Her words ring through the impossibly thick air. So thick I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I can feel my lungs beginning to burn as I search for air, my lips only slightly parted. “Do you hate me? Do you hate me? Do you hate me?” The words reverberate around my head until they lose all meaning, becoming a jumble of accented sounds.
“No” I whisper in reply. My voice is tiny, nervous. I don’t sound sure.
“Yeah, you do hate me, don’t you?” There are tears clogging up her throat. Why does she have to cry? Why does she always have to cry?
“No” I repeat. I wish I could reach out and...I don’t even know. I just want to feel her skin collide with my own. I want there to be fireworks. I want to be able to cry, just like she can, and look beautiful as I do. I want to be able to tell her exactly how I feel. I want to feel something, anything but this numbness gnawing away at my stomach.
“You hate me, you can’t even touch me-”
“I don’t hate you” I sound more confident now. Less scared. But I still can’t meet her gaze. I take a tiny step towards her, but she stands her ground, looking resolutely at a point directly over my left shoulder, her eyes still brimming with tears.
“I’ll see you around-” she starts to turn away from me, her hair flicking over one shoulder, her chin down. Something defeated flashes in her eyes. Something I’ve not seen before, and it scares me. It scares me stupid. It scares me enough to make me brave.
“Cheryl-” I reach out, and I quickly grasp hold of her hand. She swings around, genuine shock registering in her dark eyes.
“What?” She’s instantly defensive again, wrenching her bruised hand from my grasp and folding her arms protectively across her chest.
“Look, I don’t hate you, why would I? I mean, you were sad...and we were a bit drunk. Yeah?” I say, trying to convince myself as much as her. My heart is beating too fast, far too fast. She tries to turn away again, but I touch her chin, tilting her eyes up to clash with my own gaze.
“Yeah.” She doesn’t sound convinced. Maybe she doesn’t believe me. And I can’t blame her, because I don’t believe the words that are somehow escaping from my own mouth.
“Good...” I just look at her, taking in every inch of her minute, perfect body. If I never see her again, I want to remember her exactly how she is right at this moment. I want to remember everything.
“I should go-”
“Don’t. Look, do you want to come in, or-?”
“No.” She shakes her head. She awkwardly touches her tongue to her lips. The lips I kissed just a few short hours ago as we curled together under the cold sheets. I push the thought from my head. I don’t want to think about. She starts to speak again, cutting through the silence. “It’d be better if you come over to mine. Come back with me, I mean, if you don’t want, I don’t mind. I mean, like...yeah?” she trails off helplessly, crossing her arms tighter across her chest, so tight I’m sure she can’t breathe properly.
“Okay.” I smile shyly and she nods as I slip on some trainers and grab my keys from the kitchen worktop where I threw them the night before. I don’t want to see the flat she shares with Ashley. But equally, I don’t want her to think I hate her, because I don’t. I don’t know how I feel. All I know is that she’s the only thing I can think about.
I watch her movements as she holds the door open for me, and we take the few steps across the freezing concrete to her front door. I lean against the peeling paint and splintered wood as she unlocks it, her bruised hand fumbling with the keys and her breathing short and nervous. She’s tense. I can see the tight tendons in her neck writhe. I wonder what’s wrong. I wonder if I even want to know.
