A Week With Ray Summers

Nine

 We were drinking champagne on Ray’s balcony, the leftovers of a Chinese takeaway next to us and the stars hovering over us in the sky. We were drunk again. It felt like I’d been permanently drunk the whole time I was with Ray. Her presence was intoxicating, in the sense that she made me feel happy and wild and dizzy all at once. And I knew I didn’t want to go home that night. I knew I’d much rather spend the night with her than with Jamie.

 I suddenly felt Ray’s hands in my hair. Her fingers were gently combing through it, ridding it of knots.

 “Don’t,” I said, closing my eyes.

 “Why not? Don’t you like it?”

 “I do. But it makes me feel sleepy.”

 “So sleep.”

 “I don’t want to. Not yet,” I said. Ray smiled. A sort of sleepy side. Lopsided and sweet. I think she wanted to keep that moment, then. The same way that I did. It felt so easy. Like we’d known each other all our lives. She pulled my head back on to her lap and resumed stroking my hair gently. I let her.

 “Tough, then. I can’t stop. I love playing with people’s hair,” she said, twirling a strand around her finger.

 I smile “Sometimes I forget that you’re a moody rock and roll star. Sometimes you just seem like a ball of fluff and snuggles.”

 It was meant to be a joke, but I think I struck a place inside Ray. She tried for a smile, but didn’t quite succeed. I watched her carefully.

 “Are you OK?” I asked.

 “Yes,” Ray said sharply. She pulled her hands away from my hair sharply, her fingers ripping through the tips of my hair. I sat up, frowning at her. Her head was lowered and she was staring at her hands. “No,” she admitted eventually “I’m not OK.”

 I hated the change in mood. It was like our champagne had gone flat all of a sudden. The party was over. I’d said the wrong thing, clearly. “What is it?” I asked her. Her eyes met mine fleetingly, then darted away again.

 “I…I just…” she said, but she couldn’t seem to find the words to continue. Instead, she stood up. She held her hand out to me, and I took it silently. I knew that if words were evading her, she’d have to show me something instead.

 She led me to the library, our hands grasped so tightly it hurt.. Ray didn’t even let go as she began searching through her notebooks, for the one she showed me the first day we met. We sat together on the couch, legs tucked under us and the books spread across both our laps. Ray sifted absent mindedly through the pages for a while, until she came to the photograph of her and her father. She looked almost wounded as she stroked the sheen of the picture. She left a thumb mark on the photo, and she wiped it away furiously with her sleeve.

 “You never know what you have until you lose it,” Ray said. She was talking to herself. “I was always looking for something more. I always wanted what I have now, nothing I had was ever enough. And now I wish I could go back to that day. Give myself a good shake and say, “You know what, Rachel? You don’t know how lucky you are. You’re so fucking lucky.” And now I want to be there. In that picture. When everything was right. Because I sacrificed that to be Ray Summers. And it’s not worth it. When I look at myself now, I don’t even register…I don’t even register that it’s me. It’s a pantomime act. I’m a joke.”

 “You are not a jo-”

 “Yes I am, Freya!” Ray snapped. She was crying now. But she wasn’t holding the tears back, like she normally might “I keep pretending and pretending. Getting into character so much, I’m becoming Ray. I don’t want to be her anymore. I want to be me. But I can’t go back, either. See this is the worst part. I’m too selfish to let go.”