Work in Progress - Part 2

Rummaging around in her bag, she caught hold of her sunglasses and put them on, taking care to avoid pressure on the right side of her face that was now beginning to give her a headache, then headed out towards 'her' car. The thought struck her that there wasn't one thing that she owned that was truly hers. The car she was walking towards was a gift, she didn't even get to choose the monstrosity of a vehicle, too big and over powerful for what she needed and absolutely not what she would have chosen for herself, but it was very generous of him and she didn't want to seem ungrateful. The clothes she was wearing were bought by him, although able to choose them for herself ultimately, there had been a series of of negative comments and disapproval concerning the previous options that steered her in their direction. Even her hair, the colour and style were all set to his approval, the one time she had made the mistake of taking him at his word and doing 'whatever she wanted' with it ended with her feeling worthless and unattractive, proving that she really did need help with these things. Yes, he really did look after her very well. 

The journey home was filled with anxiety, the more stop-starting she encountered, whether it be traffic lights roundabouts or just sheer volume of traffic, only increased the feeling. Not wanting to get there but also get there in quickest time possible and get the reunion out of the way and the sermon over with, all the while trying not to start the fight all over again. Negotiating the narrow suburban streets close to home, her heart was somewhere near her throat, her chest felt tight and her breathing irregular. 

Being extremely careful to manoeuvre the tank-like car onto the driveway according to explicit instructions, she finally parked, gathered her belongings and made her way to the house. On inserting her front door key into the lock, it didn't move, he had deadlocked it so she had to ring the door bell. After ringing for third time, she was now in a twisted mess of nerves and frustration worried about which face would greet her and growing angry at having to be permitted entrance to her home like some teenager trying to get into the VIP area of club. 

She heard his footsteps on the other side of the door, his voice calling, asking who was there. Surely he knew it was her, he heard the car at least? He called again and this time she replied. A series of clunks and clicks indicated he was opening the door. The ruffled appearance made it seem like he had just got out of bed. Without a hello or greeting of any kind, he asked why she hadn't used her key. In a measured, emotionless tone she stated that the door had been deadlocked and added 'somehow' to ensure it didn't sound like an accusation. 

She followed his broad back down the hall towards the spacious kitchen in silence, waiting for some indication of his mood, what she saw on the kitchen table made her fractionally relax. The large, ugly, crystal vase his mother had given them as a gift for their anniversary was filled with beautiful flowers, venturing further, she could smell baking bread and fresh coffee. Momentary reprieve, but knowing the tide could turn at any moment, she still had to be very careful how she responded, whatever happened next was akin to stepping through a mine field. Testing the water she commented on the flowers first, nothing over the top, just how beautiful they were and how he needn't have gone to the trouble just for her and made sure she said thank you, he hated it when people were ungrateful. 

He stood behind her and instinctively she froze, if he felt her flinch, it was all over. He slid his arms around her waist and snuggled his head into her neck his chin resting on her shoulder. Softly he said that he hated it when they argue. He turned her around to face him, took off her sunglasses and she naturally dropped her head a little avoiding his gaze. He gently tilted her head back up with a soft caress of her chin and looked into her eyes. His eyes strayed to the right side of her face and he looked sad, saying it was a shame she had hurt her pretty face and she really should be more careful, to take better care of herself, that this was why she needed him. She smiled for him and muttered something about knowing how clumsy she can be.

They enjoyed a leisurely lunch where he talked nothing about what had happened that morning, it was general chit chat and what they might do with the rest of the day. She wanted nothing more than to go to their room alone and hibernate for the foreseeable future, but she knew that wasn't possible. She had to play along and forget all about it. He asked if she had enjoyed her morning out, where did she go, if she had chatted with anyone or just had a quiet coffee. She was careful to answer casually, saying she just wanted to relax and have a bit of alone time, having a chat with anyone was the last thing she had wanted, which was completely true. He seemed satisfied with her responses and they continued their lunch and pleasant conversation. 

Once they had cleared up and the dishes were done, with everything put back in its place, she said she wished to have a shower and freshen up as her face was aching and that might help. Once in the bathroom she was able to shed the facade and she crumpled to the floor silently sobbing. She found herself on her knees in front of the toilet. She felt the overwhelming urge to purge her body of the revulsion she had for herself. She stuck her fingers down her throat and out it came, all of the anxiety, fear, pain and frustration. The relief was immeasurable, she sat back on her heels, arching her back to allow her breathing to settle and letting the momentary heat flash to subside. Gathering herself, she got to her feet and went on with her shower, washing away what remained of the 'episode'. 

Work in progress

 She sat at the table with her head angled slightly to one side and down enabling her dark hair to fall over the right side of her pale face. Normally she would stay indoors for a few days after one of their 'episodes' but this time he didn't leave and she couldn't bear to be near him right now. This was exactly the type of place he hated her going to, all of the people she could possibly talk to that might 'put silly ideas into her head' as he was fond of saying, in regard to conversations she might have with other people. 

The pretty, blond and annoyingly chirpy, waitress arrived with her coffee, hovering beside her for a moment, awaiting acknowledgement. Instinctively she looked up with a smile of thanks and immediately wished she hadn't. Pretty blond waitress's face fell, albeit fleetingly, when she took in the countenance smiling back at her. With a muttered thank you, she dropped her head enough to  allow her hair to swing down protectively over the offending aspect of her features.

Taking a quick glance around her at the other tables, she reached down into her bag, that she had stowed by her feet and grabbed her phone from the side pocket. It vibrated silently in her hand. She had been away from the house for little under 30 minutes. Looking at the screen she could see the text messages and missed call notifications had already mounted up, even on a 'good' day this was not unusual, but today the amount appeared to have multiplied by a factor of ten. The phone in her hand, she sat watching the steam dancing in ribbons above the hot coffee and allowed herself to feel the throb in her right temple. Her hand buzzed and it prompted her to look at the flat screen once again. She should just switch it off and get herself together, she knew that, but as always she then worried that he may do something stupid if she didn't respond. 

Although it was possible, it was still doubtful that anyone else but him would be trying to contact her since most of her friends had given up maintaining a relationship with someone that constantly cancelled on the last minute and failed to turn up. There were no colleagues that might need to speak to her because he had convinced her long ago that she didn't need to work, he wanted to look after her and he could make sure she had whatever she needed, all she had to do was ask. Another buzz from the phone and she finally unlocked it and took in the stream of notifications awaiting her attention. All 35 were from him. The first 4 or 5 were voice messages, the usual angry rant about how she tortures him and pushes him too far, how she manipulates him into behaving badly because she likes to play sick games with his head and watch him come undone. Then, he had switched to text, which meant that he was calming somewhat, but that he was sitting brooding and then sending her a running commentary which was still angry and nasty but becoming more measured with each instalment. 

Due to the lack of response he was now becoming calmer and obviously desperate because he had moved on to saying how she knows how he can be, it was just a silly row and she should come home and they could forget all about it. To come home, have a nice dinner and snuggle down for the night, she could even watch whatever silly movie she liked. In the final few messages he had switched back to phone calls. These were the usual pleading, he needed her, he wouldn't know what to do without her, he couldn't cope and lastly, her personal favourite, he would rather die than be without her. Quite often at this stage he would go into detail about what he had available around him to do the deed, sometimes he would say he had the bread knife in his hand and was prepared to cut his wrists, other times it would be the pills from the bathroom cabinet and a bottle of booze, but today it seemed he hadn't reached that stage just yet but if she remained silent she was pretty sure it would come. 

Hitting the reply button, she quickly dashed off a response saying she was taking some time out, wouldn't be long and not to worry. It wouldn't completely placate him, but it should be enough that he was calm when she did go home, so long as she didn't delay too much. She just really needed to get herself together, put her face straight and let the crying subside. It wouldn't be helpful if she looked like she had been crying when she got back, then she would be emotionally blackmailing him, trying to get sympathy and all the other things women used crying for. 

After draining her coffee cup, she took a trip to the bathroom at the back of the cafe. Going directly into a cubicle she put the lid down and sat for a short time preparing to go out and survey the damage. After a deep encouraging breath she went out and washed her hands, delaying looking up for as long as she could, then finally she saw herself. Her right eye was just beginning to puff up, red but no real bruising yet, her right temple was tender to her touch. All in all she felt like she'd had worse and even though the swelling was obvious, she might even get away with minimal bruising that could be easily covered this time. 

With her hair carefully arranged around her face, she strode out of the small bathroom and wove her way through the cafe to the exit

Darkness

She turned in alarm, the sound of glass breaking in the quiet house caused a vein of fear to run through her. Although it was dark, she instinctively looked searchingly in the direction the sound had originated. She felt along the wall for the light switch and found the edge with her fingertips. As she clicked it into the on position, nothing happened. She could hear movement in the neighbouring room and she felt a sudden chill, her heart began to pound in her chest crushing her lungs, making her breaths shallow and painful. She attempted to cross the kitchen unsure if she wanted to run and hide or go toward the activity next door. Suddenly something hit her hard in her side and knocked, what little wind she had left, out of her.

It was the breakfast bar in the centre of the kitchen, the counter top had jabbed into her side and the weight of her bumping into it had rattled the pans and utensils stored there. She silently hushed the noise away hoping it wasn't as loud as it seemed, afraid she had alerted whoever or whatever lurked next door. She felt around the counter top to find her way around the wounding obstacle and made her way to the doorway of the kitchen. She rested against the door frame, tried to get her breath back and work out how badly hurt she was. Breathing was painful but she decided that although her side hurt like hell, there were no broken bones, at worst she would be black and blue in the morning. She heard more sounds of movement from the next room.

She peered round the door frame and  felt safe to creep into the hall and toward the doorway of the next room, remembering to avoid the small table against the wall. She stepped over the threshold and heard movement in the far corner by the window. Again her heart was beating furiously in her chest, she felt the pain in her side as she struggled for even breaths. In the dim light from the window, she could see one of the panes of glass had been shattered. A small dark shadow was moving in her direction and when it was just a few yards in front of her it launched itself at her almost knocking her over. She caught it in her arms and felt the stinging pain of small knives cutting into the skin.

The cat hissed in her face and leaped from her arms into the darkness of the hallway. As the relief drained the tension from her body, her breathing deepened and slowed ...it was just the cat, it was OK... and she began to relax. Cursing the cat, she turned to follow it from the room and as she did so, something heavy and solid slammed into the back of her head and the world slipped slowly away.

Open Your Eyes

'All this feels strange and untrue, and I won't waste a minute without you. My bones ache and my skin feels cold and I'm getting so tired and so old. The anger swells in my guts and I won't feel these slices and cuts. I want so much to open your eyes 'cause I need you to look into mine'

'Get up, get out, get away from these liars 'cause they don't get your soul or fire. Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine and we'll walk from this dark room for the last time. Every moment from this minute now, we can do what we like anywhere. I want so much to open your eyes 'cause I need you to look into mine'  (Snow Patrol)

Although the room was warm and well heated, it felt cold. It always did to me. Everything around her was white and starched and sanitised. The big bed with levers and buttons and such a prominent metal frame, was more of a machine than a place to rest. I wondered if she was comfortable, she never slept well when she was away from her own bed. I sat there night after night, listening to her mechanical breathing and the monitors that reminded me that she was there, but not really there, not the way I remembered her.

'There is nothing more we can do, we just have to wait and hope' the doctors had said. I'd thought about those words so many times in the last two months. Such a short time for the whole world to be turned upside down. I watched her in her stillness, the dark circles below her eyes and her sunken cheeks, did she know what was happening? Was she afraid or in pain? Did she know I was there waiting for her to wake up? No, she wasn't asleep, she looked beautiful when she was sleeping, vibrant and full of life, no, she wasn't sleeping, not now.

I heard the beep, beep, beep, and opened my eyes, my head was resting on the plain white bed sheet and I realised I had fallen asleep. I felt a sudden anxiety and sat up quickly, feeling a sharp pain in my back after sleeping at such an unnatural angle. I looked toward her face and saw no change. I stood and stretched My aching back. The door opened and the pretty young nurse came in to do observations. 'How are we doing?' she asked, then 'Did you manage to get some sleep tonight?'

'Not really, an hour or so in the chair, but that feels like a mistake now' I said stretching again to relieve the pain in my back.

'You know we can bring a bed in here for you, be a bit more comfortable then' she said.

'No, its OK, but thanks' I replied.

She nodded, she understood why I didn't want a bed for myself. 

'I'll be back in a little while to freshen her up and make her more comfortable' she said.

'No', I said. 'I mean, would you mind if I did it?' I asked.

'...yeah, if you want to, as long as you call me when you want to move her...?' I nodded.

'I'll bring the things in for you, I'll not be a minute, OK?' and she left the room.

I stroked the damp cloth across her brow and round her face and then moved around her neck and shoulders. I took hold of her right hand and raised her slender arm to gently cleanse it and did the same on her left. All the time I was willing her to open her eyes and look at me the way she used to, those big, blue beautiful eyes that could see me the way nobody else could. Holding her hands, I was waiting for her to grasp hold of them and tell me that she was ready to go home. But she didn't and I was afraid that she never would.

The Long Road - A short story

She sat on the moulded plastic seat, not fully aware of what what was happening around her. She was listening for any news on her delayed flight. A group of passengers began to stir. They were gathering their bags and walking in the same direction. Their flight had been called and they were moving toward their departure gate.

She quadruple checked that her passport and boarding pass were within easy reach. Rummaging around the side pocket of the bag, she felt the familiar edge of her passport which was folded around her boarding pass. As she moved her fingers across the inside of the pocket, she felt something else. Something she had hurriedly stuffed into the bag before she left home.

The unread letter sat in her open hands, almost cradled by them, and she considered the small white envelope. As she looked the familiar handwriting, her mind drifted from the busy departure lounge, and she visited memories of her past.

She took a deep breath and looked at the white plastic stick in her hand, trying not to think about what was causing the dampness on her fingers. She saw the symbol appearing in the oblong window and felt the nervousness rise from the pit of her stomach and up into her chest which was now constricted, making it difficult to breathe. Although this was what they had both wanted for so long it still caused momentary dread. Were they really ready for this? This could change everything for them. It had been just the two of them, inseparable, for ten years, and now things would change.

She had no idea how long she had been perched on the side of the bath, but it was now digging into the top of her thigh and she needed to move, but couldn't. She heard the front door open and slam shut. Ben was home.

'Jane! Are you here?' He called.

'Up here!'

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and the closer he got to the door the more her chest compacted under the tight band of anxiety.

He pushed the door open and looked at her in concern, then he took in the test kit boxes and plastic sticks lying around her and his expression changed.

'Well, are you?'  She immediately relaxed, his tone was hopeful.

'Four tests say I am...'

He swept the testing paraphernalia out of the way and sunk to his knees in front of her. He grabbed her hands in his, looked in her eyes and he didn't need to say anything. She could see he was overjoyed. 

She sighed wistfully. Overhead, the tannoy system was declaring that Mr and Mrs James Bale were late for their flight to Chicago. She checked her watch for what felt like the thousandth time since she had sat down on the generic seating. At that moment the tinny, disembodied voice sounded again, informing her that her flight would be delayed by a further hour.

                  Her seat bumped with the vibration of the young child next to her, throwing a long limbed stuffed toy into the air and attempting to catch it with exaggerated effort reminiscent of a football goalkeeper. The letter was still in her hands and she now twirled and turned it thoughtfully between her fingers as the child bounced around next to her.

They walked silently from the hospital building. Jane felt Ben's strong hand around hers, a simple gesture, but to her it was as though he had cast a protective shield around her. She could feel the crushing pain of loss but remained stoic as they silently drove home. Just the two of them.

Jane sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, the summer sun casting  bright, multicoloured light through the windows. Ben knelt before her and took her face gently in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes.

'It’s not your fault, it’s nobody's fault, it’s awful, but it’s not your fault.'

'Then why do I feel like it is? Why do I feel so... like I did something wrong?'

He rose and sat beside her and hugged her tightly.

'You didn't, you didn't' he said quietly.

Jane could feel her heart quietly breaking.

'Yes...? Hello...?' the Barista, wearing a gold coloured name tag that read 'Laura', was trying to catch her attention.

'Oh, sorry, I was miles away there!' she flushed slightly, a little embarrassed

'What can I get you?'

'A black coffee please' and before she was asked, she added 'large'.

There wasn't much sterling left in her purse, she wouldn't need it after today, so she scrambled around collecting the last of her change and passed a handful of copper and small silver coins to Laura.

'Thank you, bye!' She called as she left to take up yet another seat in the lounge.

There was a soft 'thunk' as she placed the cardboard cup on the small table beside her seat. She sat opposite the energetic child who was now crying after throwing the toy, missing it, and getting poked in the eye. She took the letter from her jacket pocket and idly ran a finger across the first line of the address. She allowed her eyes to drift out of focus and the words began to blur and merge into a dark cloud on the white background of the envelope.

'Don't you think we need to talk, Ben?'

'What about?'

'About what is happening to us.'

'I don't know what you mean, nothing is happening, I don't know what you want me to say.'

'I want you to tell me how you feel. Are you happy with how things are? Never talking, never spending any time together any more?'

'I hadn't really thought about it.' He said, with a sigh.

He had begun to pull away from her in the last few months, he had never really been comfortable talking about his feelings but now he was just avoiding them altogether. He just seemed to be letting their relationship fall apart, as if there was nothing he could do about it. In the past they had always been able to rely on each other, but now he seemed... absent, like he just wasn't there any more. She had never felt so alone in all the time she had known him.

 

She wondered what this letter could possibly hold for her. What could it say that would be important to her now? Would reading it just open the, partly healed, wound she had been hoping to close for so long? Even if he had finally decided to open up to her and tell her how he was feeling, was it too late?

She recognised her flight number in the announcement from above and listened to the update. It was finally time to board the plane that would take her to her new life. She stood and collected her belongings, checked the side pocket of the bag again and began to walk to her departure gate. Her heart sank as she saw the child and her family heading in the same direction and she hoped they would be seated as far from each other as possible.

As she passed a litter bin, she stopped. She still had the letter in her hand. She hesitated for a split second, then dumped the letter into the bin. It was too late, there was nothing that could be said now to change anything. She had spent too much time in the past, It was time to leave the pain behind and look forwards, not back. Then she strode off toward her gate and into her future.

Refuge Part 4

She sat at her usual spot in the bookshop. Papers spread out in front of her as her unfocussed eyes stared off, not into the distance, but into her memory of the evening before. The crowded coffee shop, warm and damp with the influx of shoppers seeking refuge from the rain. The steamed windows and sounds of the spluttering coffee machine.

She thought back over the events of that unexpected meeting between them and laughed when she remembered his appearance when he arrived at the table hoping to share it with her and of his awkward attempts at making small talk. She knew she had not made it easy for him, she never made it easy for people to get to know her, but he seemed different. Like she could trust him if she let herself. She had toyed with him a while and somehow found some amusement in his discomfort. She got the impression that this was uncharted territory for him, that ordinarily he was self assured and at ease speaking with new people.

The ballpoint pen she had been twirling between her fingers slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. She woke from her daydream and bent to pick it up. As she straightened in her chair, she said to herself 'enough of that, get on with it' and she turned her attention to the papers in front of her.

'Coffee, Evie?' The voice rang out from behind the cash desk. It was Millie, the manager of the bookshop.

'Yes, please' she replied over her shoulder.

As the mug was placed to the side of her, avoiding the papers, she added 'I don't know what's wrong with me today, I just can't concentrate, but these books won't do themselves'

'Maybe it has something to do with a certain drowned rat you met yesterday...' Suggested Millie.

'Oh, don't be silly' She dismissed the comment, but knew it was true. He was on her mind and it was distracting her.

'Oh, come on Evie, tall and dark.. and hot by the sounds of it – you never notice men, you certainly never tell me about it If you do. He made an impression on you, admit it'

'OK, maybe he did' she said grudgingly. Millie knew her too well. She was one of the only people that knew her at all.

'So call him, you have his number' Millie encouraged.

'No, I don't think so, he probably forgot all about me by the time he got home'

'Well, maybe he will call you...?'

'I don't give my number out, you know that'

'Well I know you don't normally, but you were talking for ages. I can't believe you didn't give him your number!' Millie said in frustration.

'Anyway, what do you care? What's it to you if I never see him again?'

'I'm the one that's got to put up with you, aren't I'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Evie asked snappily

'It means, I have to watch you, all alone on the outskirts of everything never letting anyone get close to you'.

'I let you get close didn't I? - now I'm bloody stuck with you, like a parrot on my shoulder, ever reminding me of how alone I am!' she exclaimed, only half joking.

Out of the pocket of the coat she had hung on the back of her chair, she pulled a scrap of paper. On it was written 'Dan' and a series of numbers that made up a telephone number. She considered it for a moment and shoved it back in the pocket. She picked up her coffee, took a sip and winced, it had gone cold.

Refuge Part 3

She looked up. Something had interrupted her, she saw a man dripping from head to toe standing by the table. He asked 'Is this seat taken?' and she thought about saying no so that she could continue reading in peace, she flicked her eyes around the room and her conscience got the better of her, there was nowhere else to sit, so she motioned for him to take a seat. She prayed that he wasn't a talker, she really didn't want to have to make small talk with strangers today.

'Would you keep an eye on this for me?' He asked, pointing at his coffee cup. She nodded and smiled pleasantly. He came back five minutes later. He had obviously been to the men's room to try and dry off a little, his hair was now dry and stuck up messily and his jeans had dry patches on the thighs where he had aimed the hand dryer at them to remove some of the water.

'That's better, I guess I don't need to tell you its still raining out there!'

She smiled her response, she didn't want to be rude, but she didn't want to start a conversation either. She looked back into her book, hoping he would take the hint.

As she reached the end of her chapter, she looked up to glance around the room, her eyes came back to him. He had taken his watch off and was examining it. She attempted to carry on reading but she was distracted by him now. He tinkered with his watch, unaware of her gaze. She had not paid much attention to him till now and she took in his strong features and three day growth on his chin. His brow furrowed as he was thoughtfully puzzling over the time piece. He held it up to his ear to hear it tick and his eyes met hers

'not water proof' he said with a grimace.

'Oh, is it OK?' she said in concern. Her own response taking her by surprise. She avoided talking to strangers if she could help it, it was often safer that way.

'Still ticking' he said. Then, 'I hope it will be OK… when it dries out properly. I don't think I can say the same for this' he said, indicating his ruined pullover.

She gave a sympathetic half smile as she looked at the oversized garment, still damp and clinging to his shoulders and chest, emphasising their shape and tone. He took a drink and said 'I'm sorry, I'm disturbing you, I'll let you get back to your book'.

'No,' she said, 'its OK.'

Ordinarily she would have said the same just to be polite, but she found, this time, she actually meant it.