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“Well that makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better.”
Annie’s head popped up.
“Really?”
Annie must be drunker than I thought.
“No. I was being fucking sarcastic. Jesus fucking Christ. Of course it doesn’t make me feel better. I am sick of this fucking shit and I am sick of him.”
Chris pushed himself off the fridge and took at step toward the table, his hands lifting from his waist and his fists clenching. I recoiled slightly and thought about what would happen if we came to blows. We had never liked one another. The ex-boyfriend and the current boyfriend. We’d never hidden the fact that he thought I was an arsehole and I thought he wasn’t good enough for her. But it had never got beyond some glaring and posturing. But looking at him now I could see he wanted to hit me.
I didn’t know if I could defuse the situation and for a split second I wasn’t sure I even wanted to defuse the situation. A little burst of male ego and bourbon-enhanced courage suggesting the primal response of ‘I’ll put him down and fuck the consequences’. But it passed quickly and I just felt more drained. I rubbed the sweat from my hands onto my thighs and looked at Chris.
“Look. I’m sorry. We had a few drinks and I got a little carried away. It’s totally my fault. She didn’t do anything.”
He looked straight at me for the first time. “I don’t give a fuck whose fault it is and it sure looked like she was involved.”
Annie looked up at him. “I was … I am … I had a few drinks. It just happened. Sometimes things get a little confused. Sometimes things just happen. It doesn’t mean I don’t …” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and I could see the tears well up in the corners of her eyes.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t what? Love me? Well fuck you and fuck him. If you loved me you wouldn’t be sitting here with him. You think you can do this to me again and keep coming back to me? This changes things and if you think they’re going to go back to normal just because you say you’re sorry you can fucking think again.” He spat the last words at her and turned away from the table his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.
I sighed again and my whole body shivered like taut wire. “Look it didn’t mean anything,” I lied. ” And if you don’t care whose fault it is then what is it that you do want? I said I’m sorry but I can’t change what happened. Fuck. I don’t know … perhaps I should go.” Part of me hoped he’d say “Yes, fuck off.” I wanted to be given a cop out.
I put my hands flat on the table and pressed down trying to generate some feeling. To reassure myself that something was solid. I looked at Annie. She met my eyes across the table. I feeling even more tired, more drunk and more sick from the nicotine and tension of the last few minutes. I wanted to see what she wanted.
I realised I wanted her to tell me to stay. A lot more than I wanted him to tell me to leave. There are times when you don’t get another chance at something. I didn’t want this to be one of them and fuck him if he got in the way. I thought perhaps however blurred by booze and fatigue that maybe in that moment when we’d kissed that we’d gotten back to where we used to be.
Annie dropped her eyes back to the table and said in soft voice, “Perhaps you should just go.”
). I am really enjoying it – no idea who composed most of the pieces of music – but very much enjoying it. Damn you dad and the genes you rode in on. 