I gaze out of the window of the cab, watching the
city lights zip by. They blur a little in the light fall of summer rain, the
colours merging and sparkling like a giant kaleidoscope. It’s beautiful really,
not at all the dark emptiness I used to see, but more a living, breathing
organism, pulsing with life. The city is always moving at a million miles an
hour, a twisting spiral of birth and death, sadness and joy, love and
heartbreak – sort of like a roulette wheel, really, spinning continually to
decide the fate of its players. Only the prizes are so much more significant
than just money.
John reaches over to touch my
lightly on the arm, his breath hot on my cheek, the scent of his aftershave
enveloping me like a cloud.
“Are you okay?”
I turn back to him, smiling
nervously, though I don’t know what there is to be afraid of, since this is my
best friend I’m here with right now. I’ve laughed with him, cried on him,
yelled at him, even screwed him over a couple of times, and he still sticks by
me. So, what possible reason could I have to be insecure with him right now?
“I’m fine. Really.”
He pulls away, leaning back in the
seat and raising one eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh.”
“No,” I say hurriedly. “This was a
good idea – it really was. You know, going on a proper ‘date’,” I suddenly find
the urge to make air quotes with my fingers overwhelming, then drop my hands
hurriedly, ashamed of doing something so blatantly tacky. “It was really nice,”
I finish lamely.
He chuckles. “It was a disaster.”
I can’t help but grin too. “Okay,
but it was a nice disaster.”
John flashes me a sceptical look.
“My car broke down so we were late to the restaurant and they gave our table
away. Then we had to wait until gone ten o’clock for dinner, by which time we’d
eaten so many of the complimentary breadsticks that we didn’t enjoy the meal
anyway and it was too late to go on elsewhere.”
“Maybe dinner and dancing isn’t
exactly our thing, though,” I suggest pragmatically.
He screws his face up in a mock
frown. “Then what is our thing?”
I think for a few moments. “Uh…going
on pointless road trips to little towns that don’t even exist on maps? Gambling
in Las Vegas? Going to the ballgame and yelling abuse at the players?”
“Letting down the tyres of your
ex-husband’s car?” He adds, laughing.
“Bitching about Kerry Weaver behind
her back?”
“Oh my God,” he interrupts sighing
loudly. “Did you hear about her new plans to colour code the charting system?
Different pieces of paper for each person’s separate complaint.”
I try to choke back a giggle and
fail. “Somehow I think that one’s doomed to failure.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I
would have thought the six extra tonnes of paperwork it’ll create every week
will go down extremely well.”
We laugh together over the joke a
little longer then lapse into a companionable silence. This is what I wanted,
you see. I never needed fancy restaurants or flowers or mushy romantic
gestures. Just him and me being ourselves together, letting loose, having fun,
understanding one another. I’m not good about expressing my feelings, and
neither was Luka. We’d keep all of our anxieties and emotions pent up inside,
afraid to let them spill out and take over our lives. Then we’d hold one
another in the hopes that the simple touch alone would make things better. But
it didn’t, because it was an empty touch. Our bodies met but nothing further,
the comfort was cold, the metaphorical distance between us ever-present.
But with John, it’s different
somehow, in a way I could never explain even if you asked me to. He gets me.
It’s that simple. When I laugh with him, it’s real – not just a way of being
polite in the situation. When he looks into my eyes, he sees the emotions I’m
hiding behind them. And when he touches me, it’s because he knows that I need
it and why I need it. He’s in tune with the real Abby, the one I sometimes fail
to acknowledge.
That scared me for a long time. I
spent so much of my life afraid of who I was, where I came from and what I
felt. Then I met this guy who loved me for those exact things I hated about
myself. So, it was easier just to push him away, to keep up the pretence of
being the Safe-Abby, the one who guarded her heart so tightly she could never
fall in love back. But at the same time, a part of me revelled in it. I just
wanted to be loved and accepted and he did both completely, so how could I not
take solace in it?
The taxi comes to a stop outside my
apartment building – it’s the end of the line, the inevitably awkward
conclusion to the evening. I always hated this part, because I never knew what
to do or say. Mainly because I never even knew what I wanted to happen next. Do
I say a quiet goodbye then slip out of the cab up the steps to spend a night
alone? Or do I take a risk and gamble all my feelings on a chance to fall in love?
First dates are always the worst, because there’s no precedent, no history to
help guide your judgement or your heart. Ironically, despite the disaster that
was my first date with Luka, it was probably the main reason we got together in
the first place. It gave us a starting point, a common bond. We shared
something horrible that evening, when he killed that man, and the trauma was
enough to catapult us into a relationship without any need to suffer through
the difficult opening stages.
With John, though, it’s different
again. We’re different, because we already have a relationship already.
Not the one we’re trying to build here, of course, but a friendship. He’s been
in my apartment a hundred times before, so asking him up wouldn’t be that big a
deal, would it?
“Abby,” John nudges me gently.
“We’re here. Are you going to get out?”
“No,” I blurt out without thinking.
“I mean yes. I mean you should…you should come too. Upstairs for…coffee! I can
make us some coffee.”
Way to go, Abby. Very smooth.
~ ~ ~
Somehow we get to talking and
suddenly it’s four a.m., the coffee pot is empty and it’s just me and him
sitting in silence at opposite ends of the couch. This is it, the little
voice inside my head whispers. This is that make or break moment where my
entire life could change in an instant. That is if it hasn’t changed beyond
recognition already.
I’ve lost a parent and a lover all
in a short space of time, and now I have no idea where my life is supposed to
go from here. I’m still the same Abby as I’ve ever been, just with less
inclination to hide from the truth, anymore. I’m an alcoholic. I destroyed a
career, a marriage and a baby. But now I can accept those things as part of me,
mistakes I need to learn from then put behind me. Mom was a part of me too,
more than anything or anyone else I ever met and I hope she taught me things
too. Like how to feel real emotions. I think she felt them too much, that was
her only problem. Her highs were too high and her lows too low, but the
principle is still there all the same.
Feel. Love. Live. She
practically killed herself, but that’s still the message I’ll take from her.
Because when she was with me she was always so vivid, so vibrant and so alive.
Even when depression sucked every ounce of hope out of her, she still got mad.
She was still a hurricane that swept through my existence and she still fought
tooth and nail for what she wanted, even if what she wanted was the end of it
all.
And through it all I sat there with
my heart locked up inside an iron box. Whenever I had a single twinge of
feeling, I stomped on it. I crushed it before it had the chance to spiral out
of control and lead me suddenly into a world of painting on walls, or road
trips to Disneyland, or trying to gas myself in a sealed garage. Every time the
sun shined a little too brightly or the clouds looked a little too grey, I
worried. I was petrified of becoming her and in the process I became someone
even worse. Someone who didn’t care.
But I’m gradually changing. It won’t
happen overnight, but I can feel the difference creeping over me already. I
miss her. I actually miss having Mom around. I remember more of the good times
and less of the bad. I’m beginning to have more faith in myself. I haven’t told
anyone yet, but I’m seriously considering taking that next semester of med
school. I want to make more of myself than I have already, to actually earn
some of that pride Mom was brimming over with for me. And, most significantly,
I kissed John. I wanted to, so I did it. And he kissed me back – it was that
simple.
I still feel a little self-conscious
about it, like a part of me is screaming that it’s my best friend and all I’m
going to do is ruin things between us. But that part is easy enough to silence,
because the rest of me knows I did the right thing. He was going to leave, to
walk away from County and me and the spectre of us that has hovered in
the air for so long. And all at once all these feelings bubbled up inside of
me. I couldn’t let him leave. I need him. I love him.
I love him. I think that’s the first
time I’ve admitted it even to myself, because the mere thought of it terrifies
me. I’m not someone who falls in love easily. I’m not a romantic who wears her
heart on her sleeve and gushes endlessly about how wonderful her boyfriend is
and how she couldn’t possibly live without him. And I’ve never wanted to be
like that. All I ever wanted was someone I could laugh with, someone whose hand
would be there when I reach for it, someone who accepted me for who I am,
someone who didn’t need to hear the words to know how I feel.
I don’t know even now whether John
is that person or not, but I guess I want to find out. I want to take the risk
that was never there with Luka, to bet my heart on a chance I might finally
win.
But wanting and doing are two
completely different things. So, instead I just sit here, the last of my nerves
holding me back as I stare intently down at my fingernails.
“Well…” John begins with a heavy
sigh when at last it’s clear I’m not going to say anything further. “I should
probably be going, it’s getting late.”
He rises stiffly from the couch, his
manner distant and formal. My stomach begins to sink – I’m losing him again,
he’s drifting away because I’m too chicken to say anything, because this is so
important to me that every time I even think about it my heart pounds in my
chest and my throat begins to close up…
“No!” I blurt out suddenly, almost
choking on the word. “You don’t have to go yet, it’s not that late,” I add
hurriedly, desperately trying to think of some reasonable excuse for him to
stay, to return to that comfortable status quo of being friends having coffee
together, instead of two strangers awkwardly parting after a date.
“It’s four in the morning,” he
points out softly, smiling his little ironic smile that seems to communicate
his complete understanding of the situation. He’s done everything he can for
our relationship, said the right things, made the right moves, and now the
balls in my court. If I don’t act now then we won’t even be friends, he’ll
leave and we’ll just be those strangers who once came close to loving one
another.
I kissed him once before – I can do
it again. I can just lean over now and touch his arm and lose myself in his
lips, in his embrace, in the silk of his skin and the musk of his scent.
But I’m afraid to be lost…to be
out of control. So, so terribly afraid.
“Why is this so hard?” I ask with a
short, bitter laugh.
John takes a small step closer, his
eyes meeting mine. “It doesn’t have to be.”
I shake my head. “Yes, yes, it does.
Everything in my life is hard – that’s the way it is for me. Or hadn’t you
noticed?”
“No,” he exhales a long, tired
breath. “You’ve been through a lot Abby, but things are only as difficult as
you make them. It was easy enough before, wasn’t it?”
“Before when?”
“Before this, between us,” he
gestures vaguely with his hand. “When we were friends.”
“Friendship is simple – you don’t
risk anything and you don’t get hurt.” I argue back at him, emotions bubbling
up inside me. I can feel tears pricking the back of my eyes and an aching deep
in my throat that usually means I’m going to cry, and I hate it. I shouldn’t be
getting upset, not over this. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. He’s just a guy, a guy
with kind eyes and gentle understanding…and I don’t need this right now. I
don’t need him.
Oh God, yes I do.
“You’re not going to get hurt,
Abby,” he says softly, advancing ever so slightly towards me.
“You don’t know that,” I babble back
at him. “Mom never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt Luka. You
love and then you hurt – it’s a fact of life.”
“Then deal with it!” He raises his
voice in impatience. “Suck it up, feel it, learn from it. Just stop
hiding away in this fucking cocoon you’ve built around yourself. Let yourself
go for once and stop being so goddamn scared of living!”
“I am NOT scared!” I yell back at
him, screaming in the hopes that the sheer volume of my voice will cover the
lie. It doesn’t, instead I just sound irrational and crazy. Like Mom.
I sink back down on to the sofa,
holding my head in my hands. “Why are you still here?” I ask in a mumble. “Why
do you put up with all of this?”
He sits lightly down next to me.
“You know why,” he tells me quietly, and I do.
“But aren’t you afraid too?”
John reaches out and softly brushes
a strand of hair from my face, looking into my eyes. “Of course I am. Everybody
is. I worry that I won’t be able to get through another day without taking
anything, that I’ll be so busy fighting off the urge I’ll make a mistake at
work and hurt a patient, that the shadow following behind me is another man
with a knife coming to attack me. But I face those fears – I have to, otherwise
I wouldn’t have anything left to live for.”
I shake my head. “But I think I’ve
forgotten how.”
“How to live?” He questions
teasingly. “It’s easy – it just goes like this.” He leans over and kisses me
softly on the lips, causing my heart to race in my chest and sweat to break out
on my skin. But it’s not just fear, it’s exhilaration too and I find myself
wanting more.
I kiss him back, breathlessly,
clinging to him with desperate hungry fingers. My head spins and it’s like
drinking five beers all at once, like that rush of alcohol that hits your blood,
like the feeling of all uncertainty slipping away…
~ ~ ~
It’s light when I wake up, sunshine
insistently forcing its way through the gaps in the blinds. At first I expect a
hangover – not in the literal sense but more of an ‘oh-god-what-did-I-do-last-night’
attack of nausea. But none comes, no cold sweat breaking over my skin, no
throbbing ache starting in my head. No regrets.
Instead I feel peaceful, calm, like
the storm brewing inside me has suddenly blown itself out. This might be what
it’s like to be happy, but I’m not sure, it’s been too long since the last time
I was to remember.
I turn slowly over onto my slide,
snuggling deeper under the warm covers as I do so. John’s face greets me on the
pillow next to mine, the corners of his mouth turned up in a stupid grin, his
eyes dancing in amusement.
“Mornin’,” he drawls sleepily.
“Hi,” I respond shyly, memories of
last night (or rather this morning) flooding back in vivid, NC-17 detail. A
blush creeps over my cheeks and I roll back into supine position, staring up at
the ceiling.
John reaches his hand out for mine,
entwining our fingers tightly, and I let him, the momentary awkwardness already
slipping away at feel of his touch. Because it just seems so utterly right.
“Sleep well?” He murmurs into my ear
and I can’t help but laugh, closing my eyes tightly so that my entire world is
the sensation of his hand in mine and his hot breath against my cheek.
“No,” I reply in mock grumpiness.
“You kept me up. Repeatedly, if I remember correctly.”
He chuckles in return. “I’d like to
say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.”
A long pause breaks up the
conversation, during which I’m acutely aware of his body lying next to me, his
leg brushing against mine, his arm draped across my stomach. And I don’t want
him to move, not ever.
He shuffles slightly closer to me
and I revise my assessment. Maybe he can move, just a little bit.
“How are you feeling?” He asks
softly and my mind races quickly through the possibilities. How do I feel? –
safe, loved, content, like I’m falling through the air at a million miles an
hour straight into his waiting arms. But still a little afraid too, unsure of
what the future may hold and not entirely ready to let him consume my entire
life. Like an ordinary woman waking in the embrace of her extraordinary lover –
that’s how I think I feel.
“Hungry,” I settle on, trying to
lighten the mood. I’ll talk to him about my emotions soon, but for now I just
want to make the most of the moment, live a little before I have to start
analysing it all again. “Make me some breakfast.”
“What d’you want?” He crawls
automatically out of bed, then does a double-take. “I don’t believe it – you’ve
got me waiting on you hand and foot already.”
“Yup,” I reply teasingly. “That was
the plan. And coffee and toast will be fine.”
“Yes, m’lady,” he performs an
exaggerated bow then kisses me softly on the mouth, before pulling on his
boxers and heading towards the kitchen.
I smile after his retreating figure,
my lips still tingling from his kiss, my thoughts laughing at the irony.
One night and I’m already addicted.