I sit at the table and watch him make proper coffee with his gadgets. He’s finicky about it. Scientific. He uses the measuring spoon to make sure he’s scooped up just the right amount. He takes the kettle off just before it hits boil so it doesn’t burn the grains. He even squats down when he pours the water in to make sure he’s measured it right. It’s like watching an enthusiastic student in a secondary-school chemistry class, and it’s bordering on adorable. When he passes the cup of coffee over, it tastes brilliant too.
‘Thank you. Wow, you know how to make coffee.’
He pulls his chair over and uses his legs to clamp one of mine. ‘It’s both my greatest superpower and my greatest weakness,’ he says. ‘I’m such a dick about people making coffee for me. It causes me actual stress.’ He leans over and tucks my hair behind my ear again. ‘You look lovely without any make-up on,’ he comments.
I’m wearing under-eye concealer, mascara, a touch of blusher and a lip stain.
‘Thank you.’ I keep sipping my coffee and can’t bring myself to look at him. The urgent need to leave pulses through my body. And, before I can see the bottom of my mug, I’m done. I stand, using everything I have to keep smiling.
‘Hey, where you off to?’
‘I’ve got to go I’m afraid.’
The disappointment on his face is palpable. ‘What?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got this thing.’
‘A thing?’
Smile smile smile. Breeze breeze breeze. Lie lie lie.
‘Yeah, I’m working an extra shift this morning, and then I’m at a barbecue with some friends.’
‘Oh, right.’ He looks at his coffee.
I’ve never been with a man so openly needy before, and can’t figure out if it’s the Gretel effect or just Joshua. ‘I had such a great time though.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted us to spend the day together too.’ It’s so weird to be on this side of the next-day conversation. I’m usually the one assuming we’ll be spending the weekend together, turning down other plans just in case, and then acting all meek and ‘I don’t mind’ when the other person reveals they’d not considered a whole weekend together an option at all.
‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t have other things to do.’
I reach over and squeeze his hand to let him know not to worry. ‘I really did have a great time though.’
His eyes meet mine. ‘You did?’
I nod. ‘We should do it again.’
He waggles his eyebrows. ‘Now? I’m quite sure you’ve exhausted me.’
I fake a laugh. ‘Not that. Well, that. But also, you know, meeting up. Conversing. Sharing the same oxygen. We should do it again.’
‘Monday?’
Wow. Right in there, Joshua. ‘Monday works for me.’
Get my bag. Collect up my things. Resist the urge to flinch again when Joshua kisses my neck. Make dinner plans. Say thank you for such a great evening. Kiss goodbye at the door. Sigh with relief when door closes behind me. Act happily surprised when Joshua comes and stops the lift to kiss me again. Wave and keep smiling. Get outside. Wonder how I’m going to make it through a day so hot when feeling like this. Get on stuffy but mostly-empty Tube. Look down at hands. See they are shaking. Remember the white wall. Tell myself not now. Soon, but you have to get home first. Make it to Tube stop. Get off. Get through ticket barrier. Have message on phone from Joshua when I get signal. Don’t read it. Can’t. Not now. Slog through London streets, unable to cope with other humans who dare to be on the pavement with me. Steam rising from concrete. Can’t get his face out of my head. His face afterwards. Not Joshua’s face. Ryan’s. How he slept soundly and I watched him sleep and couldn’t understand how he could sleep after doing that to me. Could it have really happened if he slept that soundly afterwards? How much it hurt. Sore. Burning. He slept all night through. By morning I’d told myself I’d imagined it. But my body didn’t forget. Couldn’t. It closed up. Clamped shut. Get to the end of my road. I’m almost there. I want to peel my skin off it itches so bad. Breathing is hard. Lungs are smaller. I gasp more than I inhale. Keys won’t go into the lock. Try again. No. Please go into the lock, why is this so hard? There. There we go. Push into the flat. Empty. Mine. Alone. Finally all alone. I can let it out now. The hiccup I’ve been holding in since I heard Ryan’s voice in my head. I’m ready to cry. I lie on the sofa. I want to let it out. But now I’m here, now I can, the tears won’t come. I feel nothing. Empty. Numb. I lie on my side with my knees up. I stare at the wall. This wall is pale pink. Megan’s mum picked it. The other wall was white at the time. With embossed wallpaper.
Can’t breathe.
He’s here. It’s hurting. I don’t know how to say stop. Why is he doing this? The tears are here. Pouring. The numbness has gone but I want it back because now it hurts too much. Too many feelings. Too strong. How am I going to live my life with these feelings that won’t ever dull, no matter how much time passes?
I hate you.
I hate you.
I HATE YOU.
I FUCKING HATE YOU RYAN SO FUCKING MUCH YOU FUCKING PRICK. YOU RUINED MY FUCKING LIFE AND NOTHING BAD HAPPENED TO YOU IN RETURN. MY LIFE IS RUINED AND I WILL NEVER BE ME AGAIN AND YET YOU GET TO CARRY ON LIVING THAT FUCKING LIFE OF YOURS YOU FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING WANKING SHITTING FUCKING WANKER MADE OF SHIT I HATE YOU. GOD I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU SO MUCH IF I COULD KILL YOU I WOULD KILL YOU. I’D MAKE IT HURT SO BAD. LIKE YOU HURT ME. FUCK YOU.
FUCK
YOU
FUCK YOU
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING WITH ANY PART OF MY LIFE?
Crying so hard now. I can’t see for the tears. This anger. This anger is too much. It’s always too much. I have a scatter cushion in my hands. I’m pounding it against the sofa. I’m screaming. I’m screaming ‘I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU.’ I can’t stop screaming it. I hate you I hate you. Smash smash smash goes the pillow. Why can’t it be your face? Why can’t it be your fucking face? I don’t think I can stop. ‘I hate you I hate you I hate you. I HATE YOUUUUUU.’
Smash against the sofa. Crash. I don’t care if the neighbours hear. Nobody will do anything anyway. Nobody ever fucking does anything. Thud thud thud. I see your face thudding into the sofa. I imagine it’s concrete. Your nose breaking. Blood everywhere. Why did you do this to me? Why did you take what wasn’t yours? You were supposed to love me. I let out the largest scream of my life. It’s not even a scream, more a primal grunt of pain. My vocal chords tear in my throat at the effort of it. I don’t know how to stop making this noise. Then the cushion has exploded. Feathers are everywhere. Falling like snow. I keep hitting it until every last feather is out. Still yelling ‘I hate you’. Then there’s just an empty skin where there used to be a cushion. A bit like how I am just an empty bit of skin where I used to be a person. A person who trusted in love and didn’t think she would be one of those unlucky people whom bad things happen to and who thought the best in people and didn’t ever think love could hurt as hard as it hurts now. Irrevocable hurt.