And I, inside, don’t know what to do, tangling mishandled arguments he can’t even hear now. Trying to what? Just. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell. Fucking bastard. Fuck your stupid self and scream into his duvet until I am numb. I don’t understand. How could you say those things to him? And now? And what? Turning so fucking scared. What if? Everything you’ve just done makes him and then and what what if he says I hate you, get out. Then that’s you and what you deserve and. Go have a cigarette. Do and do. Until the room’s all it. And my body hurts everywhere like kicked. I watch from his window. Into his street. Please come home. But he doesn’t appear and that lasts so long eventually I must go down to sleep on my own.
Ride through dreams of falling and. Slamming and. Catch. Slipping and clawing. Shout. Stagger back into nothing through falling again Slit. Awake. Key in the door. 4.47 o’clock.
I lie like the dead. Watch him take off his coat. He does not look at the bed. Just strips off his clothes and gets a sleeping bag out of the wardrobe. Please don’t do that, I say. He unrolls it, lays it anyway then sits in the armchair to smoke — hard, for no tomorrows. Where were you? No answer. Please tell me? King’s Cross. Is that really true? No Eily, it’s really not. Sorry. Silence. Stay put in the bed. For God’s sake leave him to himself. But with his smell on the bedclothes driving me mad I get up and go kneel beside. Look up at him. He looks at me. Glitter of old marks near his knee that I lean down to kiss. Even the thought of them breaking me. The loneness of that life. What pain there must have been and now me saying stupid cruel things. I’m sorry, I say and am so ashamed. I hope he sees, but he makes no sign. Just watches as I start to cry. So I lay my head down on his knee. Feel his blood going under my skin. And neither say a thing into the deep silence we make.
In a while though he touches my hair. I’m sorry, I say For all that stuff I said. I didn’t mean any of it. Please come to bed. He hesitates a little, but does. Then, God, the way we lie. Safe together just before the light and when I kiss him he agrees to that. But we are so careful with each other now, like passing glass between our mouths, and gentlest way to be with hands. Bringing the other all the pleasure we can in this tiny breach of air. And he lets me say I love him. Says he loves me too. Fall asleep in that but when I wake he’s on the floor and I’m alone.
There’s a ceiling beyond my fingers. What have I what have I done? Why have I made him choose his own company over mine? Once I thought a man looking like him could never want someone like me. Now I’m hurting him all I can for being what he is. Dangle a finger. Stroke down his long back. He opens his eyes. Watch each other, then What’s going on Eil? he says I know something is but I’m not sure what and I’m really shit at this so It’s nothing, I say Just me being a bitch. He sits up, rubbing his face Look I know what I did has fucked things between us and there’s a lot going on but if we talked about it maybe? Isn’t that what they say? Talking is good? But I’m far too ashamed to revisit last night. I’m really sorry for what I said, can we just leave it at that? All that stuff about my past though, what was that about? I don’t know, I say Nothing, please, can we forget it now? Come on Eily, there’s obviously something going on, can’t we just have it out and be done. I said I was sorry, isn’t that enough? Fine! he says getting up I’m having a shower then. And once he’s out of the room, I get up too, but leave.
*
All day I am like smacked in the mouth. Even Flatmate says What the fuck’s up? Nothing, and cannot face saying more. Cannot face anything. Him most of all. So that evening I go to Kentish Town. Spend it by the telly with the flatmate but wishing he’d ring. Persuade me back. He doesn’t. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday but Thursday lunchtime there’s a note on the board saying Some guy says to call, he’s going away and you have his number.
Hey, he says I’m off tonight so you can stay at the flat if you like and I’m not going to be back until Sunday morning now. How come? Couple of possible locations to check and the evening flights were all booked up. So what time are you getting the Stansted Express? Probably seven. Will I come wave you off? That would be nice. Okay, I’ll see you then.
Plats shatter down as he waits for his to show. I call across the concourse. He swivels round. Looks to the clock, then to me. Cutting it fine. Got stuck on the Circle line, sorry, and I am — for this as well as all these days without him. Why did you leave like that Eily? Why haven’t you been home? Sorry. Don’t be sorry, just explain. I don’t know, no good reason. Then why are we wasting our time? I don’t know I. Oh fuck, he says That’s me, platform nine. Don’t go, I grab hold. I have to Eil, come on, let go. Do you still love me? Jesus fucking Christ, I do but Eily do you still love me? I do I love you more than anything. Good okay then give me a kiss and look we’ll sort it all out when I’m back, alright? But I can’t let him go. Not yet. Kiss me again? So he does. A little. Not as much as I want, then slips me. Got to go love, I’ll call you later, alright? I’ll be waiting, I say Back at your flat. And break a bit as he walks away.
Silt air on the stair. Key in his door. Like aeons since I was here but it is days only. Nights, since I was last with him. Weeks, since that night and we became inside he’s tidied. Bed made but not clean. Fit myself in the sag worn by lovers and him, and me, and Grace. And the smell of him, as always, turning everything simple, back to the rushing want. Before him I thought that when love came it would come perfectly. Not in a dingy room on dirty sheets and not caring at all about those things. It is the spell of him. Unconscious gift that if I told would make him laugh. I wish you were here with me now. Not the back-up note on your desk saying Eily, if not before, I’ll see you Sunday night. This is the number of the hotel. Take care of yourself. And yet. Here it is. But you, alive in me. What’re you at, this moment? Asleep, flying over the sea? Fancying a cigarette? Some lucky girl? Me? Don’t. Inspect the fridge instead. One slice of ham and it could do with a scrub. Sink with my back to your boxes onto the rug. All your life in there. Turn on low. Transfigured Night. Remember then. And close my eyes. Stay awake. Below’s music thumping up. But falling in I hear your voice and bring and bring. Wake up! Get up. Run into the hall. Hello? Did I wake you? I was just dozing, how was your flight? Okay. The hotel? It’s fine. Well, good luck for tomorrow. Thanks, I’ll try to call but. Don’t worry, if you can’t, you’ll be busy I know and I’ll see you Sunday night. Okay Eil sleep tight. You too. Bye then. Bye. Dead line. Dead. Deadening.