Put out the light and, in its absence, lie side by side. Where miracles were, prayers only now. When I touch his hand though, he lets me. Shifts an arm to take me in. But the memory of myself here against him slowly gets to agony. Then because neither of us know what to do with any feeling, except be together in it, we do. Him taking me under. Letting me hide. The sadness making want but, that it might be the last time, has me cry almost the whole way through. Please stop, he says I hate hearing you cry. I can’t though, and when we kiss, the pain crosses our mouths so he stops that and won’t try again. Wipes off my tears instead. Puts his lips to the burn. And he is so quiet, like sound might break whatever he’s brokered inside to spend this night with me. At odd moments the anger takes him though, has him pin me down. I’d like him to hurt me but he doesn’t, much. He mostly holds onto it, as I hold onto him. And after, lying in his arms, I dream this is another time. That first night when I also cried. The night he told me he loved me. The Rafi white night. So many nights and days we’ve had. Those things we have done. All we have said. But he lets go of me then, turns to face the wall, reminding my heart that it’s breaking down. And there’ll be no sleep. There’ll be no rest. Just dread of the morning to come.
Slow the awful dawn pursues the night above my bed. Tongues of it on the ceiling glow in from far off but I have him still. Still I clutch. Only after hours he is asleep. I watch though because I know when I close my eyes he will get up and leave. What I have done, does it have to mean this? Is there no way back?
Blasted by daylight come to torture me. I think of the long veins in his arms and know, before turning, there’ll be no one there. Did I just dream him stepping over? Putting on trousers. Putting on his shirt. Sitting near me to do his laces up? Running his hand down my cheek saying Don’t wake up love, I’m off. So was I not asleep? Where was I? All I know is he was here beside me and isn’t any more.
Flatmate looks up. Where is he? Gone. When? Just now, just a moment ago. I fling open the window to hang myself out. And see him. The back of him. Tall and straight. Come back, I shout Please don’t leave. I can see him hear me. Know he almost turns his head but chooses not to and keeps walking away. Don’t do that, Flatmate says Get in. You’ll fall. But still I’m calling Don’t go! although he already has. Please turn round! Please come back! Flatmate’s pulling me in Calm down. If I run I could catch him. Don’t, he’s gone and he doesn’t want to talk to you. But I’m kicking and pulling until we’re both on the lino. Calm down. Christ. You’re going to hurt yourself. But the grief is wild. I cannot tolerate it. To have lost him. To have lost him. There is no worse than this. I can’t contain the panic so Flatmate pins me until I exhaust it. But the will is strong and it takes some time. Come on, let’s go into the sitting room. Christ, I’ve never seen anything like that. He left me. I gathered as much. He left, I say again, to test for truth. I know, he says, and so it is. If it’s any consolation, he looked a right fucking state. And it is, I think it is.
And lie long on the sofa. Flatmate in and out. But I am there forever. Why have I done this to myself? Couldn’t have timed a betrayal better. Could scarcely have hurt him more. I attempt his silence but get wrecked by my own. I think I’m going to lie down.
Destruction only though in my room. Traces of sex with the man who is gone. And the big bag of crisps. I lift, open them. Tongue swelling to the salt. Cheese and onion comfort and pangs innocent. I eat the packet. Another one too. Then another. Nother to long past full. But I’m not running across schoolyards. Their magic’s outgrown. Go so, adult, and puke them again then come hide in your dirty sheets. Under there I have so many dreams but none of them of anything. Just all the doors in London. Going through. Into blank. One more. One after. No faces behind and I’m not even lost. I am futility. I am nothing at all.
Wake later, but don’t think to get up. Lie in the lack of air and discomfort. Instead return to the crisps. Eat more. Many as I can fit to wall myself behind full, but useless body will not collude. It wants to throw up and forces me to. Choking over the toilet to bile and cramp. Then’s when tears. Shivering and slime. And the flatmate says Let’s watch a film and don’t worry, he’ll be back. He’s mad about you. Anyone can see that. Just give him a few days, then a call.
The night’s all race with that, the thought. And because I do sleep, then feel better for it, hope begins to show. Perhaps it’s not all as bad as I think. He still loves me I know so might remember the things I have forgiven him. I did try to forgive him things.
*
Monday. Early. I almost run in. Only zealous other First Years about at this time. Ma May Me May Ma Mo Moo-ing and, more essentially, not queuing for the phone.
Ring.
Rings for a bit.
Normal.
Like we are in bed and he leaves it for next door to get. Only when next door won’t, he does. Bathrobe in winter. Summer not. Goes out to but always barefoot. Getting at last to Hello? And I am sprung open by hearing his voice. The miss of him Jesus. Hello? he repeats. It’s me I just. I’m busy, he says and hangs up.
Alright love? says the cook. Can I have a tea? I go outside. Have a fag and watch the day with an enemy’s eye. The cup burning a hole in my palm. Alright? she says, coming up the steps You look like shit. Thanks, I say. What’s wrong? I tell her everything. At the end of it, she says Shouldn’t have taken that stuff off that dick. I know but. Anyway, let’s go to Voice.
And today drags the more for owing nothing to me. Store the pain in some switched-off place, which is becoming everywhere it seems. Only later on do I get back my brain and by rehearsal I am on the knife. I understand everything I need to do. Excused of myself by the in out of words. Such a small space between me and her — girl about to lose her love. But we are not the same. She loves truly, doesn’t she? Was pure and steadfast in ways I could not be. She was intact though and I cannot help thinking he was always knocking on a broken door so when the gale came there I was, useless and letting it in. But I understand something of her strangle at the light so bring it along for her now. Much better, the Director says at the end You’ve not wasted your weekend. No, I suppose I’ve not.
On the tread back though I try him again. Breathing hot phone box piss and getting his neighbour who shouts in Phone for you mate, yet again! He opens up. I know that creak. Cheers for that, and because of tiredness his accent’s gone all strong Hello? It’s me, please don’t hang up. Eily, he says. Yes. And silence and You didn’t say goodbye. You were asleep thought it was as well to leave you be. Right so have you had a busy day? Yeah bit of follow-up and that. Well that sounds like Listen Eily, I want you to come and get your stuff. Oh no I Or I can bring it over if you want? Wait I. And I’ve been thinking, he says If you need money for a deposit or anything, you know you only have to say. And I and I cannot. He has organised this thought. He has been considering this today. I don’t need money. Well, think about it anyway, I don’t want you to be struggling on top of so how will we do this then? Do what? Move your things I’ve packed them up. Do you want me to throw them in a cab or No I’ll come. Already arranged and done. Shall I come down now? No it’s late. Well I’m not rehearsing tomorrow? No I’m not here how does Thursday suit? That’s fine are you going away? No just dubbing on that stupid film and it always puts me in such a foul mood. I say I know you hate dubbing, as indication of I know you, but he does not pick up on it. Right, Thursday then, around six? Fine, I say and and and It’s nice to hear your voice. Yours too, he says Are you alright, Eily? Not really, are you? No, not really either. So at least there are two of us in it. Night then, he says. Night, I say.