Chapter 26
Brendan is waiting at the door for me when I arrive back at his home. I fall into his arms and heave. Through sobs, I manage to tell him everything: my association with Ben; my refusal of Tom in favour of Ben; the awful, frightened look on Ben’s face when I tried to hug him. Everything.
Brendan pats my back. “I’m so sorry, Nicky. Tell me what you need.”
I sniffle and wipe my eyes. Pulling away from Brendan’s embrace, I see stains of damp on his garments; these have come from my tears. I need some time to think. I need to be alone for a while.
Reading me, Brendan asks, “Do you want to be alone?”
I nod. I’m still sucking back tears, so I refrain from speaking.
Brendan hugs me once more. “Come get me when you’re ready.”
In the spare bedroom, I rip off my cerulean tie and watch as it falls into a tangled mess on the floor.
Shortly after, I fall onto the floor beside it.
Wedged in the narrow gap between the bed and the radiator, I’m lying flat on my back on the carpet.
I’m staring up at the blank ceiling. I spot cracks in the sullen grey plaster.
I follow these zig-zaggy cracks to where they come to an end.
I sit up when the back of my skull starts to ache.
I cross my legs one over the other and lay my head on my fist. Sighing, I turn my gaze to the door.
I knew this would happen. Ben told me he wasn’t ready, and I thought I could deal with that.
I was wrong. And that’s okay. It’s okay that Ben isn’t ready to perform a life-changing act.
And it’s okay that I’m not able to wait for him to do it.
In a way, both of us wanted to head to the same destination; we just cannot agree on a route to get there. And that’s okay.
It was stupid of me to think that Ben would hug me, right there in front of the world.
After all, it wouldn’t have been a friendly hug – it would have been so much more.
I can’t imagine the fear that ripped through him as I stepped forwards to embrace him and then stepped forwards again when he retreated.
I should’ve considered the surroundings better before I let my feelings get the better of me. I should have done this for Ben.
Thinking of this, thinking of what I might have caused, my stomach knots. A tsunami of guilt rips through me. My chest tightens too, making it difficult to breathe. No matter how much air I suck in, my lungs feel empty.
“I’m so sorry, Ben,” I whisper. “I hope I haven’t ruined things for you.”
I fall back onto the floor. Outside, rain torpedoes down from the clouds, drowning the ground beneath.
The pitter patter of the rain is intense, angry.
I shimmy my phone out of my pocket. I open up Spotify and search for Britney Spears.
I scroll through her discography until I find the song that’s been echoing in my head – Everytime.
I press play and drop my phone next to my ear.
When the song comes to an end, I play it again.
The lyrics vibrate through me. The tight pain across my chest is evolving, almost like I’m trapped in a vice.
One time, when I went to see my doctor after I experienced chest pains, she told me that sometimes chest pain can be caused by our emotions.
‘Some people call it broken heart syndrome’, she said.
I’m certain this pain is caused by a broken heart. But maybe, if I can manage to get through it, I’ll come out stronger on the other side. After I weather this brutal storm, I won’t fall to pieces when someone mentions Ben Kehoe.
When Britney’s relatable words come to an end for a third time, the song starts again.
I wonder about what happened after I ran for the nearest Luas stop. Did anyone notice? Or did everyone just get on with their day?
I clutch my phone and push myself off the floor.
I stumble over to the bed while rubbing my chest with the palm of my hand.
Now lying on the mattress, I scroll through news articles.
I come to a sudden stop when I see a headline with Bethany’s name on it: ‘A New Trial is Ordered in the Case of Bethany Murray’.
Halfway through the article, the author compliments Bethany’s ‘outstanding’ barrister.
Beneath these words of praise is a photo of Ben.
While similar to his previous photo outside the Criminal Courts of Justice, this one is new, fresh.
It was taken today. One glaring feature of his ensemble makes this apparent: the cerulean tie.
In response to seeing this, I throw my phone to the bottom of the bed.
The vice around my chest tightens, and a new pain travels through me, weakening my limbs.
As the ache circulates, I cannot think of anything but Ben.
I don’t imagine his happy, artful smirk or his dazzling, pretty eyes.
Instead, all I can picture is the look on his face when he said ‘No, Nick. I can’t’.
His eyes were wide, all of his muscles were tensed, bulging, and he almost cowered away from me, like I was a wasp hovering near him, moments away from injecting him with poison.
I feel terrible for forcing Ben into that position.
For being the cause of such a frightful feeling.
I feel even worse when I realise that experiences like this could become a constant in my life.
Will I ever hold Ben’s hand in public where people can see?
Will he ever kiss me when someone is watching?
If he can’t do it now, what’s going to change to allow him to do it in the future?
I hide beneath the duvet, tears in my eyes and Britney Spears still in my ears. My phone is at the end of the bed. I’m daring it, almost pleading for it to vibrate with a text from Ben. It doesn’t have to be an apology or an explanation; I just want to see his words on my screen.
A vibration never comes.
Before I turn over to fall asleep, I peer out the window. All I’m greeted with is darkness.
I call in sick to work on Tuesday. A broken heart isn’t a valid reason to request a sick day, so I tell HR that I have suspected food poisoning.
Luckily, they don’t ask for any further information after that.
Sandra from HR wishes me well and tells me to drink plenty of fluids. I hang up as soon as she says goodbye.
Through the hallway, I hear echoes of Brendan’s mumblings to Bailey.
“Who’s the best girl?” he says, exciting Bailey. “Who’s the best girl? Do you want some more ham?”
I imagine Bailey jumping onto Brendan, eager to rip the ham from his grasp.
It’s a funny sight to see, I’m sure. Yet even the thought of this cannot jerk my frown upwards.
I roll over, groaning from deep in my chest. I search for my phone under the many blankets I have atop me.
I find it tangled in a fluffy one. My heart thumps as I flip it over and unlock it.
Seconds later, my heart plummets. Still no texts, emails, or missed calls from Ben.
I feel my chest ache, just like it did last night.
When I hear loud footsteps trudging down the hallway, I don’t make an effort to scramble out of bed.
Instead, I just drop my phone, listening to it ping against the mattress, and stare up at the cracks in the ceiling plaster.
As the footsteps arrive at the bedroom door, I try to hide myself under the blankets.
When the inevitable knock comes at the door, I grumble.
The door opens slowly.
“Ah, Nicky,” Brendan whispers, tiptoeing into the bedroom.
The weather hasn’t improved since yesterday. Because of this, it feels like I’m trapped inside a morose, grey underworld.
Brendan sits at the end of the bed. “Do you want to talk more about it?” He rubs the blankets atop my leg. “It isn’t like you to still be in bed at this hour. It’s already after 10:00.”
I merely stare back at him. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to Brendan; I just don’t know what to say. I’m ashamed, embarrassed. I fell for someone that I shouldn’t have fallen for.
Brendan scoots up the bed a bit when I don’t reply. He comes to a stop at my thigh. “Talk to me.”
Reluctantly, I sit up in the bed. Tears well in my eyes, and my voice breaks when I choke out, “I just can’t believe how stupid I was. How did I let myself fall into this trap all over again?”
Brendan rushes up the rest of the bed. He hugs me. He wraps his gym-built, muscled arms around me while I envelop him with my skinny, bony twigs.
“That’s okay,” Brendan says.
A tear spills down my face. I hold my breath to halt further spillages. I pull away from Brendan, still holding my breath.
“Why don’t we have some tea?” Brendan suggests softly. “Would you like that?”
Chomping down on my lip, I nod.
“Great. I’ll boil the kettle. And you, get yourself up and dressed.”
A few minutes later, I’m dressed and heading towards the kitchen. My head is down, watching my feet. At the moment, I cannot muster the energy to lift it up. Brendan is waiting for me at the kitchen table.
He gestures to the seat across from him. “Help yourself.”
A place is set for me with a mug of boiling tea on a coaster.
Warming my hands with the heated ceramic exterior of the mug, I mutter, “Thanks, Brendan.”
Silence builds between us after I sit down. I don’t know what Brendan is doing because my gaze is still pointed downwards, consumed by the tabletop.
Suddenly, Brendan’s hand grazes mine. I don’t jump.
“Nicky.”
Gradually, I peel my attention away from the tabletop. Looking at Brendan, I mumble, “Yes?”
Brendan sits back in his chair. He folds his arms over his stomach. “You really love him, don’t you?”
I swallow. “How can you tell?”
Brendan angles his head. He’s serious when he explains, “We’re twins, Nicky.
I know everything.” Then he slowly shakes his head.
“But don’t wait for him forever. It isn’t fair of him to ask you to press pause on your life while he tries to build up the courage to admit to everyone that he loves you.
God only knows if he’ll ever be able to do that. ”
“Do you think he ever will?” I mutter.
Brendan shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on inside his head.” He reaches across the table for my hand. “But don’t lose yourself because you love him. Don’t go back into hiding. I don’t want you doing that again.”
I brace myself for the pain of what Brendan will say next.
“Don’t date someone like Tom all over again.”
The piercing pain in my chest worsens, and my stomach drops.
Brendan is telling me what I already know.
If I sign up for a life with Ben, I’ll be hit with the constant wave of hurt and inadequacy that I felt with Tom.
Only, with Ben, it won’t be merely a few people that I’ll be hidden from. I’ll be hidden from Ben’s entire world.
“Will you be alright?” Brendan asks after a minute.
I fake a smile. “I will be.”
I spend the rest of the day migrating between the sitting room sofa and the bed.
I feel like a ghost, like I’m haunting Brendan’s home with my sombre presence.
Even Bailey steers clear of me whenever I come near her.
The icy fingers of melancholy have imprisoned me in their grasp; whenever I fight to break free, I’m unsuccessful.
Watching my favourite movie – Legally Blonde – grimly reminds me of the legal profession to which Ben and I belong.
Eating ice cream miserably reminds me of the lunch date I had with Ben, moments before he kissed me in O’Leary and Adams’s elevator.
Worst of all, lying on my side forces me to yearn for Ben’s touch.
I want to be wrapped in his arms. I want to feel his prickly chest hair brush against my shoulder blades.
I want to be back in his bed, lying beside him.
A repeat of this routine occurs on Wednesday: I tell HR that I’m still feeling unwell. I mope around Brendan’s home, unsettling the dog, and my heart longs for Ben Kehoe.
When it’s time to fall asleep, I still haven’t heard a word from Ben.