And tonight, when I’d seen him standing outside the Brighton Centre, handsomely dressed in an open-necked white shirt, tight blue jeans and black jacket, my heart had started to triple beat. I’d admitted it then. Accepted that I had crossed the line in my head, and I was desperate enough to want to move those feelings into another realm – into reality.
He’d smiled and said hi, and I was lost. Absolutely set adrift in the space of my life. How could this ever happen? Me and Logan Carlisle? My mother would . . . I couldn’t even imagine what my mum would do. And his sister. What would she do? Think? Say?
I’d returned my hello with a swallow of my longing and stopped a bit further away than normal, out of reach. Out of reach, I might have been, but he still leant in for a kiss on the cheek and I kind of stepped even further away to stop him, stop it all, and we ended up with him awkwardly kissing the air and me kind of patting him patronisingly on the shoulder. Good start, I thought to myself.
I’d dressed up. Put on my favourite red minidress with a zip down the front that I usually wore with boots. I’d made a fresh batch of flax and marshmallow gel, and slicked my hair down. I’d applied make-up with Stormzy living it up in the background. I was going out and I was going to have fun. And then I stopped and looked at myself. My dress, my hair, my make-up, my black suede boots waiting for me in the hall. I was going out on a Saturday and I was looking ready.
Ready for what, exactly? I asked myself, sounding like my mum’s mum with her Ghanaian accent and African disdain in my head. Ready for what? What foolishness was this? Dressing up for Logan Carlisle! And what would you be doing with him? Grandma’s voice was asking: What are you going there for?
Grandma’s voice was in my head while I took off the dress and stripped myself of the lacy underwire bra and matching lace knickers I’d put on. I had absolutely worn them for me – because I wanted to feel nice, sexy, sexual, while I was with him.
When we’d had that awkward moment in the street, I was back in jeans, T-shirt, trainers and sensible, everyday underwear.
But still, I could hear his heart beating. I was craving and becoming a little intoxicated by the warmth from where we touched. I was so aware of him. Of how physically close he was to me – an orbiting body that was pulling me closer and closer to him. I was listening to what was going on in front of me, I was hearing my favourite theories about space and time and the loop that they formed around our reality, our possible realities, and I was failing to pull myself away from the event horizon: the black hole of being attracted to the man beside me.
I’d had – a few – crushes before; one or two I’d even kissed and got close to sleeping with, but none of them felt like this. None felt as— I felt my heart stop as I realised he was watching me. He was staring at me and I was staring back at him, listening to his heart beating. Wondering if he was listening to mine.
The night was black. A beautiful, comforting, enriching darkness that slipped itself around me as soon as we left the Centre and stood on the pavement outside. The sea shooshed beyond the aquamarine railings in front of us, its waves rubbing noisily over the pebbles. The stars seemed to sit low in the sky, as though they knew we’d been talking and thinking about them and they’d come closer to give us a proper look. The world was a chaos, a madness of voices and excitement and Saturday night and life and sea and night creatures and expectation.
Suddenly Logan grabbed my hand, pulled me back through the crowds pouring out of the Centre behind us and tugged me with him to where the grey-sandstone building curved towards a gap in the buildings between it and the cinema. He ignored the people tutting and cursing and sighing, he kept moving, taking me with him, until we reached his destination down the side of the Centre.
He pushed me back against the wall and then didn’t hesitate before his lips covered mine. My arms went up and wrapped themselves around his neck, his body pushed itself closer to mine, his knee slipped between my legs as his tongue moved into my mouth. I eagerly kissed him back, delighted and shocked at the same time. I’d wanted this to happen, I’d known it shouldn’t happen, but I’d craved this. I’d been desperate for this.
He pushed closer, his body wanting to extinguish any type of gap between us. I pulled him as near as possible, as desperate as he was to bring us together.
Kissing under the stars.
Embracing under the cosmos.
Where everything begins and ends, we were kissing and kissing and kissing.
The start of something perfect and complete; the end of something immaculate and whole.
Now
We become one in an instant . . . our groans swallowed by the kisses of the other . . .
June, 2019
His side of the bed was empty when I woke up.
Foolishness. I instantly heard Grandma say in my head. Grandma was so lovely. She loved her grandchildren and she took so much pride in us. So much so that sometimes I’d see Mum side-eyeing her as she brazenly took credit for our accomplishments, but she was always there for us. And sometimes, being an African grandma meant telling you in a quite unvarnished fashion how foolish you had been. I swallowed and rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling.
There was a mark on the ceiling, from what, I did not know. I suspected it was a water stain from the flat above, but it’d been there from shortly after I moved in and was shaped like a pair of hands reaching out to each other. It hadn’t changed in shape or size so I knew it wasn’t growing. How I longed to curl up in that stain right now. Hide from my foolishness.
Last night had been incredible. Unexpected and incredible. And now I was going to be cringing the whole day, wondering if I should tell Mum about Logan Carlisle before he told her. If I should confess to everything, right up to last night, and give her the chance to prepare herself for what he might do next.
Urgh. I did not relish that conversation. Even the thought gave me the heebie-jeebies.
I shuddered.
Shower.
I’ll have a shower and formulate what I’ll do, I decided.
I rolled over on my side, stared out of the window. The gardens at the back of my flat were still. Sunday mornings were always like this. Peaceful and quiet, people respecting the day of rest for many hours.
Slam! The front door went and every nerve in my body stood on end. This was it. The only thing I worried about living on my own – a serial killer breaking in and doing away with me while I was minding my own business.
And I’d left everything that could possibly be a weapon back in the main part of my flat. The bedroom, at the turn at the end of a long corridor and next to the bathroom, thankfully wasn’t the first place you’d head to, but you’d get there. And there weren’t that many places to hide here.
Footsteps and then Logan’s head popped around the door, just as I was reaching for my phone to call 999.
‘You’re awake, sleepyhead,’ he said.
‘I’m awake,’ I stated.
‘I went out for breakfast. Found a nice café not far from here. Got big breakfast sandwiches, juice and cappuccinos. I also went to the newsagents and got my usual selection of Sunday papers. I don’t know what you read so I got you a science magazine or two.’
‘I thought you’d . . . Never mind.’
‘You thought I’d ghosted you?’
I nodded.