Nudge 11 The Seven Notebooks #2
‘You know I didn’t mean to do that. To cause that,’ he says softly, his sentences fragmented as his eyes shift to the floor. ‘I would never want to actually hurt you. I wanted to push you, I guess, but I didn’t think it would trigger . . .’
‘A panic attack?’ I finish for him.
The phrase visibly washes him in discomfort, an unspoken sadness circling above his head and weighing over him. I look over the last week in a new light and it suddenly dawns on me – he hasn’t brought it up because he’s the one who’s ashamed.
He looks haunted by the idea that he caused that level of pain and I cannot have him continue to believe he’s responsible. He may have said what he said, but it was deeper than that. Even if I’ve refused to admit it until now.
‘It wasn’t about you,’ I say, attempting to put him out of his misery.
He lifts his head and looks towards me again. ‘But I said all those things and then suddenly you were . . .’
I can almost see the scene play out in the depth of his eyes, darkness swirling in his pupils as he relives the nightmare.
‘You’ve said a lot worse and I probably have too. Plus, nothing you said was particularly false. I knew it already, and I felt it inside. It was all just briefly too much,’ I explain.
His hand’s still on my back, the once half-hearted rub transformed into a gentle yet comforting hold. I nestle into it closer, taking in the stillness of the night as it battles the booze still swirling round my brain.
‘What was?’ he asks. ‘What was too much?’
‘Just . . . everything.’
It would be hard to string these words together if I were sober, so starting this conversation now was his worst idea yet.
But I can see in the way that he looks, that he breathes, that here and now was the only way that he could have.
He needed the lowered inhibitions to ask these questions just as much as I need them to be able to answer. So, I answer.
‘There were a lot of factors – the argument, the presentation, the you of it all . . .’
‘The me of it all?’ He frowns, searching for the connection.
I didn’t want to talk about this ever, especially not with him. I counted myself so lucky that nothing was said afterwards. But now, here on this stoop, I’m left with no real option.
I gesture towards him. ‘You’re Aiden Edwards.’
He looks back at me, confused. ‘That is my name . . .’
‘And you walked through the doors of my workplace and called me boring,’ I say. ‘After everything.’
‘I’ve never called you boring.’
‘But you’ve wanted to. And, honestly, it’s fine, because everyone else agrees with you.’
His shirt ruffles as he shifts from his pose on the stoop, turning back towards me so he can properly take in my face. His expression is stern now, fixed in place, his eyes a pool of confusion and something that, if I’m not mistaken, looks a lot like anger.
‘Who’s everyone? Who called you boring?’ he asks.
‘Gus and Pippa. They said “predictable”, but it’s the same thing. They basically said it’s my best quality.’ I sigh, lying back on the stoop in distress.
Aiden reaches out to try to catch my head before it knocks against the concrete, but it’s no use – we’ve already made contact.
He scoops his hand under my head anyway and I give a deep, long groan, my focus shifting from our conversation to the star flurrying above me.
It whizzes and loops with such impressive speed that it takes me longer than it should to realise that it’s a plane.
‘The worst part is that being sensible has got me jack shit,’ I continue, using his palm as a pillow.
‘I’m still nowhere near my goals for thirty and everyone thinks I’m a bore who wouldn’t know fun if it whacked her round the head.
If I’m gonna be this far from my original plan I should at least have a trail of wild stories to justify my derail, but I don’t!
All I’ve got is this sensible label and seven colour-coded, itemised notebooks. ’
‘Seven notebooks?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, I lied the other day,’ I say. ‘There are seven, not four.’
I don’t know where the confession came from – I blame the last cocktail – but, drunk or not, I can’t do this all looking up at him. I tug at the lapel of his jacket, pulling it out from under my back to cover my face as I hide from the impending judgement.
‘One’s more of a file than a notebook, but they serve the same purpose and they’re all updated on a regular basis,’ I mumble.
Even I’m sick of me, so I can’t even fathom why Aiden of all people still remains by my side. But remain he does, still and silent, as I regain composure and eventually shrug off my suit-jacketed cone of shame.
‘That’s too many notebooks. Even for you, Maddy,’ he says, getting up from his step and scooping me from the bed I have made of the stoop.
My calves tremble in the new standing position, giving me no choice but to grip Aiden tighter as I wobble unevenly in my heels.
‘They all serve a purpose!’ I try to steady my legs.
He holds firm, patiently waiting while I bring myself back to a less shaky stand.
‘I’m sure they do. Now take this and put your address in,’ he says.
His phone feels warm and slippery in the palm of my hand, taxi app shining brightly on the pre-loaded screen.
‘The best thing they ever did was let people add stops.’ He watches as I clumsily type in my postcode.
‘I can get my own car.’
And I mean it, as well. The last thing I need is another favour owed to Aiden Edwards.
‘Don’t think you can,’ he responds, lightly bemused.
He practically lifts me into the taxi, doing up my seatbelt and resigning me to the middle seat so he can keep a closer hold of me.
It would be demeaning if I were able to do any of it myself, but with the way the car is basically just a blur at this point, I suppose I could use the help.
We drive mostly in silence, me too focused on not throwing up and him too focused on checking on me.
But, after a while, I feel him shift slightly, chest rising and falling with purpose as he takes a deep breath to prepare for something big.
‘Maddison?’ he asks nervously.
‘Yes, Aiden?’ I manage to reply.
‘While we’re here, can I ask you one thing?’
‘I guess.’
‘Why do you hate me so much?’
I let out a deep, accidental laugh, cringing as it echoes around the taxi.
‘That’s what we do, Aiden. We’ve been playing this game since we were, like, ten years old.’ I search for his face in the dark. ‘Though the last round was pretty cruel of you, I have to say.’
I wait for the inevitable pained pang in my gut that comes every time I revisit our last encounter. But it gets drowned out by my sudden yawn as a wave of tiredness washes over me.
‘Since we were eight years old, actually,’ he says. ‘I think about that last round a lot. And how you seem to really hate me now.’
The car swerves violently around a corner and it takes all my strength to keep my body rigid, leaving me with no strength to sit upright again. I let myself go limp, but it’s fine because Aiden is there, his arm like a solid, toned pillow.
‘Because you’re the worst!’ My exclamation is muffled by his shirt.
I let my head sink lower as another yawn takes over my body.
My stomach grinds to a halt, eyelids growing uncontrollably heavy.
I let them fall, first for a moment and then for a while longer as a light tingling sensation spreads around my body.
Aiden’s saying something, I can feel the bass of his voice vibrate through me, but I can’t register any of the words.
Only the feel of his chest, rising and falling underneath my head, as I drift off to sleep.