Did you kiss her?
Eily.
Did you?
I did.
And then?
She asked me up.
And you went?
I went.
And then?
She Eily
She what?
Eily
Tell me
She offered she started to
Oh god oh god oh God
Eily Eily I’m sorry and he reaches and his hands look so thin and
Oh God how could you?
But Eily I didn’t after a few minutes I told her stop then I left Eily
Get out.
Get out.
I didn’t do it Eily. I stopped and
You’re a bastard.
I know but I didn’t come I promise I didn’t even get close
Too late for late manners. My body falls out of light. Slips from its traces. Repeats
Get out!
Eily
Leave me alone!
Eily — grabbing hold of me — I didn’t do it, do you understand?
But you kissed her and you put your dick in her mouth
It was nothing Eily, she was nothing to me
Is that what you used to say to Marianne?
Oh God it is but Eily I mean it now.
Get off me! Get off!
Eily, I could’ve and in the past I always have but this time I didn’t. Eily isn’t that love? Eily?
But I slip him. Lie on the bed. Find what parts hate to cry and nail them to my front. As if every vein though has come undone the pain makes me anyway. Makes and forces. Almost scream into the wall. Oh God don’t cry, don’t cry like that Eil don’t don’t it’s not worth that I won’t do it again it was an accident Eily Eily? But I do not respond. I look into the paint and its world beyond doing where all is white. Where all is nothing and wish I was that. So it’s a cold bed we make tonight and lie awake hours upon.
In sleep too, damage. Dreams of dreams. Animals fighting in my body. His, being obscene. Nightmare across to the early waking and remembering what he’s done.
Turn. His body lies half-naked and pearled. Inclining in towards mine. And further down, site of an old thrashing catching the sun. There is so much love. The eyelids flutter up and he smiles before remembering. Then just looks at me. Somewhere below though he finds my hand. Works his fingers in through mine. But the hurt is so fine I must torture it for more. I look at his mouth and imagine how he kissed her. She must’ve been pleased. How he is when wants you. How that makes you feel. Enough to get down in front of a stranger on her knees and how hard was he then for her? I hate you, I say. You love me, he says And I love you, and I did something bad but I swear I won’t do it again and I’m so fucking sorry. Get out of my bed. Eily. Out of my room. Get out of my flat. Alright, and he stands into the six o’clock. Puts on his shoes. Shirt. Coat. He says Eily, later, please come to the flat. I’ll be waiting for you Eily. I say Then wait, and curl in on myself, leaving him only to leave.
Like rot it wrecks but, makes me ashamed. What he has spoiled. I wish her dead, or never been, with her well-done talents and creping cleavage. Warm bath moving round my head. Parts breaking surfaces by themselves as I play him between my legs. I wish we were back to that. And jog. And jog. And say his name. Wound and salve in the falling steam. Whatever my body wrings is for him, pitiless in its love.
Pointless. Pointless. The miss of him runs over everything else.
When I go into his room he is at his desk. Head on his hand. Smoking. At work. The sun making shapes, as he turns to look, all around what angles he is. I step into its castings. He unfolds himself and looks terrible, waiting for me. Are you staying? he says, and the pain shifts itself, even as I nod. I’m so sorry, he says. I know you are. Will you forgive me? I will. Don’t cry Eily, don’t. So I sit on his knee with my arms around his neck. I won’t do that again Eily, do you believe me? I do. Oh God Eily, this has been a fucking awful day. I agree. And with no more to say put my mouth to his. There now. There it is. We kiss then til she is gone and we’re turned back into lovers, freed from the monster. Saved from the abyss. Nunneries. Churchyards. Freezing lakes. Close shave. Day zero — we are at this, or it is what we choose.
And we are good to each other the rest of the night. Cautious around talk of her, or what happened. Trying just to be alright. To settle. Purge of the shock. Going to bed helps and, by the dark, we are almost as we were. But this is the start of the strange for us, of that long night’s story doing its work in ways I now can see.
In the days after, we go calm and kind. Careful of each other around the mines of past, sex and To Be. It is the day’s not awful price. But I wake often by myself. Him sitting, staring into space. And cigarette. And cold. Afraid of what’s coming? Afraid how he was? That part of him caught us both off guard and maybe I’m not alone in the fear of his return — that man I didn’t believe in, who now I sort of see. Although I can’t quite fit him to the man I love, I still find myself at odd times panicking. That past he’s had, what does it mean? Just passing an eye over frightens me. Not what his mother did, though her shape’s right through his life. Not the drugs or the scars. Those are clear and sealed in time. It’s the after. The losing her. All the women stripped back to their secret flesh and ate. Since my love’s now proved such scant impediment paranoia picks up pace. Most evenings he’s out now with his producer mate, revising dialogue or preparing their pitch and if I am not rehearsing late then I’m on my own at his. Now is the first I’ve felt young in this. Too young to know if his eyes are keeping secrets. And these hours away from each other, the conversations we do not have — was Marianne so minutely set aside? — makes hard work of life. So when he comes in I am all for him and he is always pleased but often Tired Eily. By weeks we’re finding silences we didn’t know we had. Stuttering into. Hiding behind. The safety of London getting very thin, hollow with what’s going wrong and heavy, as it drags us down, like it were every truth. But nothing can put out all that light. The right joke or kiss and we’re off for the night. Yet even in those lax-limbed darks the canker is my doubt.
Twentieth she says. What? That’s the date. She called while you were out. So why he is pale. Are you alright? He nods. Did she do any more explaining? She did not. Well, two weeks and you’ll find out. Yeah, can’t fucking wait. Sorry, I. It’s not you, he says Anyway anyway Dublin on Thursday. You and Nick? Ah ha. Why Ireland? Tax breaks or something and as we only need a roof I wish you didn’t have to go. Two nights, that’s it and if we get them on board it’ll solve a lot. So what’ll you do with your evenings, you and Nick? Well neither of us have been before so I imagine, the pub why? No reason. Eily? No, nothing just. Nothing what? Nothing funny when you’re away alright? Why’re you saying that? No reason just her calling and you know. Yeah okay well I’ve got to be somewhere so I’ll see you later on.
What unquiet imaginings do that? Make blame before thought? Then thoughts to back up? Until I said it I had not and now it swarms everywhere. But. In this regard, out on the tiles with the sea between, anything might He might be anything and would I ever know? Back again at his I reread his note. Sorry, I’m going to be late. Now almost every night. Working at Nick’s. Or. Choke strings tight. No. Why wouldn’t he be? But if Tired Eily, is that also of me? Why not? I inhabit such ordinary skin while he is something more.
Smoke. Sit on his desk. Watch him turn the corner and look up for the light. Then, because it isn’t, check of his watch. Drop the fag. Front door. Stairs. Unlock. Hey, why’re you sat here in the dark? Where were you tonight? Revising the draft, the end’s still not right. Where though? Nick’s, where else would I be? And I long for us lying on Hampstead Heath. Even as I turn aside from his kiss. Eily what’s going on? Press my face to his shirt. Cigarettes. Nothing. Eily? Undo his cuff. Then unbutton the rest and taste his skin. I see, he smiles, lifting my chin but I can’t kiss him now. What is it? he says. Just fuck me. Okay if that’s what you want. And he takes off my clothes. Backs me onto the bed. Gets in me and fucks me and I climb myself despite his skin. All the past now collating instead of forgotten. I suddenly misplace the best of myself, allowing a far worse in. And there goes reason. There goes sense. Decency, and with it, tenderness. So for everything that’s happened and what its mystery means I say You fuck really well. He doesn’t respond so I repeat it. Okay why are you saying that? Because it’s true. Thanks I suppose you do too. Probably because you have so much. What? Been with a lot of women and men. And there’s the one goes under his skin. Don’t say that to me Eil. It comes now though, writhing, banging off my tongue It’s only the truth, you have fucked a lot of women. Jesus! Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter to me and all the prostitutes too, do you even know how many? That’s enough, what’s wrong with you? Nothing at all, I’m just saying you can tell me anything anything you’ve done it won’t matter it turns me on. Well it doesn’t turn me on, he says getting off the bed. Putting his clothes on. I bet it does a bit. You’re just being disgusting. I am? Yeah and I don’t like it. Well poor you! Eily you know how I feel about my past. Do you want me to say I’m ashamed? I am. I’d do anything to take it back but you know I can’t. Then how could you? What? Go with that girl. For fuck’s sake, she was a slip on a bad day, let it go. Did you fuck her? Eily I told you everything, I tell you everything, why would I lie? Just tell me the truth, you came in her mouth. I didn’t. You’re lying. Well, believe what you want, I’m going out, and he slams through the door. But down from the window I shout To what? Go fuck yourself Eily, he says nearly taking the gate from its hinge.