Sunday, 14 July 2013

The inexplicable/inevitable; 'Take Care'.

February, approaching midnight. A typical club smoking terrace. A chill in the air, but the warmth of the dance floor spilling out into the night as we stand facing each other, both up against a brick wall, just mere fickle space between us.

'I really like you,' says he, for the fifth time within the minute. The alcohol is apparent both in his stature and in serious verbal liberalism. His eyes are getting closer, then further away, as he sways back and forth ever so slightly.

'But, how do you like me?' Says a clever heroine. 'I've had plenty of others like me for one night, for a string of days, for a few weeks tops... What time period are you referring to?' Surprisingly coherent and cynical, despite ingesting more than half a bottle of Jack Daniels. She's skeptical and serious, because after such a consistent series of disappointments and heartbreaks, why wouldn't she be? 'I don't want to waste my time. Not any more. C'mon, tell me. '

He pushes away from the wall, bracing himself against the brick just above her head, staring unblinkingly but drunkenly into her eyes; brown challenging blue.

Flailing slightly, feeling her resolve melt away, she demands one last reassurance; 'but, I'm at uni...'
He replies, immediately: 'we can work around that.' Did he rehearse this, or is he just naturally word-perfect and mood-sensitive? She's trying not to think how many he's reassured before. She wants to believe.


April, the small hours. A kitchen, his, the kettle's boiling and the anticipation is intolerable. She regrets the early kiss, knowing she gave it up too early, and now she can't go back and ask questions. Silly girl. When will you learn?
Leaning against the counter, remembering the first kiss, right here. He's smiling again just inches away from her face; the face right now, a picture of conflict. She has so much to say; she needs to 'use those words', to 'do all that talking they haven't been doing' (quote: two great friends). He seems to be waiting for it, even. Why is this so hard?
Because she's scared she won't get the answer she wants. She doesn't want this wonderful feeling to go away. She wants to stay in this happy little fantasy forever - or as he once said 'years'.
'I need to know that I'm not wasting my time.' She finally says it; feeling the earth slip out beneath her feet as the words hang in the air. He looks confused, bemused, amused, which is it? 
Amused. 'You're not wasting your time.' And, relax. 'If you thought I was seeing someone else, kissing someone else, or sleeping with someone else - you don't realise how much I like you... And also, how damn busy I am!' The smile is back. The hated, beautifully reassuring smile. Is that smile trustworthy?


July, bedtime. The messages, the talks, the mentions, all gone. Inexplicable, inevitable. Hurtful. Our foolish hopeful heroine is waiting to hear it, those words she didn't want to hear but at the same time can't not. If only he were the one saying them; instead, she finds out from a friend, because for some unknown reason he can't take a moment for her any more. Apparently it's due to... Excuses. It seems a conversation has been had between the two would-be's, but only one of them had it and knew the outcome. Guess who.

'Don't worry,' says the kind friend. 'He had me fooled, too.'

Now she's skipping the songs, ignoring the signs, avoiding the places, and refusing the drinks. She's set a new alarm, she's walking a different way, and she's partial to Grant's for now. Scowling at every smug cappuccino, driving through town to avoid the beautiful judgmental sea, sick of the smell of cigarettes and wishing she'd never broken that first resolution.


  1. It's okay, I love the heroine much more than the blind boy. Because sometimes appreciating someone's worth and loving them for who they are is everything.

    1. Vee, words cannot express my love for you. Hugs 'n' stuff. x


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