I gaze distractedly out of the plane
window as we begin our ascent out of Vegas. The city gets smaller and smaller
below us, details fading gradually out of sight until it is nothing more than a
grey blob in the middle of endless desert. I tighten my grip on the armrest,
trying my best not to calculate the length of that drop, should our plane
somehow breakdown and fall out of the sky.
That’s how my life feels like at the
moment – like a crashing plane, spiralling towards earth and I’m just waiting
for the impact to come. It hasn’t yet, but it might just do soon. It’s getting
closer all the time.
The stewardess comes around offering
us drinks. I want to say yes to those little miniature bottles of spirits she has
on the bottom of her trolley. Yes, a vodka and tonic would be great right now.
Add a twist of lemon and it would just hit the spot, soothing my dry, dusty
throat. But I know John would never let me have one – if it were just up to me
then I probably would have relented a long time ago – so instead I ask for a
coffee. Strong and black with plenty of sugar, not quite the kick-start I
crave, but better than nothing.
John asks for an orange juice and I
remember that’s what he tasted off last night when he kissed me – sharp and
tangy, the sting remaining on my lips long afterwards. No matter how many times
I scrubbed my teeth last night, or gargled with minty mouthwash, I could still
taste him. And as I lay awake I could feel him too, his fingers lightly gripping
my chin, his mouth pressed against him, his hot breath on my cheek.
I tried to remember Luka’s kisses,
to recall how he touches me or the way it makes me feel inside, but I couldn’t.
And then I fell into a fitful sleep, never long enough for my dreams to me
anymore than a swirling set of images, changing with every spin of a roulette
wheel.
“What are you going to do with the
money?” I turn to ask John.
He looks puzzled for a second. “What
money?”
“Your roulette winnings – there must
have been close to twenty-thousand dollars there.”
He shrugs, looking totally
unconcerned. “You can have it if you want.”
I turn away again, offended. “I
don’t need your charity.”
He responds with his own style of
amused surprise. “It’s not charity – you were the one placing the bets, you
picked the right numbers, so you should have the winnings.”
I shake my head. “But it wasn’t my
money to start with.”
“So, you give me back my stake and
then keep the rest,” he argues. “You could use it to pay for next semester’s tuition.”
“I thought we’d been through this,”
I reply. “I’m not even sure of I’m going back to school next semester – and if
I do I can pay for it myself.”
“Then use it for something else,” he
persists. “Treat yourself – get a new car, take a vacation – you deserve it.”
“I don’t want your money,” I
tell him with sudden, biting anger. “You can’t buy me like you bought
everything else in your life, John.”
“Hey, that’s not fair – and you know
it,” he raises his voice, attracting looks from the other passengers.
I sigh loudly. “Well, life isn’t
fair – you just have to get used to it.”
“I’m sorry if my offering you that
money offended you,” he says stiffly, trying to make peace between us. “I was
just trying to do something nice.”
“Oh great, hooray for you,” I say
impatiently, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
“What’s the matter with you this
morning?” John sounds a little hurt by my hostility, but somehow I can’t find
in myself to care.
“What’s the matter with me?”
I snap back. “Perhaps it’s because my mother just died and every guy I care
about seems to think if he gives me enough money I’ll sleep with him.”
“Abby…I’m sorry…” John falters.
“Just save it,” I mutter, turning
back to look out the window. 15,000ft and falling…
“No,” he reaches over to touch my
arm then changes his mind, pulling his hand back. “I’m sorry I kissed you last
night. I was out of line.”
“You’re damn right you were,” I
reply, still keeping my back to him.
“I guess it’s just hard,” he sucks
in a deep breath. “Because…because I love you.” He laughs a little, probably
with nerves, because I for one am not finding this situation in anyway amusing.
“I know I shouldn’t and God knows, I try not to – but…” he trails off. “I’m
just making things worse, aren’t I? It’s okay, I’ll shut up now. You can forget
I ever said anything.”
I still can’t look him, stricken as
I am by his confession. His sincerity shines through his words and I cannot
help but know he is telling the truth. Nobody has ever said something like that
before – I never had a man just turn around and pronounce his love. Even when I
was married my husband only said it upon supplication. It was an automatic
response to my naïve ‘I love yous’; something he always knew he was supposed to
say, but didn’t quite understand the meaning of.
I want to twist around and kiss John
for being so sweet and humble and still caring even after all the endless shit
I have put him through, not just in these past few days. I want to see what he
tastes like now. Maybe of the coffee we drank together in the airport lounge or
those breath mints he was chewing as the plane waited on the runway. But I
won’t ever know, because I’m too afraid. It frightens me to think how deeply I
might fall for him back. If we kiss now then I don’t know what’ll happen next,
or what I’ll tell Luka or anything. I’m just too scared to follow this road.
~~~
We spend the rest of the flight in
near silence and then after arriving in Chicago the only conversation between
us is necessary and curt. John retrieves his car from the long-stay parking lot
and drives me home, stopping briefly outside my apartment building with the
engine still running.
“I’ll see you at work,” I offer
quietly as I climb out the vehicle.
“Sure,” he returns, his eyes firmly
fixed on the road ahead.
I am just about to walk away when I
suddenly stop, my feet acting almost of their own accord as all at once I know
– just know – that I can’t leave things between us like this. Maybe I am far
too messed up to ever tell him exactly what he wants to hear, but confused as
my heart is I’m sure of one thing. “I won’t forget,” I lean in through the
passenger door and tell him. “I won’t forget what you said.”
With that, I pull away, shutting the
door and shuffling several steps back onto the pavement as I watch him drive
away, his eyes haunting me in the rear-view mirror.
I trudge slowly up the steps to my
apartment, wanting nothing more than to collapse into a warm, soft bed and sink
into a deep, dreamless oblivion.
But when I walk through the door, I
am accosted immediately by Luka. A small part of me wishes I never called to
inform him of my return, but guilt soon quashes that selfish desire and I just
end up standing, lost and staring, desperately trying to think of something to
say to him.
“Did you have a nice trip?” Luka
asks eventually and between his accent and my exhaustion, I really can’t tell
whether he is being sarcastic or not.
“It wasn’t supposed to be nice,” I
reply vaguely.
“Why did you go then?” He asks
reasonably.
“To get away.”
“To get away with Carter.”
I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”
“Did you sleep with him?” Luka comes
straight out with the question in a growling, slightly hostile tone.
“No!” I protest loudly. “I did not
sleep with Carter. Neither did I intend to sleep with Carter.”
Luka fixes his gaze on me
sceptically. “Why did you go with him then? Why is it always him you turn to?”
“I don’t know…” I answer, thinking
that I actually truly don’t. “He understands…”
“And I don’t?”
“You – you’re different.”
“Different to what?” Luka looks
confused. “To Carter?”
I shake my head. “To me.”
There is another long silence during
which I feel like screaming. Why is it I have all this stuff going on inside my
head that I can never let out? There’s so much inside me to say and yet nothing
than can be said. Is this what drives people crazy – being stuck alone with
their thoughts? Is this what drove Mom crazy?
Eventually I have to speak, there’s
something I must know. “Do you love me?”
“What?” Luka seems utterly stunned,
my question coming totally out of the blue for him.
“Well, do you?” I press him harder,
not wanting to give him time to think because then he has a chance to create a
lie, to convince his heart of something he doesn’t actually feel. And I don’t
want that. From now on, I don’t want any further pretence or awkwardness. I
want everything to be clear-cut and open between us. There’s not enough left of
me for the truth to hurt, anyway.
“I – ” Luka begins then stops. “What
has that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing,” I reply simply. “I just
want to know, because you never said it. We’ve been together, what? Nine, ten
months now, and we haven’t said it yet.”
“Do you want me to say it?”
“I want you to be honest with me.”
He sighs. “Honestly…I don’t know. I
care about you very deeply. I want to love you – ”
“But you can’t,” I interrupt feeling
curiously numb inside. It doesn’t bother me anywhere near as much as it should.
Maybe because I knew – I always knew where Luka’s heart lay. He buried it in
Croatia with his dead wife and his two children, and that’s okay, because
that’s how it should be. You don’t just stop feeling a loss like that, you
don’t just forget it and move on. You don’t jump into bed with the first
American woman you meet and suddenly become happy again. He wasn’t looking for
love with me – just comfort – which was good for a while because that’s what I
wanted too. But now…now I’m not so sure.
“I’m sorry Abby,” he begins. “Maybe
with a little more time…”
I reach over and touch his hand. “I
don’t want to take her place, Luka.”
He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t
be.”
“Maybe not, but that’s what it feels
like.”
He drops his eyes to the floor,
saying nothing.
“So,” I manage a light
conversational tone. “Should I call it, or do you want to?”
Luka looks up once more, a question
in his eyes. “Call what?”
“The End – of us, I mean.”
“We pretty much made a mess of
things, huh?”
I smile slightly. “No, I don’t think
so. In fact, this is my first ever break up not comprising of shouting,
screaming and flying china. So, we’re actually doing pretty good really.”
“Ah, but we haven’t quite finished
yet – there’s still time to start smashing plates,” he carries on my joke.
I look at him, stood there with his
head bowed, his eyes old and sad and I almost change my mind. I nearly tell him
I want to try again, then take him in my arms to focus on his pain instead of
my own. But I know it will never work between us and I know this is the right
thing. “I’m sorry, Luka,” I say softly, my eyes filling with tears.
He nods. “I’m sorry too.”
We hug, holding one another for a
very long time, the aura of bittersweet sorrow in the air almost palpable. When
we finally pull apart he hooks his fingers under my chin, catching my gaze.
“You call me if you need anything,
okay?”
“I will,” I promise.
“Good,” he smiles. “Goodbye, Abby.”
“Goodbye, Luka,” I kiss him one last
time on the lips before he turns and walks out of the apartment.
Trying to ignore the oppressive
silence he leaves in his wake, I strip off my clothes, tumbling alone into bed
for that sleep I so desperately wanted, but now see no chance of ever getting.