya, the woman with the strong arms to hold you with and the sensitive heart to appreciate you with? She remembered the warmth of Aya against her on the sofa, recalled the safety and the comfort.
I owe her so much.
She wanted to help Aya. In a more direct way, not just by steering her away from Susannah and then acting as a life coach. It wasn’t only because she wanted to repay her kindness, but because Aya deserved so much more. She was capable of so much more.
Gwen’s thoughts shifted from one friend to another when she heard Charlotte come through the door.
“Ay up, duck,” Charlotte called. “I hope you can eat something tonight because I brought dinner!”
“Great.”
Charlotte stopped, put the bag of food on the floor, and squinted at her. “Hm. Your mouth says ‘great’, but your eyes say ‘disaster.’ Spill!”
So Gwen did. Every part of the story, from Edward’s words about things worsening before they got better coming true, to how everything had turned from hollowness into a cocktail of sadness, rage, panic, and grief this morning until she collapsed by the door for hours, and finally finishing with how Aya had been so sweet and napped with her on the sofa before sharing egg and cress sandwiches with her.
Charlotte picked up her bag of food and put it on the counter. “First of all, great that something’s changed. Secondly, Edward is probably right: most of your depressive phases have had a meltdown at the end. That and an eating binge, so that’s probably next.”
“I hope not,” Gwen grumbled. “It takes ages to lose all of that weight again. I think I still carry some of the last breakdown on my hips.”
“Don’t interrupt,” Charlotte said. “I was going to say, thirdly, what really caught my attention was the part about Aya.”
“Really? Not my breakdown? Not the fact that I sat semi-unconscious with an open door in a city not known to be the safest in the world?”
“That is scary, but familiar. What’s new here is the Aya factor. Interesting, isn’t it? That she’s dropping everything to nap with you and share sandwiches? Showers you with gifts and jumps at the chance to be your saviour?”
“Not my saviour, my company. What, are you implying that she has a saviour complex?”
“I don’t think her motives are that simple.”
Gwen buried her nose in Meatloaf’s hay-scented fur as she deliberated. “She said that looking after me gave her a purpose and a source of pride.”
“Aya doesn’t look after you. She looks up to you. She looks at you as if you hung the stars and probably constructed the moon while you were at it.”
Gwen lowered Meatloaf. “What are you saying?”
“Just that she clearly adores you, and at some point, you’ll have to figure out what that means.”
“Adores? Are you making this about romance?”
Charlotte took Meatloaf and kissed her little head before putting her back in her cage. “Forgive me for wanting you to be loved the way you deserve to be.”
“Oh, drop it. I’m focusing on getting better, that’s it.”
“You’re right, dropping it.” Charlotte mimicked letting something fall out of her hand. “You do seem to be getting better.”
“Mm. That’s just it… I seem to be. What if I’m not, though? Or I am, but I ruin it?”
“That’s your wonky brain chemistry talking.”
“Yeah.” Gwen sighed. “Did you say you brought food? I need all the food.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Yes. I know. Let me, please?”
Charlotte held up her hands in a defeated gesture. “Fine. It’s only random leftovers I snuck back from the pub. Chips, salad, guacamole, and a burger patty.”
Gwen quavered her lower lip and put on the biggest puppy eyes. “Can I please have all of it? And the ice cream you left in the freezer? Aya says protein will help get my strength back fast.”
“Gwen. Sweetie. There’s enough food for both of us, we’ll share. But you can obviously have my ice cream. I’m thrilled you’re eating again, duck.”
Gwen leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Me too. Let’s see if I can keep it to normal eating or if it’s time for depression binging.”
“You can’t binge until I’ve gone grocery shopping,” Charlotte said. “Unless you’re about to scoff all of Meatloaf’s cucumber?”
She gathered enough social energy for one last joke. “Hm. Maybe if I dip it in the guacamole?”
Charlotte tut-tutted and began microwaving their dinner.
Gwen set the table, trying to focus on how to get better so she could pull her weight in their little household, not daydreaming about a warm, strong body gently pressed against hers on the sofa.
* * *
Next morning the sun broke through thick clouds to peek one sunbeam at Gwen’s window, straight into her newly opened eyes. Still, she wouldn’t complain about the sunlight; its brightness would help her maintain the little energy she’d woken with. She’d use it while she had it! Charlotte had been right; she couldn’t let her wonky brain overthink and tell her that there was no point in doing anything because of the fear of ruining her progress.
She took her antidepressants and cleaned up a little in the kitchen. She knew that Charlotte wouldn’t expect, or want, her to do that, but it made her feel better.
It was when she put some clean bowls away and grabbed one for her breakfast that she spotted Aya’s boxing guide.
Perfect.
She read it during her breakfast of tea and yoghurt with dried fruit, and the digesting period that followed. Hopefully her stomach would soon remember how to handle normal-sized meals again.
Finished with breakfast, she placed the book on the coffee table and herself in the proper stance on the living room floor, hearing Aya’s guidance in her head. With one eye on the pictures in the book and the other in a mirror to check she was copying them right, she practised some punches and feints. She looked ridiculous, this pasty, awkward beanstalk in her knickers and t-shirt flailing around and playing at being a boxer. It almost made her laugh, and that was a good thing in herself. She was eager to be able to really laugh again, even if it was at her own expense.
She lasted for about an hour before all energy sapped out of her and she crawled back into bed. Still, she returned to bed with a sense of pride.
* * *
Hours later she woke to the rumble of her stomach. Her burst of energy was gone, but she still obeyed her body and dragged herself up. In the kitchen she weighed her options. Chocolate biscuits? Crisps? Jelly babies? She stopped the hand reaching for the bag of sweets. No. If she was going to improve, she’d need more nutrition for lunch. She wasn’t able to cook a whole meal, but she could fry an egg. That would be protein, right? Aya had said that might give her some strength back.
When she got the egg out, she saw the bag of spinach that Charlotte used for those disgusting smoothies she swore by. She grabbed it. She’d have an egg for Aya and some vegetables for Charlotte. She might not be ready to look after herself for her, but she could do it for them. At least a little. She’d still have that bag of sweets afterwards; she would’ve earned it.
As she whisked the egg and spinach together, she found herself thinking about Aya and wondering if she’d visit soon.
She texted her and quickly got a reply. After a few texts back and forth they’d established that Aya had her final job interview at the magazine company in an hour and that Gwen was still convinced she was going to get it. While her lunch fried, they’d discussed Gwen’s burst of energy; Aya had said how thrilled she was about that, almost as thrilled as she was about the idea of soon earning a pay cheque again. When Aya had to stop texting, Gwen wished her good luck and they said goodbye.
She dished up her lunch and ate it with her biggest mug of tea.
She kept re-reading their texts, especially the part where Aya mentioned that the job, while giving her a pay cheque, was only part-time. Aya had shown how badly being on benefits and not providing for herself sat with her personality type.
Gwen put her fork down. Perhaps this was an area where she could finally help?
She sat back and considered what extra job would make Aya feel accomplished, what would interest her. What was Aya passionate about? Boxing. That was why she kept training and why she sparred with Jenny. Shame that sparring didn’t pay.
Gwen picked up her fork again but paused with it held in the air. Something had occurred to her. However, it would all come down to what Aya’s old coach said. She had to talk to Bill.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Support and Pride
When Aya came home, she was drunk on excitement. The interview had gone so well that she’d all but been promised the job. Only the formality of the other two competitors’ interviews stood between her and a start date.
She listened to the empty house. Her parents were working as always, ignoring that they were nearing retirement age and should slow down. How many vacation days had they let go to waste throughout the years? They didn’t even like their jobs. Maybe they only worked so much because it was the one place they didn’t have to see her?
She shook the thought from her mind; Aya didn’t want to see them anyway. She wanted Gwen. She wasn’t as clear about how she wanted to celebrate as she was in who she wanted to celebrate with, but it didn’t matter. Even if she only lay on a sofa watching Gwen sleep, or drove her to therapy. Anything was exciting or interesting if Gwen was there.
She got her phone out and used her recent calls log to get Gwen’s number.
After three rings, Gwen answered. “Hey, tough boxer.”
Aya shifted her weight from foot to foot, unable to stay still. “Hey, soft barista! Guess what?”
Pining & Loving Page 17