Still Life in Butterflies
Once upon a time there was darkness, and flashing lights, and music, and a boy staring at a girl like he never had before.
She spoke to him a lot that evening. He was the DJ. That means a free-pass to talk to pretty much everyone, without coming across as creepy.
She stayed there because there was cheap drinks and old familiar songs.
Everyone else was creepy. He'd have been creepy, if he'd come on any stronger.
At the end of the evening, she went and gave him a hug to say goodbye.
He wasn't the most attractive person she'd ever seen, but he was sweet, and nice, and she had a feeling that he had a thing for her.
He thought she fancied him. DJ is a pussy-magnet kind of job.
As she turned to leave, he asked "Can I take you out for a drink sometime?"
She replied "I live in Birmingham."
"Bugger."
In the Chinese opposite, she decided it was worth a try. She borrowed a piece of paper and a pen, and sent her friend over with her name and number.
*
There were endless text conversations. He told her that he was shy. She couldn't see it.
Two months of texts. He slept with three people, she slept with one and felt guilty about it.
He told her he didn't like slutty girls. She asked if eight people was slutty, afraid that he'd think that it was. He told her that he was up to nineteen. This was before the other three.
She felt dwarfed.
She was used to being adored, to being the one considered a catch.
So was he.
*
She came back to the city on a Friday, to the same club. He didn't watch her as much that night, but when he saw her he smiled so much that she wondered if it hurt.
*
Certain bits of conversation stood out.
"If you don't love me, you know, that's your problem."
"I don't need to love myself - I have other people for that."
*
They spent the day together that Sunday. They wandered around the city centre. Held hands for a while. There were no butterflies.
She wanted to look around the Entertainer. He left her there and went to buy speakers.
She waited, bored. Called her best friend, her ex, the one she'd slept with at the new year. She didn't tell him what was wrong, or even that anything was. He guessed it from her voice.
Sent the DJ a text, telling him to call her when he wanted her to come back.
She considered calling her other friend, and asking her to come and pick her up, but rejected the idea. Yes, he knew that she was in a strange city, and had just abandoned her there. But was that really bad, or just thoughtless?
They saw a film. At the cinema, for a few seconds, he stood close together, so close she could feel electricity under her skin. She fell back when it became too much.
Watching the film, she whispered in his ear. His hand touched her face, as if he were going to kiss her.
*
She texted more than he did. She was more talkative, and checked her phone more often. She was afraid that if they didn't talk, he'd forget her.
*
She went home with him. She told him she wanted to wait to sleep with him, and made it clear that it wouldn't happen that weekend. She agreed to stay in the city for a few more days.
They watched another movie, curled up together on the sofa.
Halfway through, she asked "you know that thing you're thinking about now? How long have you been thinking that?"
He said "what am I thinking about?"
She kissed him twice, softly. "That".
She turned back to the film. There was silence for a minute. She could feel his confusion, his lack of grasp on the situation.
Eventually, he asked "why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to."
They started kissing again. There were no butterflies or electricity. It was nice. It was comfortable.
*
Talking on the phone later that week, miles apart, she told him one of the reasons - there were many - that she wanted to wait.
She told him that, when he touched her, she wondered if he was comparing her to the crowd. Out of cruelty, she told him that his touch disgusted her.
She said she knew that it was her problem, that she needed to either get over it or leave.
It would have helped if, in every conversation, he hadn't talked about some girl who was hitting on him, or a stalker, or some best friend who loved him.
He told her that she should think of it as maybe being the last, not being a member of a crowd.
She told him that that would make it hurt more.
*
Before then, he'd texted her, out of the blue;
"Take my hand and we can fly."
"What if I fall?"
"Then I will catch you."
She typed out a reply, but she didn't send it. She saved it, and told him it existed, and planned to show it to him someday.
"Do you promise? Because I think I might be falling already."
*
Later, she told him that when she'd wanted to look around the Entertainer, she'd wanted to look around it with him. She used the random products there as a springboard for conversation. She told him it had been a douchebag move to abandon her for speakers.
He apologised.
His apologies were never an expression of regret. He used them like magic tokens, as if merely saying the words would make everything better, would take away the other party's right to be upset.
*
He started asking if she loved him. Not directly.
He'd say things like "that's why you love me."
Or, "you love me really."
She'd reply with "no, I don't."
Depending on what they'd been discussing, she'd add "Sometimes, I don't even like you that much."
He'd say "yeah, you do."
*
He worked two full-time jobs, one in the day time and one at night.
The next day, when they woke up, they didn't kiss each other at first, due to morning breath. Then they decided that that didn't matter.
She didn't mind being left alone. She was anti-social, and enjoyed exploring the area. She liked watching TV, and knitting, and generally enjoying the quiet.
Before he came home, she cleaned. She did the washing up, wiped down surfaces, made the bed, and vacuumed. She wanted his home to be nice for him. She wanted to be a good guest.
He brought her flowers, and cake, which he couldn't eat. He brought her bread, and he couldn't eat that either.
He made her pancakes for breakfast.
She fell asleep on the sofa one night, waiting for him to come home.
He didn't wake her when he opened the door. That was odd. She never stayed asleep once there was someone else awake in the room.
He picked her up and carried her to bed. He told her he couldn't bear to leave her there.
*
A week after she'd told him that he disgusted her, he got drunk.
He told one of his friends about her, and the friend convinced him to break up with her over text.
Earlier that day, they'd been texting. She asked if he'd eaten today. He replied with "eaten today." She asked if it was something substantial. He'd replied "something substantial."
She wrote "<3 you". He replied with "Really?!"
She wrote "yes. I heart lots of things, you included."
After she received that text, she started calling him. He was not getting off that easy.
He texted that he was still in a club, and she wouldn't be able to hear him. She told him to go somewhere quiet.
He said he'd text her when he got home.
She waited. She didn't cry, although she did post "can't cry hard enough" to her facebook status. That was the song she'd listened to through her last break-up. She went through the motions of what she knew she should do.
They talked, for four hours straight. He told her that she'd really upset him with that comment.
He said other things. He said that she made him feel stupid, and she asked him how. She wanted to know exactly what she was saying or doing to make him feel that way. He couldn't pinpoint it.
He told her she was a tease, for kissing him that way and not sleeping with him. She pointed out that she'd told him from the start that they wouldn't have sex. She thought, but didn't say, that if he didn't believe her, that was his problem.
He said he hated the way she critiqued movies and books, constantly, analysing them into their constituent parts. He pointed out that, although it might not seem like much to her, Twilight represented three months of his life, the time he'd spent reading it.
She didn't see why you couldn't appreciate something both as a whole, and as the sum of its parts.
*
Later, just before the end, she asked him, if he saw a magic trick that he really enjoyed, would he rather find out how it was done, or would that ruin it?
He told her it would ruin it.
That was the answer she'd expected.
She hadn't realised before that some people would rather not know, would take more from the experience if the mystery remained. Once she knew those people existed, she'd realised he must be one of them.
*
He told her that he'd never stared at anyone like that before. That he'd never asked a customer for her phone number before.
She pointed out that much of their relationship was based on luck.
He said "fate."
She said "only if it works out."
*
They made up eventually.
She went to see him the next week.
They slept together, then, accidentally, organically.
She'd asked him to be tested, that first weekend. He hadn't. He hadn't had time.
He believed he didn't have to, since he'd only slept with one person without using a condom.
She got tested, to be fair.
She wondered, later, if he knew she asked all her partners to be tested - except for virgins - or if he assumed she was just asking him.
It wasn't that great.
At one point, he told her, as if he were informing her, that women couldn't expect orgasms every time.
She didn't laugh in his face.
She wondered if he'd gotten that idea from the same place that told him it was perfectly acceptable to put his hands over his ears and start singing when she tried to discuss contraception in depth.
*
The day after the drunken argument, she'd asked him if they were okay. He pretended that he'd forgotten what she was talking about. She felt as if she'd been kicked in the ribs.
*
The day after they'd slept together, he told her that he was going to run her a bath, with bath bombs,and bubbles, and special things.
She told him that she didn't want a bath, she didn't feel like it. He went instead.
That morning, he'd made pancakes again. He ate on the sofa. She told him she was going back to bed. She had to say "okay?" twice, before he responded. She was making sure he was all right with people eating in other rooms.
Later, he'd told her that he'd wanted them to have breakfast together. She wondered why he couldn't have joined her.
*
He'd told her, once, that one of his exes had aborted his child, without telling him beforehand. He felt betrayed.
This seemed at odds with his idea that all he had to do was use condoms, and not think about any other contraceptive.
*
Since that night, she couldn't take a joke. He'd criticised her, while drunk, for not realising that he was simply quoting part of her texts, and not really answering. She had noticed, but had assumed he was being cute. She hadn't realised he was lying.
She wondered if he'd tell her something serious - like that he was cheating on her - by disguising it as something she'd take as a joke. She took everything he said seriously. Like when she asked if he knew anyone who was pregnant, and he told her that he could get someone pregnant tonight.
*
She went and slept on the sofa one night, unable to fall asleep next to him. She wanted to be held, to hug something while she slept. He didn't, although he had that first night. She felt lonely, reminding herself not to hug him. She felt resentful, that she kept giving her affection and wasn't getting any, even in her sleep.
He woke up around 6am, and kissed her on the cheek.
She was awake. She'd woken up the instant he'd opened the door.
She wondered why he left her there.
*
He cooked for her. She suggested adding lemon to the roast potatoes, and he shooed her out of the kitchen, making the comparison that you wouldn't walk into a kitchen at a restaurant and demand that they make things to your specifications.
She told him "I just wanted to join in."
They talked as he cooked. She became more enthusiastic, talking about things she'd read. Then her face closed up, and she stopped.
He asked her what was wrong.
"Sorry," she said, "I just realised," and she quoted, "I was going on about boring shit that no one cared about."
She sat on the sofa, with her back to him. She felt the tears on her face.
She didn't make a sound. Her shoulders didn't move.
He'd seen her sob before, but he'd never seen tears. She didn't cry that way very often.
He came and held her, and apologised. He couldn't remember saying that. He'd been drunk.
She leaned against him as they ate. He moved away, annoyed that she was in the way.
*
A week later, back home, she got an IUD fitted. She hadn't planned it - it had been a spur of the moment decision, while discussing other methods with a nurse. That was a Friday.
She was going to see him on Monday, and that wasn't planned either. She had been intending to visit her friend, in Aberdeen, but had changed her plans at the last minute, when he'd asked her to.
He was jealous.
He'd told her that his past girlfriends had cheated on him, but he'd never once committed adultery. She believed him.
*
While drunk, he'd told her that he'd never love her.
Later, he revealed that despite his myriad friends, he was only really close to two or three people. She hadn't noticed that. She didn't realise how closed in he was until he mentioned that. He seemed so extroverted.
Of course, that was the last conversation they'd had.
*
He called her after work that Friday she got the IUD. It was 3am. When they lost connection, she turned her phone off, wanting nothing else than to go back to sleep.
She'd never done that before. She'd always stayed awake for him, talking for as long as possible.
She decided to pretend that her phone had turned itself off. It had been known to do that, when it was on charge.
*
He went out drinking again, the Saturday after she got the coil fitted. She received three texts that night.
"babes call me am not too drubk xxx"
The other two talked about missing her, thinking about her all the time, and chicken biriyani.
*
The IUD made her bleed, faster than she normally would. She was in pain. She felt woozy. And she'd always been a bit of a hypochondriac.
She left work on the Sunday afternoon, and walked down to the nearby hospital. When she asked the receptionists about it, they told her to go to A&E.
Afterwards, on the way out, she called him. She hadn't been intending to, and she told him that. She just wanted affection.
*
She arrived at his flat around 6pm the next day, just as he was preparing for his second job of the day. He opened the door and turned back to cooking. She let herself fall onto the sofa and lay down. She still felt terrible.
He didn't kiss her, even when she asked. He accused her of looking at him a certain way, as if berating him for having to work. She told him that that wasn't what the look meant at all - if anything, it meant "where's my kiss?".
She texted him when he was on his way to work.
"so you're disgusted by me because of something I had to do to protect myself because you won't. Classy."
It was later established that he'd assumed she had flu. She asked him if it wasn't an obvious connection, to assume that she felt bad for the same reason Monday as she had on Sunday.
*
When he came home, she woke up as soon as he opened the door. She hugged him as he got into bed. He asked her to move, since she was too warm. She realised that she was, so warm that she felt sick.
"I'm sorry my discomfort is inconveniencing you."
They talked a little.
She'd told him that, once again, they couldn't have sex. She was still bleeding. She didn't tell him that she expected it to stop by Wednesday or Thursday, but she did say that, although he didn't have to wear condoms, she'd still prefer if he did for a little while. She didn't tell him that she was worried about his piercing catching on the strings, or residual blood. He didn't ask.
*
She'd written him a letter, one night after another argument, answering his question - why was she with him? It wasn't a love letter. It was a like letter.
When he'd received it, he'd given it to his best friend to read. He'd said that he couldn't read her handwriting.
She told him that that was personal, and that he must have known that. That her feelings were not his to share.
He apologised, but not in a way that suggested he was sorry.
She told him that she hated him, not in an entirely serious way. Later, she told him she didn't hate him - she regretted him.
He asked "are we okay?", in a voice which displayed emotion, for the first time in ages.
She said "probably. As long as you stay the fuck away from my diaries."
*
Later, when she asked if he'd called on Friday, still pretending to have forgotten, he told her that she'd hung on him. She told him that she never would, and they must have just gotten cut off. It had happened before, after all, the connection being bad at some points on his way home. He didn't believe her.
*
Tuesday, he had an evening free.
They went to the shopping centre first.
In the car, she tried to be cheerful, tried to make conversation. It didn't work. He replied, but he didn't smile at her. He still hadn't kissed her.
She stopped trying, and they sat in silence.
He'd already told her that he didn't want her with him while he bought a mac. He was going to use his student card, and would have to lie, since he'd graduated the year before. So, when they got there, she walked off.
She got lost, a little. She didn't know her way around, didn't know where anything interesting was. She kept walking around the same things, over and over.
She hated being abandoned in strange places. It was different when he was at work, when she had a home to return to. Being dropped in a strange shopping centre was weird.
She ignored his call when it came, making him wait. She was buying a hot chocolate upstairs.
They went to see a film. She didn't talk in the car. He asked her what was wrong, why she was in a mood. She said she wasn't, she was just tired.
Throughout the film, the pains continued. She creased up every few minutes. Halfway through, she texted "don't worry, I'll be back" and left. She went to throw up. She couldn't respond to texts for twenty minutes or so.
When she checked them, she found that he was in the car outside. He was leaving. He'd assumed that she'd just abandoned him, and had gone to call her friend to pick her up. He was prepared to abandon her there, in the middle of nowhere, in pain.
She told him that she was ill,and he went back inside. He asked her to join him.
She did, but she couldn't enjoy the end of the film. It still hurt.
Afterwards, she had trouble standing up. The world was spinning, and her muscles ached.
Later, she'd wonder whether she might have overdosed slightly on the paracetamol she'd been taking for the pain. He helped her to the car.
Driving home, she asked him "do you really want to be in a relationship with anyone right now?"
He replied "honestly? No."
She said that she'd suspected he'd say that.
He asked her why she'd asked the question, then, when she knew she wouldn't like the answer.
His query didn't make sense to her. Some questions - like that one - are more important when the answer is negative. It's not about what people want to hear.
They talked about other things. He claimed she'd been in a mood all evening. She pointed out that she was just tired, and was behaving in pretty much the same way he always did. That wasn't to make a point - that was just coincidental.
Eventually, she was forced to point out that she hadn't actually done anything wrong, in being ill or in being tired.
She wondered, but didn't say, How much pain do I have to be in before it stops being about you?
At home, they talked as he made cheesecake.
She told him she could leave if he wanted her to.
He didn't answer.
She said it again.
He replied "so leave."
She asked if he wanted her to.
He didn't reply.
She pushed him more. Eventually, he told her that he wanted her to leave.
She was going to call her friend, but she wasn't sure whether her voice would crack or not. She sent a text instead.
They had half an hour.
He kept cooking. She gathered her belongings. She made him find the letter, and set fire to it.
He told her that she couldn't burn it in the flat, that she'd have to go outside. She did.
Outside, she noticed that only the edges had burnt. She put the flames out against the concrete floor.
She ran downstairs and then back up, just to kill time, and hid the letter in her pocket. She had to knock to get back in.
She hid the letter behind his bedroom door, when she went in to double check whether she'd left anything there. She had, in fact, left a pile of condoms in his drawer, but she didn't feel like claiming those.
She asked him if he was surprised that she'd hadn't cried. He said "no. If you'd cried, that would mean that you'd loved me."
They hugged, twice times, before she left.
His breath changed slightly, and he sounded like he might cry.
He busied himself with CDs.
She walked over. She said, "I don't hate you. I don't dislike you. I don't think you're a bad person. And I don't regret you. I think you've been lying to me [about never loving me], and I think you're wrong, but I don't hate you."
She waited a second. "Wendy should have texted then."
"Why?"
"Because that would have made a real neat end to my speech."
Her phone buzzed with a text then.
She walked over, and read it. She picked up her bags.
He'd followed her, and she hugged him again.
"You've got ten seconds," she said, as she let go.
"To what?"
"To change your mind."
They looked at each other as the door swung closed between them.
*
She didn't cry. She hasn't yet.
He was right. They were wrong for each other, and they were both trying so hard that they made each other miserable.
She was so busy trying to make it work that she'd forgotten to ask herself whether she really wanted it to or not.
*
Somewhere, somehow, nothing happened but darkness, and flashing lights, and music, and a boy staring at a girl like he never had before. And that's where it ended.
I don't know if that's better or not.
-------
I know the timeline jumps around. there were four trips to Southampton, including the one where we met. I also admit to being completely biased, and having a bad memory. But that's what I think happened. He got drunk twice, once the good way, once the bad way.
I feel an affectionate kind of sadness over the whole thing. There was no spark, really. It was brave of him to acknowledge it before I could.
She spoke to him a lot that evening. He was the DJ. That means a free-pass to talk to pretty much everyone, without coming across as creepy.
She stayed there because there was cheap drinks and old familiar songs.
Everyone else was creepy. He'd have been creepy, if he'd come on any stronger.
At the end of the evening, she went and gave him a hug to say goodbye.
He wasn't the most attractive person she'd ever seen, but he was sweet, and nice, and she had a feeling that he had a thing for her.
He thought she fancied him. DJ is a pussy-magnet kind of job.
As she turned to leave, he asked "Can I take you out for a drink sometime?"
She replied "I live in Birmingham."
"Bugger."
In the Chinese opposite, she decided it was worth a try. She borrowed a piece of paper and a pen, and sent her friend over with her name and number.
*
There were endless text conversations. He told her that he was shy. She couldn't see it.
Two months of texts. He slept with three people, she slept with one and felt guilty about it.
He told her he didn't like slutty girls. She asked if eight people was slutty, afraid that he'd think that it was. He told her that he was up to nineteen. This was before the other three.
She felt dwarfed.
She was used to being adored, to being the one considered a catch.
So was he.
*
She came back to the city on a Friday, to the same club. He didn't watch her as much that night, but when he saw her he smiled so much that she wondered if it hurt.
*
Certain bits of conversation stood out.
"If you don't love me, you know, that's your problem."
"I don't need to love myself - I have other people for that."
*
They spent the day together that Sunday. They wandered around the city centre. Held hands for a while. There were no butterflies.
She wanted to look around the Entertainer. He left her there and went to buy speakers.
She waited, bored. Called her best friend, her ex, the one she'd slept with at the new year. She didn't tell him what was wrong, or even that anything was. He guessed it from her voice.
Sent the DJ a text, telling him to call her when he wanted her to come back.
She considered calling her other friend, and asking her to come and pick her up, but rejected the idea. Yes, he knew that she was in a strange city, and had just abandoned her there. But was that really bad, or just thoughtless?
They saw a film. At the cinema, for a few seconds, he stood close together, so close she could feel electricity under her skin. She fell back when it became too much.
Watching the film, she whispered in his ear. His hand touched her face, as if he were going to kiss her.
*
She texted more than he did. She was more talkative, and checked her phone more often. She was afraid that if they didn't talk, he'd forget her.
*
She went home with him. She told him she wanted to wait to sleep with him, and made it clear that it wouldn't happen that weekend. She agreed to stay in the city for a few more days.
They watched another movie, curled up together on the sofa.
Halfway through, she asked "you know that thing you're thinking about now? How long have you been thinking that?"
He said "what am I thinking about?"
She kissed him twice, softly. "That".
She turned back to the film. There was silence for a minute. She could feel his confusion, his lack of grasp on the situation.
Eventually, he asked "why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to."
They started kissing again. There were no butterflies or electricity. It was nice. It was comfortable.
*
Talking on the phone later that week, miles apart, she told him one of the reasons - there were many - that she wanted to wait.
She told him that, when he touched her, she wondered if he was comparing her to the crowd. Out of cruelty, she told him that his touch disgusted her.
She said she knew that it was her problem, that she needed to either get over it or leave.
It would have helped if, in every conversation, he hadn't talked about some girl who was hitting on him, or a stalker, or some best friend who loved him.
He told her that she should think of it as maybe being the last, not being a member of a crowd.
She told him that that would make it hurt more.
*
Before then, he'd texted her, out of the blue;
"Take my hand and we can fly."
"What if I fall?"
"Then I will catch you."
She typed out a reply, but she didn't send it. She saved it, and told him it existed, and planned to show it to him someday.
"Do you promise? Because I think I might be falling already."
*
Later, she told him that when she'd wanted to look around the Entertainer, she'd wanted to look around it with him. She used the random products there as a springboard for conversation. She told him it had been a douchebag move to abandon her for speakers.
He apologised.
His apologies were never an expression of regret. He used them like magic tokens, as if merely saying the words would make everything better, would take away the other party's right to be upset.
*
He started asking if she loved him. Not directly.
He'd say things like "that's why you love me."
Or, "you love me really."
She'd reply with "no, I don't."
Depending on what they'd been discussing, she'd add "Sometimes, I don't even like you that much."
He'd say "yeah, you do."
*
He worked two full-time jobs, one in the day time and one at night.
The next day, when they woke up, they didn't kiss each other at first, due to morning breath. Then they decided that that didn't matter.
She didn't mind being left alone. She was anti-social, and enjoyed exploring the area. She liked watching TV, and knitting, and generally enjoying the quiet.
Before he came home, she cleaned. She did the washing up, wiped down surfaces, made the bed, and vacuumed. She wanted his home to be nice for him. She wanted to be a good guest.
He brought her flowers, and cake, which he couldn't eat. He brought her bread, and he couldn't eat that either.
He made her pancakes for breakfast.
She fell asleep on the sofa one night, waiting for him to come home.
He didn't wake her when he opened the door. That was odd. She never stayed asleep once there was someone else awake in the room.
He picked her up and carried her to bed. He told her he couldn't bear to leave her there.
*
A week after she'd told him that he disgusted her, he got drunk.
He told one of his friends about her, and the friend convinced him to break up with her over text.
Earlier that day, they'd been texting. She asked if he'd eaten today. He replied with "eaten today." She asked if it was something substantial. He'd replied "something substantial."
She wrote "<3 you". He replied with "Really?!"
She wrote "yes. I heart lots of things, you included."
After she received that text, she started calling him. He was not getting off that easy.
He texted that he was still in a club, and she wouldn't be able to hear him. She told him to go somewhere quiet.
He said he'd text her when he got home.
She waited. She didn't cry, although she did post "can't cry hard enough" to her facebook status. That was the song she'd listened to through her last break-up. She went through the motions of what she knew she should do.
They talked, for four hours straight. He told her that she'd really upset him with that comment.
He said other things. He said that she made him feel stupid, and she asked him how. She wanted to know exactly what she was saying or doing to make him feel that way. He couldn't pinpoint it.
He told her she was a tease, for kissing him that way and not sleeping with him. She pointed out that she'd told him from the start that they wouldn't have sex. She thought, but didn't say, that if he didn't believe her, that was his problem.
He said he hated the way she critiqued movies and books, constantly, analysing them into their constituent parts. He pointed out that, although it might not seem like much to her, Twilight represented three months of his life, the time he'd spent reading it.
She didn't see why you couldn't appreciate something both as a whole, and as the sum of its parts.
*
Later, just before the end, she asked him, if he saw a magic trick that he really enjoyed, would he rather find out how it was done, or would that ruin it?
He told her it would ruin it.
That was the answer she'd expected.
She hadn't realised before that some people would rather not know, would take more from the experience if the mystery remained. Once she knew those people existed, she'd realised he must be one of them.
*
He told her that he'd never stared at anyone like that before. That he'd never asked a customer for her phone number before.
She pointed out that much of their relationship was based on luck.
He said "fate."
She said "only if it works out."
*
They made up eventually.
She went to see him the next week.
They slept together, then, accidentally, organically.
She'd asked him to be tested, that first weekend. He hadn't. He hadn't had time.
He believed he didn't have to, since he'd only slept with one person without using a condom.
She got tested, to be fair.
She wondered, later, if he knew she asked all her partners to be tested - except for virgins - or if he assumed she was just asking him.
It wasn't that great.
At one point, he told her, as if he were informing her, that women couldn't expect orgasms every time.
She didn't laugh in his face.
She wondered if he'd gotten that idea from the same place that told him it was perfectly acceptable to put his hands over his ears and start singing when she tried to discuss contraception in depth.
*
The day after the drunken argument, she'd asked him if they were okay. He pretended that he'd forgotten what she was talking about. She felt as if she'd been kicked in the ribs.
*
The day after they'd slept together, he told her that he was going to run her a bath, with bath bombs,and bubbles, and special things.
She told him that she didn't want a bath, she didn't feel like it. He went instead.
That morning, he'd made pancakes again. He ate on the sofa. She told him she was going back to bed. She had to say "okay?" twice, before he responded. She was making sure he was all right with people eating in other rooms.
Later, he'd told her that he'd wanted them to have breakfast together. She wondered why he couldn't have joined her.
*
He'd told her, once, that one of his exes had aborted his child, without telling him beforehand. He felt betrayed.
This seemed at odds with his idea that all he had to do was use condoms, and not think about any other contraceptive.
*
Since that night, she couldn't take a joke. He'd criticised her, while drunk, for not realising that he was simply quoting part of her texts, and not really answering. She had noticed, but had assumed he was being cute. She hadn't realised he was lying.
She wondered if he'd tell her something serious - like that he was cheating on her - by disguising it as something she'd take as a joke. She took everything he said seriously. Like when she asked if he knew anyone who was pregnant, and he told her that he could get someone pregnant tonight.
*
She went and slept on the sofa one night, unable to fall asleep next to him. She wanted to be held, to hug something while she slept. He didn't, although he had that first night. She felt lonely, reminding herself not to hug him. She felt resentful, that she kept giving her affection and wasn't getting any, even in her sleep.
He woke up around 6am, and kissed her on the cheek.
She was awake. She'd woken up the instant he'd opened the door.
She wondered why he left her there.
*
He cooked for her. She suggested adding lemon to the roast potatoes, and he shooed her out of the kitchen, making the comparison that you wouldn't walk into a kitchen at a restaurant and demand that they make things to your specifications.
She told him "I just wanted to join in."
They talked as he cooked. She became more enthusiastic, talking about things she'd read. Then her face closed up, and she stopped.
He asked her what was wrong.
"Sorry," she said, "I just realised," and she quoted, "I was going on about boring shit that no one cared about."
She sat on the sofa, with her back to him. She felt the tears on her face.
She didn't make a sound. Her shoulders didn't move.
He'd seen her sob before, but he'd never seen tears. She didn't cry that way very often.
He came and held her, and apologised. He couldn't remember saying that. He'd been drunk.
She leaned against him as they ate. He moved away, annoyed that she was in the way.
*
A week later, back home, she got an IUD fitted. She hadn't planned it - it had been a spur of the moment decision, while discussing other methods with a nurse. That was a Friday.
She was going to see him on Monday, and that wasn't planned either. She had been intending to visit her friend, in Aberdeen, but had changed her plans at the last minute, when he'd asked her to.
He was jealous.
He'd told her that his past girlfriends had cheated on him, but he'd never once committed adultery. She believed him.
*
While drunk, he'd told her that he'd never love her.
Later, he revealed that despite his myriad friends, he was only really close to two or three people. She hadn't noticed that. She didn't realise how closed in he was until he mentioned that. He seemed so extroverted.
Of course, that was the last conversation they'd had.
*
He called her after work that Friday she got the IUD. It was 3am. When they lost connection, she turned her phone off, wanting nothing else than to go back to sleep.
She'd never done that before. She'd always stayed awake for him, talking for as long as possible.
She decided to pretend that her phone had turned itself off. It had been known to do that, when it was on charge.
*
He went out drinking again, the Saturday after she got the coil fitted. She received three texts that night.
"babes call me am not too drubk xxx"
The other two talked about missing her, thinking about her all the time, and chicken biriyani.
*
The IUD made her bleed, faster than she normally would. She was in pain. She felt woozy. And she'd always been a bit of a hypochondriac.
She left work on the Sunday afternoon, and walked down to the nearby hospital. When she asked the receptionists about it, they told her to go to A&E.
Afterwards, on the way out, she called him. She hadn't been intending to, and she told him that. She just wanted affection.
*
She arrived at his flat around 6pm the next day, just as he was preparing for his second job of the day. He opened the door and turned back to cooking. She let herself fall onto the sofa and lay down. She still felt terrible.
He didn't kiss her, even when she asked. He accused her of looking at him a certain way, as if berating him for having to work. She told him that that wasn't what the look meant at all - if anything, it meant "where's my kiss?".
She texted him when he was on his way to work.
"so you're disgusted by me because of something I had to do to protect myself because you won't. Classy."
It was later established that he'd assumed she had flu. She asked him if it wasn't an obvious connection, to assume that she felt bad for the same reason Monday as she had on Sunday.
*
When he came home, she woke up as soon as he opened the door. She hugged him as he got into bed. He asked her to move, since she was too warm. She realised that she was, so warm that she felt sick.
"I'm sorry my discomfort is inconveniencing you."
They talked a little.
She'd told him that, once again, they couldn't have sex. She was still bleeding. She didn't tell him that she expected it to stop by Wednesday or Thursday, but she did say that, although he didn't have to wear condoms, she'd still prefer if he did for a little while. She didn't tell him that she was worried about his piercing catching on the strings, or residual blood. He didn't ask.
*
She'd written him a letter, one night after another argument, answering his question - why was she with him? It wasn't a love letter. It was a like letter.
When he'd received it, he'd given it to his best friend to read. He'd said that he couldn't read her handwriting.
She told him that that was personal, and that he must have known that. That her feelings were not his to share.
He apologised, but not in a way that suggested he was sorry.
She told him that she hated him, not in an entirely serious way. Later, she told him she didn't hate him - she regretted him.
He asked "are we okay?", in a voice which displayed emotion, for the first time in ages.
She said "probably. As long as you stay the fuck away from my diaries."
*
Later, when she asked if he'd called on Friday, still pretending to have forgotten, he told her that she'd hung on him. She told him that she never would, and they must have just gotten cut off. It had happened before, after all, the connection being bad at some points on his way home. He didn't believe her.
*
Tuesday, he had an evening free.
They went to the shopping centre first.
In the car, she tried to be cheerful, tried to make conversation. It didn't work. He replied, but he didn't smile at her. He still hadn't kissed her.
She stopped trying, and they sat in silence.
He'd already told her that he didn't want her with him while he bought a mac. He was going to use his student card, and would have to lie, since he'd graduated the year before. So, when they got there, she walked off.
She got lost, a little. She didn't know her way around, didn't know where anything interesting was. She kept walking around the same things, over and over.
She hated being abandoned in strange places. It was different when he was at work, when she had a home to return to. Being dropped in a strange shopping centre was weird.
She ignored his call when it came, making him wait. She was buying a hot chocolate upstairs.
They went to see a film. She didn't talk in the car. He asked her what was wrong, why she was in a mood. She said she wasn't, she was just tired.
Throughout the film, the pains continued. She creased up every few minutes. Halfway through, she texted "don't worry, I'll be back" and left. She went to throw up. She couldn't respond to texts for twenty minutes or so.
When she checked them, she found that he was in the car outside. He was leaving. He'd assumed that she'd just abandoned him, and had gone to call her friend to pick her up. He was prepared to abandon her there, in the middle of nowhere, in pain.
She told him that she was ill,and he went back inside. He asked her to join him.
She did, but she couldn't enjoy the end of the film. It still hurt.
Afterwards, she had trouble standing up. The world was spinning, and her muscles ached.
Later, she'd wonder whether she might have overdosed slightly on the paracetamol she'd been taking for the pain. He helped her to the car.
Driving home, she asked him "do you really want to be in a relationship with anyone right now?"
He replied "honestly? No."
She said that she'd suspected he'd say that.
He asked her why she'd asked the question, then, when she knew she wouldn't like the answer.
His query didn't make sense to her. Some questions - like that one - are more important when the answer is negative. It's not about what people want to hear.
They talked about other things. He claimed she'd been in a mood all evening. She pointed out that she was just tired, and was behaving in pretty much the same way he always did. That wasn't to make a point - that was just coincidental.
Eventually, she was forced to point out that she hadn't actually done anything wrong, in being ill or in being tired.
She wondered, but didn't say, How much pain do I have to be in before it stops being about you?
At home, they talked as he made cheesecake.
She told him she could leave if he wanted her to.
He didn't answer.
She said it again.
He replied "so leave."
She asked if he wanted her to.
He didn't reply.
She pushed him more. Eventually, he told her that he wanted her to leave.
She was going to call her friend, but she wasn't sure whether her voice would crack or not. She sent a text instead.
They had half an hour.
He kept cooking. She gathered her belongings. She made him find the letter, and set fire to it.
He told her that she couldn't burn it in the flat, that she'd have to go outside. She did.
Outside, she noticed that only the edges had burnt. She put the flames out against the concrete floor.
She ran downstairs and then back up, just to kill time, and hid the letter in her pocket. She had to knock to get back in.
She hid the letter behind his bedroom door, when she went in to double check whether she'd left anything there. She had, in fact, left a pile of condoms in his drawer, but she didn't feel like claiming those.
She asked him if he was surprised that she'd hadn't cried. He said "no. If you'd cried, that would mean that you'd loved me."
They hugged, twice times, before she left.
His breath changed slightly, and he sounded like he might cry.
He busied himself with CDs.
She walked over. She said, "I don't hate you. I don't dislike you. I don't think you're a bad person. And I don't regret you. I think you've been lying to me [about never loving me], and I think you're wrong, but I don't hate you."
She waited a second. "Wendy should have texted then."
"Why?"
"Because that would have made a real neat end to my speech."
Her phone buzzed with a text then.
She walked over, and read it. She picked up her bags.
He'd followed her, and she hugged him again.
"You've got ten seconds," she said, as she let go.
"To what?"
"To change your mind."
They looked at each other as the door swung closed between them.
*
She didn't cry. She hasn't yet.
He was right. They were wrong for each other, and they were both trying so hard that they made each other miserable.
She was so busy trying to make it work that she'd forgotten to ask herself whether she really wanted it to or not.
*
Somewhere, somehow, nothing happened but darkness, and flashing lights, and music, and a boy staring at a girl like he never had before. And that's where it ended.
I don't know if that's better or not.
-------
I know the timeline jumps around. there were four trips to Southampton, including the one where we met. I also admit to being completely biased, and having a bad memory. But that's what I think happened. He got drunk twice, once the good way, once the bad way.
I feel an affectionate kind of sadness over the whole thing. There was no spark, really. It was brave of him to acknowledge it before I could.