Saudade | Loubbie

Chapter Seven

It's hard to pretend you don't love someone anymore when every single night you would spend the seconds of it, wondering if you should send your paragraph of apology or to press backspace 'til your screen says no more. It was how Debbie spent all of her nights in London. For a long time, her voice was muted and was a dimmed figure basked in a summer light. It's been three years. First year came the divorce and the other two years had been spent in London - three years, but still, all around her laid her blair for breaking things that were too good to be true; the marriage was perfect, and so she had to break it. It's as if it's the only thing her body knew well. It was beautiful to think, but so painful to remember. Her mind and her ego kept her emotions at bay, but each night, her lungs would scream at herself - why the fuck did you ruin the marriage? The empty space on her ring finger carried an enormous weight and crying to sleep nor planning jobs didn't help either . Her London home had countless of vodka, and every night, along with her inner voice screaming at her to call and text Lou, she would be drinking a bottle of it, in hopes that she - when drunk - might forget the regrets she had inculcated in her life. But the table turned even worse; now, it's even harder to pretend when someone you once had was lying in a dreamless state beside you; and your heart was out there, beating loudly as if it would be the last time it would be beating.

"Really, I can sleep on the couch."

"No, Lou. I am the visitor so I should sleep there. Or I could just sleep in Danny's room."

"She hates it. She doesn't want anyone inside when she's sleeping."

"Guest room?"

"I turned into a storage area.

"Oh... let me just take the couch then."

"We can share my bed."

Debbie's heart sunk deeper as she looked at Lou who was tucked in a deep slumber beside her. She was sleeping on her side - her face, so tranquil and so beautiful. Her long lashes adorned her eyes so much, and Debbie wondered how much those precious orbs cried tears for her. Her slightly parted lips were begging to be kissed, so red and plump. She wanted to know how many times those lips opened to curse her name. Debbie sat there, quietly. She watched the rising and the falling of Lou's chest and she wondered how does it feel to put her head on the blonde's chest. She was used to it before - falling asleep on Lou's chest was once a luxury, but she couldn't afford it now. She wanted to lay her head and listen to the thumping of the blonde's chest, hear the whispers of her heart, but she had lost her privilege. She had noticed how much Lou changed - her facial features that were once rough and edgy became soft, her strong facade had diminished; she became the version Lou never imagined she, herself, would become. The boyish walk was replaced with a soft and a walk that's so woman-ish and the blonde didn't wear her statement layered-necklaces anymore. Realizing it, Debbie stared at the gold minimalist necklace flat on the blonde's collarbone, it's just a letter, D. Her heart wanted to tell her that it's her name, but no, it's Danny. Because why would Lou do it? She was sure that when Lou would be asked what's a heartbreak, her lips would be telling Debbie's name.

Some things were too brittle and too weak for Deborah Ocean's touch. Too delicate that even in her slightest touch it would break, but Lou was so different. She surmounted those, and she, in her sunlit skin and nectarine kisses, Deborah Ocean surrendered. It was a fairytale, but an Ocean doesn't and would never settle for a fairytale - they always wanted risk, always loved the thrill of a chase. Debbie remembered the night so well. The horrors and the tears on Lou's face, the loud crying of a four year-old Danny - she remembered it, and if she could rewind the time, she would never take her wedding ring off, she would never put it on the table in front of her wife and she would never walk out of the door.