by Kelly, A. S.
My breath catches in my chest; my heart leaps into my throat, trying to suffocate me. I think I’ve lost my eyes somewhere – or maybe I’ve just lost myself.
Insignificant? Did I really say that?
Like fuck I did.
There’s nothing insignificant about her. Not a single thing.
“Sorry, but I had plans this evening so…”
“You look stunning.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Stunning? Am I kidding?
Her outfit is screaming: please, rip this dress off me and push me up against the wall until I can’t walk anymore.
Why couldn’t she have left wearing the jeans she turned up in, with her Do I look better with no shirt? top?
Fuck, no. That would’ve made it too easy.
“Isn’t that right, Nick?” Mum asks.
“Eh?”
“Doesn’t she look amazing?”
“S-sure,” I say, trying to avoiding looking at her again, before my thoughts are broadcast to everyone; but looking at her is useless. Her image is already imprinted into my memory, along with a hundred other images of her which are surfacing only now, as if my mind has just decided to drag them all up again, playing a game of Let’s see how long it’ll take Nick to realise he’s fucked.
Her dress is green: my favourite colour. Her heels aren’t too high – she doesn’t care about how short she is. She loves being cuddled, squeezed, feeling safe at your side. Her legs are bare: she’s always had fantastic legs, even when they were littered in scrapes and bruises. Her cleavage is covered, but she is simply beautiful. It’s the kind of beauty that can knock you out with just one glance of her peaceful, sea-blue eyes, dragging you down into their stormy waters with no hope of returning to the surface.
She is stunning, just as she’s always been; even when she was wearing men’s rugby shorts and battered trainers. Even when she was coated in grass and mud, with wild, unbrushed hair. Even when she was a teenage girl playing at being a tomboy, when she didn’t have an ounce of masculinity in her. Even when I used to secretly spy on her, tormenting my heart and body. Even when I wanted her, in that way that you want things you know will hurt you, but you can’t help but desire them: like an alcoholic’s last drink. You look at it, you crave it, you sniff it: then you chuck it down, letting the liquid slip through your body, from your tongue to your throat. And while it courses through you, sending you up in flames, you know that it’s poisoning you; but you never want to give up its taste on your lips. Even though it’s slowly killing you.
Even though you know it’ll be hell.
How can nothing have changed in eight years? How can I still have the same problem in my jeans right now, just by looking at her? Just by thinking of her?
“Is your mouth open, Nick?”
I shake myself from my daze, begging my thoughts to lock themselves back up where they’ve been hidden for the past eight years.
“You like my dress, then?” she asks, fully aware of the effect it’s having on me.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” I say stupidly.
“Good evening. I’m looking for Casey?” The unmistakeable voice of a dickhead calls from the hallway.
“Who is it?” I ask, not having realised that anyone had knocked at the door, that Mum had probably gone to answer it, and that I seem to have lost control of my brain, my dignity and something a little…further south.
“My boyfriend.”
Someone has just started a fire in my stomach.
She glides past me, flicking her golden hair from her shoulders. But before she can leave the kitchen, I grab her arm, keeping her back for a few seconds. She turns to look at me, confused, but I’m incapable of saying anything, because I have no idea what I’m doing. For some inexplicable reason, I don’t want her to leave this house.
“Green’s my favourite colour.” I don’t know where this crappy line came from, but at least it made her smile.
“I know,” she says, chewing lightly on her lip before heading out into the hallway.
“Luke, this is Mr O’Connor,” I hear her say from the kitchen.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. You’ve chosen the best physio in the business.”
Listen to him.
“Are you also a…?”
“Oh no, I’m a surgeon.”
A surgeon. Holy shit.
Oh, Ryan. I get it now.
Mum starts to chat, asking blatant questions as always, so I decide to go and meet Casey’s boyfriend in person.
I can’t believe she actually used that word.
I approach the front door, ready to meet this amazing surgeon who’s taking Casey out. He’s obviously an elegant guy, wearing a blazer but no tie, with his white shirt slightly unbuttoned. He’s lean, toned and clean-shaven, with a face that says: I’m a God and you’re a piece of shit, and tonight I’m going to have what you never wanted.
Jesus, what’s going on? I feel like I’m about to throw my guts up all over the hallway.
“I’m Nick,” I say, icily.
“Luke,” he says, offering me his hand.
I take it and squeeze it, just slightly. It would only take one wrong grip for his surgeon’s hand to be ruined. But an even stronger grip, and his slimy, bastard’s hand would never be able to touch anything ever again, not even his…
“Wow,” he says, pulling his hand away and rubbing at it. “Good grip.”
I shrug, as Casey shoots me a glance.
“Thank you for everything, dear,” Mum says, taking control of the situation. “Have a good evening, both of you.”
“Oh, we will,” Casey says, before turning and stepping outside with her damn surgeon. Even my mother could’ve understood what she meant by those words.
She walks down the driveway as the surgeon slides his hand up and down her back. I start to regret not following through with my plan to break his fingers, one by one.
Knuckle by knuckle. And repeat.
My mother closes the door suddenly, making me jump.
“You’re losing time, Nick. And I don’t know how much we have left.”
“What?”
“Did you see him?” she cries, pointing to the door. “He’s a surgeon, Nick. A surgeon!”
“So?”
She scoffs and shakes her head, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my confusion, and the battle between my stomach and my heart, which are fighting their way up my throat.
“Ah, Nick,” Dad appears as if from nowhere, looking at me worriedly. “You have to make a move. Eight years are a lot to make up for, and you don’t have the best hand to play.”
Eight years. A never-ending chasm.
And Dad’s right: I have nothing to bring to the table of a game I’m not even good at. To be honest, I don’t think I have the right to even sit at the table.
* * *
When I get back to my apartment – alone, as always – I slump onto the sofa and lean my head against the backrest. I close my eyes as hundreds of images from years ago start to flood my mind. The last time I made her laugh. The last time she took the piss out of me. The last time I made her angry. The last time she smiled at me.
Her last sigh.
The first and only time I let my eyes run over her naked body.
The only kiss.
And then, the last everything: the tears that were held back, the polite smiles. The biggest lie I’ve ever told, to her and to myself. The one I’m forcing myself to say aloud.
And, once again, the image of tonight, of her: of her hair, of her hand, reaching for someone else’s.
Of the door closing. The silence. The emptiness.
All things I’m only realising now.
All things that never used to bother me.
All things I chose.
But, for the first time in my life, I’m starting to fully understand what they mean.
14
Nick
Ian answers the door to me, with a face that tells me he’s just been woken up.
I look at my watch and shrug.
Ian rolls his eyes and steps aside to let me in.
“I hope this is important, because I’d just fallen asleep, and it’s not like we get to sleep a lot in this house at the moment.”
“Jamie?”
“I don’t think she knows the difference between day and night yet.”
I sink onto their sofa as he comes back from the kitchen, a beer in hand.
“You not joining me?”
“I’m trying to convince myself you’ll be gone in five minutes.”
“You like kidding yourself, eh?”
He scoffs and slouches onto the sofa next to me. “Just speak. If I nod off, you know where the door is.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me how Dad’s appointment went today?”
“I’ve already called Mum.”
“Right.”
“Who also mentioned something along the lines of you being an arse.”
I knew it. Nothing can stay secret in our family.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“If your ‘nothing’ is the same as at least half of Ryan’s ‘nothing’…”
“I was only there to give them a hand, in case they needed it.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Ian lifts himself away from the backrest and turns towards me. “I’m going to get straight to the point, you’re going to speak without me having to gouge the words out of your mouth, and then I’m going to go back to bed.”
I nod.
“What the fuck happened with her?”
“H-her?”
“What did you think we were talking about? Unicorns and fairy dust?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I’m knackered and all those bloody kids’ songs don’t help. Let’s get back to us. We were talking about Casey.”
“I don’t think we were talking about her. We were talking about Dad.”
“Nick, please. I’m starting to get pissed off. Don’t test my patience.”
“I don’t understand what it’s got to do with her.”
“Well, let’s just say that you guys haven’t seen each other since you left for New Zealand.”
“More or less.”
“And, knowing you, you probably didn’t even send her a message in all the eight years you were gone.”
“Maybe… I can’t remember…”
“And seeing her at Mum and Dad’s made you think that karma was fucking around with you.”
“Have you spoken to Ryan about this?”
“And finding her standing in front of you brought up some old memories.”
“Now you’ve taken it too far.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“If you have to.”
“Do you ever regret anything you’ve done? Your choices, your…sacrifices?”
“We’re not going to solve this in five minutes, are we?”
“Can you just answer?”
“I’ve made some bad decisions, as you know, that almost made me lose Riley. And there are days when I want to slam my head against a wall for being such an idiot. But then I think about how all those decisions led to where I am today, to my family, my life… So I guess it means it was supposed to go like that. Maybe we just weren’t ready before. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for us.”
I consider his words for a few seconds.
“That wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”
“I don’t know what I wanted to hear. I don’t even really know why I’m here.”
“Well, it’s not dinner time, so you’re not here to be fed. So it must be something big.”
I take a few sips of my beer.
“Did seeing her take you back in time, Nick?”
I shake my head.
“Am I right in thinking she’s been the only one?”
I breathe, but it hurts.
“Do you wish you could change things?”
“I don’t regret my life, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just that, I’ve gone back to my apartment and for the first time I feel…”
“Lonely?”
“But it’s nothing to do with Casey.”
“Sure, Nick.”
“I’m serious.”
Ian stretches out on the sofa.
“But…”
“But karma’s playing around with your life.”
“Something like that.”
“Maybe you should stop looking back.”
“What do you mean?”
“You shouldn’t keep dwelling on the past, on what you did and didn’t do… Maybe you just have to keep looking forward, and try to be the person you want to be.”
I look at him, curious. “And what is it I want to be?”
Ian looks at me tiredly, with an expression that tells me he knows exactly who he wants to be. “You should be the one who knows that, Nick.”
Fucking great response. Why do I keep talking to him if the only thing he can do is state the obvious, and make me doubt myself even more?
“I’m going back to bed,” he says, getting to his feet and standing in front of me. “You can have the sofa, if you want.”
He heads upstairs to join his family. I kick off my shoes and lie down, deciding to stay here because, for some strange reason, I can’t go back to my apartment tonight. The silence that lingers in the walls could suffocate me, or force me to think about things I left behind a long time ago. Things I can’t want now. It would make no sense.
It’s been eight years, we were young: we had dreams and aspirations that came true – at least, for me. Apart from the fact that she works in the hospital, and is Dad’s new physiotherapist, I don’t know anything about her.
Oh, right. The surgeon.
Well, it makes no difference to my life. I don’t care about him, or any other guys she could go out with, or has gone out with. Or the ones she’s slept with.
I don’t care, I repeat, as I feel my stomach being slowly consumed by flames, my breathing quickening faster than I can bear.
It’s nothing to do with me, I tell myself, as I close my eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to touch her again. I let this alien tingling sensation course through my veins, spreading into places it shouldn’t; but I realise that a part of me – a part I believed I’d managed to get rid of – seems to be coming back to its rightful place.
And I’m terrified that, in the end, karma hasn’t got a fucking thing to do with it.
15
Casey
I say goodbye to Mr O’Connor after our afternoon session, and head towards my car, which is parked in their driveway. I open the driver door, chuck my bag onto the passenger seat, shove my keys into the ignition and attempt to start the engine; but instead, the car emits a worrying grumble. I try again, at least three times, but it just doesn’t want to start.
I lean my head against the steering wheel dejectedly. I know I have to get rid of my car – driving around in a car this old isn’t great – but I always try to use things right up until they’re completely broken, pretty much beyond repair. I wait a few minutes, hoping that Mr and Mrs O’Connor don’t realise that I’m still in their driveway, before trying again. But by this point, the engine seems to be flooded, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it tonight. Maybe it’s the battery. My dad warned me it would have to be replaced – especially after the last two times it left me stranded at the side of the road – but, obviously, I ignored him.
I don’t want to knock on the O’Connors’ door and disturb them again, so I scoop up my bag from the passenger seat, deciding to ring Dad to come and rescue me. As I’m digging around desperately in my bag, looking for my phone, I hear someone else park in the driveway. I lift my head and sneak a glance in the rear-view mirror at the huge four-by-four looming behind me. A pair of legs suddenly appears from the car, and starts to
close off the few metres that separate us.
Of course. It had to be him. Who else would be so self-involved as to have a car like that?
He approaches the window and I lower it. “Car trouble?”
“The engine won’t start.”
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
A laugh escapes my mouth, but he doesn’t take it well.
“Look, I’m perfectly capable of helping other people,” he says, offended.
“Calm down, Nick. You don’t have to prove anything. I was just calling someone to come and pick me up.”
He looks at me for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes, before opening the car door.
Damn it. I should’ve got those locks installed.
“Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“What? You? No way!” Okay, maybe that was a little too defensive. “I just mean you don’t have to.”
“Come on, out you get. I don’t bite.” The corners of his perfect mouth lift into a smile, and I start to think that maybe he won’t bite me. But I wouldn’t be able to help myself if he did: and I’m certain that I couldn’t stop after just one bite.
Damn it, Nick. Why do you have to be so sexy?
“So?” he presses. I brush aside my fantasy and my pride and I get out of the car, which seemed like the only place I could hide.
I close the driver door and follow him over to his car.
“You can just leave it there. No one else is coming round today. I’ll let Mum know and you can just decide what to do with it tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
He unlocks the car and climbs behind the steering wheel, as I attempt to clamber up into the passenger’s seat.
“You should get a new car, you know,” he says, nodding towards my poor lump of metal sitting in front of him. “It’s not safe to drive around in something that old.”
I glance at him. “What should I do, then? Buy myself one of these, so I can prove to everyone how rich I am? How attractive? How I can buy myself anything I want?”