Chapter Fourteen #2
“Doesn’t this just remind you guys of when Arthur and I caught you shagging in the kitchen that one time?” Phoebe smiles, casting glances to all of us.
“Really, Phoebe?” Sebastian groans.
“Sorry,” she hangs her head. “The silence was killing me.”
“Let’s play a game!” Mia claps, ignoring her. “You have Monopoly, right?” She looks at me.
“No,” Seb and I say at the same time.
“What?” She pulls back, looks appalled.
“It’s like, against the law in their family,” Phoebe rolls her eyes.
“Really?” Mia can’t believe it. “I thought that was just some silly inside joke or something. You guys really can’t play Monopoly?”
“Nope,” I shake my head. “And besides, If I see those twatting colourful notes one more time, I’ll shoot myself. Spent enough time trying to play that bastard game on my own in Scotland.”
“Oh,” Mia frowns, sitting back down. “Well, why don’t you tell us what Scotland was like, then?”
I sigh. “Feel like I’m in group therapy again.”
Phoebe stands up, claps. “Welcome, Arthur!”
“How much has she had to drink?” Sebastian leans back against the sofa.
“I’m actually stone cold sober,” Phoebs pouts, scratching the back of her head and fuck me have I missed her.
Missed her mood swings.
Sounds crazy but I did.
I used to love when she’d randomly ramble, going a hundred miles an hour, unable to shut up, bouncing off the walls like she was drunk or actually on something.
I’d always ask what had gotten into her and she’d always reply with, ‘nothing, I’m just in a mood’ and then an hour later, she’d be mute, back to me, tucked up in bed.
She was a mix of what everyone wants. A ball of sunshine, a cloud of thunder, she was unpredictable in the best fucking way.
I don’t want to be with someone who is the same all the time, how boring?
I mean, sometimes it did feel like walking on eggshells around her but it was fun. We had fun together.
Maybe it’s my inherent tendency to constantly do bad things to myself but testing the waters with her, pushing and prodding her, was part of it.
I sometimes remember thinking at times that I was fighting with her or joking with her the same way I would with Connie.
But I loved her at the same time. She was my best friend as well as my girlfriend and how many people can say they’ve experienced that?
It’s not long after one of those painful silences where Phoebe is literally twitching to say something that Sebastian slaps his knees and leaves the room.
“And then there were three…” She sighs, resting her chin in her hand.
“I’ll be off soon,” Mia nods.
“Why?” Phoebe cocks her head. “Is this getting awkward for you? I guess it is, considering the whole threesome scan—”
I nudge her arm, shake my head at her when I see Mia sink into her seat and turn pink.
“Sorry,” Phoebe mutters sheepishly, excusing herself and walking out of the room.
Mia laughs, shakes her head, stares at me.
“What?”
“You’re still really in love with her, aren’t you?”
I frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“She’s with someone.”
“So was Sebastian,” I shrug.
She tuts, licks her lips. “That was different.”
“How? You knew Sebastian was with someone but you still loved him.”
“I didn’t—” stops herself, groans a bit.
“You didn’t love him? Seems like a bit of a waste, then.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “I did—it was just different.” Mia takes a deep breath, stares out of the window.
“I still do love him. I think I always will. Sleeping with him just confused things.” And then she looks at me.
“You can love two people at the same time, Arthur. What happened with Sebastian and I wasn’t cheap or sordid. ”
“I never said it was.”
“Yeah, but, I know that’s what you’re thinking—it’s what everyone thinks,” she laughs lightly.
“Do I really look like I’m in any kind of place to judge?” I give her a look, she smiles softly. Maybe thankful because I haven’t treated her like everyone else?
“Well…no, but I wouldn’t judge you if you did judge me.”
“That’s because you’re a good person.”
She laughs, like actually, laughs. “That’s probably the most controversial opinion I’ve heard in the last ten years.”
“Why? Because you did one bad thing? That makes you a bad person, does it?”
“I guess not but what I did wasn’t just a little slip up—I wrecked an almost marriage.”
“So,” I shrug. “It’s not like you killed someone. Some people even think what I did was worse.”
“True,” she sighs. “Have you ever killed someone?”
“I don’t know—hope not.” I swallow, look away.
Mia laughs. “Well, there we have it: we’re not that bad after all.”
“Yep,” I mutter.
“So, what was rehab actually like? I’ve never been.”
“That’s actually really shocking.”
“What? That I’ve never been to rehab?” Her eyes go wide but she’s still smiling.
“Yeah,” I nod, laugh a bit. “It was boring, mostly. Did a lot of colouring in, lot of card games, got really good at chess. Writing, drawing—all the usual crap they make the hospitalised do.”
“Ah,” she clicks her tongue. “That’s what I do when I book a spa break. I don’t need rehab, just a week in Bath.”
I laugh, roll my eyes airily.
Phoebe comes back into the room, Mia gives me a look and then gets up and leaves.
“Gosh,” Phoebe sighs, sitting down opposite me. “Sorry for that—I’m in such a weird mood today.”
“Why? Something happened with you and Dicky?”
She squints her eyes at me, purses her lips. “No.”
I hold my hands up. “Just asking.”
A kind of tense silence stretches between us.
Starts to drown me, though. It’s like a thick, heavy, salty wave of all the shit I should say and all the shit that I never did.
I owe her an apology, I owe her ten—owe her an apology everyday for the rest of my life, I reckon.
Even then, I don’t think it’d be enough.
Words are meaningless when there’s nothing to back them up.
I told her I was sorry plenty of times back then—meant it every time, too.
But I still went and racked up lines or stuck a needle into my arm.
I’ve always wondered if things could’ve been different.
If Theo was still alive, would I have turned out like this?
Was I always destined to end up the way I did?
When I was born, was it already wired into my brain?
Part of me thinks I was always going to be like this.
Anyone can do drugs. People can become addicts at like, fifty.
People can do one line and then never touch the stuff again—but I don’t think I’m one of those people.
When I do something once, I do it again and again and again.
When I was in therapy, I was told I had OCD tendencies.
I become obsessed with things. Not in a normal way like you have your favourite foods or whatever but mentally.
My brain is different. I guess it makes sense.
I always felt this way with Phoebe. Always wanted to make her happy, always wanted to please her, make her proud of me, do whatever I could so she’d stay.
I don’t think I’ve ever lied to her, actually.
Maybe once or twice. But since the day I met her, I always knew I wanted to do right by her.
Even if she was to marry Dicky—which would fucking wreck me—I’d still feel that way about her.
I’d still love her. I’d still be obsessed with her.
But it just so happens that this obsession I have with things also slips into other things—bad things—and that’s where it all went wrong.
My brain can’t understand how to be normal.
How to balance things fifty, fifty. I’m all in or not at all.
And I’ve been all in with Phoebe for about six thousand, two-hundred and five days. Ruined two thousand, one-hundred and ninety of those days for her, though.
“I’m sorry, by the way,” I tell her.
She blinks away from the window, smiles. “For what?”
I swallow, stare right through her. “For ruining those years for you.”
It takes her a second but then her face crumbles like she’s just been reminded. She shifts, crosses her legs. “I’m sorry, too.”
“What do you mean? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
And she doesn’t because she’ll never know how bright her sun shined in my eyes on my most cloudy days.
“It’s my fault—for not leaving when I should’ve.”
“I didn’t let you leave.”
She shrugs limply. “I didn’t want you to.”