(Show Me) The Things That I Shouldn't Know

quatre.

Liverpool Street station at night was one of my favourite places to be. There wasn't much reasoning behind that besides the fact that it held a lot of memories for me. It reminded me of late summer nights with my friends from uni.

I was currently waiting for Damien, whose train from Heathrow was meant to be arriving at 9.23pm, in 5 minutes time. I'd already been at the station for 20 minutes or so, wandering about, getting food, reminiscing. I was growing more and more impatient by the second, desperate to see Damien. It had been 2 weeks, after all. He'd left for longer in the past, and although I could live perfectly fine without him, I still missed his company. I lived with a flatmate, but she was rarely home, and so I liked having Damien there so I had someone else to talk to besides myself.

9.21pm. I waited by the train tracks for him. I felt like a dog who'd been left alone, and was watching the window, waiting for their owner to return. Except, Damien didn't own me. Oh, and, I wasn't a dog. Of course.

The train slowly approached my gloomy figure, causing the shadows which were previously evident on the train tracks to disappear. A huge gust of wind made my hair fly into my face, and caused the newspapers sitting on the benches behind me to jump out of their skin. I watched the train door with a hawk-like eye, studying each person that came out. I saw a fair haired man come out, followed by a woman with startling red hair accompanied by a little boy clutching a toy car, and then a group of rowdy teenagers. I bit my lip in anticipation. A few more people spilled out of the train, and then I saw Damien.

"Hello my love," he spoke gently once he had stepped safely off the train and was in my embrace.

"Hello, Damien," I muffled into his hair, which was a lot longer now from the last time that I had seen it, and was in desperate need of a wash. "You smell like cigarettes and piss,"

"Nice to see you too," he laughed.

"Oh, I am so glad you're back Dame," Dame was my nickname for Damien. It was the most boring nickname ever; there was no cute backstory to it. It was literally just his name abbreviated. And guess what his nickname for me was? Cam. Also just my name abbreviated. We were unoriginal people. "How was America?"

"Interesting...I mean, a lot happened. I did a lot of research, and I've got my next piece sorted. I'm shattered though,"

That was all that I was going to get out of him. I'd known him for 6 years, and so I knew that he was a very shut off person - in fact, I was the person that he opened up to the most (which says a lot, considering the fact he told me near to nothing). I knew that this was a result of everything that he had gone through, and he had once actually told me that he didn't tell anybody what was on his mind because there was so much going on up there that he wouldn't know where to begin. 

I'd wanted to hold him forever when he told me this; I wanted to hold him forever and stroke his hair and make everything okay again. But, I couldn't, and I could never. 

The thought plagued my mind everyday and ate away at me constantly. I'd always wanted to fix what I couldn't. I'd always wanted to achieve the impossible.

"Let's go home, love." I smiled at Damien, cutting my thoughts off before they had the chance to escalate any further. He smiled back in response, grabbed his suitcase and battered bags, and we walked back to my flat.