I was physically better the next morning, but my head and my emotions were a real mess, a tangle of feelings and rationalisations. Questions, doubts, uncertainty. Was I wrong? Was he wrong? Were we both wrong?
Chris did not seem to notice anything different so I supposed I was very good at hiding my distressing thoughts.
“Is your stomach better?” he asked when he came out of the shower.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I replied, not moving from the bed, the duvet clung snuggly to my body and I did not wish to let go of the warmth it provided.
“Good,” he put some underwear on and searched his bag for a clean t-shirt, “I checked on you at about four and you were sleeping, then at five I went to bed and you did not move,” he told me, slipping on his white flaming lips shirt.
He had checked on me?
My anger subsided a bit at hearing that.
“Oh and I finished that song!” he enthusiastically announced, his eyes bright. “Wanna hear it?”
I did want to, I wanted to share his excitement, but there was something that held me back, “Yeah,” I said, simple, plain.
If Chris detected any lack of enthusiasm, he did not show it. “Alright!” He bolted to the sofa and picked up his guitar. Before I knew it, he had sat down on the bed, “Here it goes, one, two, three,” he said and the song started. It was quite nice, it reminded me of Prospekt’s March. His voice was a bit off, he needed to take care of it before he got into trouble, I reckoned. However, the song was really nice, with a melancholic, yet hopeful touch to it; I couldn’t quite define the sentiment.
He played the last few notes and looked up at me expectantly, as he always did when presenting me with the finished version of a new song. “So? It’s not that bad, is it?” he let out a nervous laugh.
“No, it’s good!” I told him seeing his features relax. “It reminds me of Prospekt’s March.”
His face fell and he huffed as if a big heavy load had been suddenly dropped in his arms.
“Oh, it’s shit, then,” he declared, his brow furrowed in frustration.
Oh, Chris. That’s how he was, perky one minute, totally frustrated the next. With my current mood, I definitely did not need this, but despite everything, I wasn’t quite at the end of my tether yet.
“It’s not shit,” I tried to reassure him.
“But you don’t like it.”
I withheld the urge to roll my eyes, “I didn’t say I did not like it,” I calmly explained.
“If it sounds similar to something we’ve done years ago, it’s not good enough then!”
“I see your point, but it’s not shit,” I told him, wrapping myself further in the duvet and rolling on my back. Chris seemed to be brooding, he strived to come up with the best song ever written, but it was a huge goal to accomplish and thus, he was easily discouraged when he perceived he was stuck or worse, going backwards.
I turned my head to the window and away from him, the sun shone brightly on the Parisian morning, but inside my soul, it felt like a cold and grey rainy day. Worse than that, it was foggy. I couldn’t see clearly, I couldn’t think clearly, I lost my centre, my focus. Sometimes, I felt like I lost sight of Chris amidst the heavy fog and I was left wondering where he went, if he’d ever be back, which way to go to find him.
A minute later, the mattress shifted with the loss of his body weight, he’d got up, grabbed the remote and turned the TV on; I turned my attention back to the window. Shouldn’t we be enjoying the morning? Shouldn’t he climb on the bed with me and celebrate the success of the show yesterday? I was disappointed in him for yesterday’s flirting, but I missed him. I really did. Maybe if I did the same, if I flirted with someone else, right in front of him, he would understand, he would see what if felt like when the person you were in a relationship with was considering new horizons. Maybe he would fight to keep me, maybe he would shower me with attention, I thought. Or it might be the perfect excuse to let go completely.
