7
Ella
July 2018
A s I close the door on Dean, my nose wrinkles. The stench of cigarettes and that obnoxious aftershave he always wears lingers. I can’t deny that the hug we just had was comforting – he used to be a good friend and was like my brother. I miss hanging around with him and having him to talk to about random stuff. Plus the mutual agreement that he would provide me with alcohol until I turned eighteen as long as he was around to supervise me and my friends, so we didn’t get too messy.
But since that fateful day when my parents told me the truth, it’s like a deep black hole that’s continuously drawing me in, and I can’t stop trying to repel it.
The small white leather box on the table stares at me until I pick it up. I know immediately it’s a charm for my bracelet. Inside is a tiny silver love heart.
I sigh, knowing what this means. He’s essentially telling me he loves me. As I’ve grown older, I knew his bracelet gift for my sixteenth meant the same thing. But it hangs heavy like a crown of thorns right now.
Dean’s attraction to me means nothing, and I know he hates that fact. The thing about Dean is that I can’t deny he’s grown into an attractive man. All our lives, I’ve noticed girls staring at him, checking him out, asking him out. It’s the way he’s built – muscular, jet-black hair, light blue/green eyes like the sea. His suits are always perfectly sized against his frame. I’ve heard the girls whisper how he reminds them of James Bond. I know Lily, Hannah, and Cate noticed him on graduation day.
Any woman on the outside would think I’m lucky to be essentially engaged to someone so attractive, so rich with a secured career for life. But when you scratch at the surface and see this scratch card for what it is, you soon realise that just because he is a catch for most women does not make him the catch for me.
My catch is the light-hearted, down to earth, romantic man who researches bluebells because they remind him of my name. My catch is the man who doesn’t care about my financial status or whether I live in a penthouse or a dark, dampened room.
Yet, he’s gone because I didn’t have enough bait on the line to hold him forever. I let him go because I’m too cowardly to fight.
I sink into the sofa and down the rest of my wine without even tasting it properly. The sea beyond the window looks so serene today; gently lapping away at the docked boats in the marina. It looks so inviting. Maybe I could just break the window and jump into it and swim. Swim and swim until I come to whatever country is next – I guess it would be France. I was never good at geography. Maybe that way no one could find me, there would be no contract and there would be no marriage, nothing to fight for.
Maybe marrying Dean is for the best. At least I would be loved, even if I don’t love back. I’d have security in so many ways, and I wouldn’t have to run and hide anymore. Matty clearly doesn’t care as much as he says he does. I’ve sent precisely fifty texts in the past forty-eight hours. One every hour, plus a couple more. I’ve tried calling him thirty-two times, but not once has he answered.
I stare at the beer bottles in the fridge that will now never be drunk, the spare clothes in his drawers have almost run out of his scent. The spare deodorant can and aftershave have been sprayed onto my pillow, but nothing is the same. I need him, but he won’t answer.
I remember when we tried being just friends, it lasted a whole month of awkward glances, questionable brushes of hands and longing vibes. At least then we were communicating, and at least then it was a case of us deciding not to be together.
Except this is the same: he decided to walk out because I decided to be selfish.
I glance at the bloody song on my phone’s playlist. Just like the lyrics, Matty promised he’d never give me up, desert me, hurt me – yet here we are.
But then how much can I really blame on Matty? Despite me telling him the truth, despite him knowing for three years that this was going to turn out this way, I’m the one who hasn’t fought for him. I’m the one that hasn’t run away, told my parents to fuck off, I’m the one who’s ready to throw it all in and do what they want. Is this my fault? Is it Matty’s fault for not walking away when he had the bare facts for three years? Is it both of our faults for letting each other fall in love so hard and not realizing sooner that the hurt was going to be inevitable, like the moment you get too confident on the stairs and trip? You hold your hands out in a stupid, feigned attempt to rebalance yourself, but you know you’re going to end up at the bottom of those stairs on your butt.
Now Matty’s gone from my life, I have nothing left to fight for. So why continue to deny the inevitable?
∞∞∞
I stare at those dark curls in the photo hidden by his stupid hat, the way his smile reaches his eyes. I remember when we took this photo – his brother Nick took it at Christmas on the cruise we went on. Despite being probably one of the most dangerous things we’ve ever done, it was worth every second. The way he looks at me in the photo says it all – I’m his Ells Bells, his one and only, and I don’t think he could ever move on even after I marry Dean. I know it for a fact because I’m the same, and when you’ve been in a relationship with someone for three years, you tend to mould yourself to their ways, their ideals, and soon enough you become one entity and you never know where one person starts and the other one ends. Or at least, that’s the case for me and Matt.
I stare at the last message I sent him. Two simple words. ‘Please answer.’
Maybe I need to try another way: ‘Matty, please talk to me. I’m sorry, okay? I love you and I just… can we talk? I love you so much. Love always, your Ells Bells.’
Normally it takes him moments to respond to me, and I know for a fact he’s not busy. He doesn’t work on Thursdays. He’ll be at home, probably staring at the ceiling or playing on his console. He’ll have read every single message I’ve sent, and he’ll have stared at my name and picture as I’ve tried to ring him. I just wish he would do what we both know he wants to and answer me.
I remember the phrase ‘be grateful for what you have’ – my parents have said it enough to me over the years for it to stick. Since I found out about my ‘engagement’ with Dean, I’ve never felt grateful for anything. I’ve always known there is more to this arrangement than a mere business contract and whatever it is it’s more important than their daughter’s freedom. I’ve never been grateful for what I have since.
So, I suppose in a way, I’ve taken Matt for granted for the past three years. I’ve been too wrapped up in his love, too taken by our relationship that while this reality has been bubbling along like hot lava beneath the surface, I’ve not stopped to be grateful for him. Not out of spite, but more because I’ve been too in the here and now with him.
Now is the time when I need to be grateful for him and for what he’s given me, and fight for us, with him.
If only he would respond.
∞∞∞
My phone buzzes. I grab it, expecting, hoping, praying…
‘Ella, sweetheart, we’re booked in for Friday afternoon at that dress shop you wished to go to. I just wish you’d gone for a more upmarket place, but if you really wish to look there, I suppose we can give it a chance. Mum.’
My eyes roll as I slam the bloody phone back down.
I pull Matty’s jumper closer to my nose, inhaling that sweet, piney, intoxicating scent I’ve been used to for so long now. The tingles buzz around my insides, igniting that desire to just touch him. Not even that, I would give away every single thing I own, every single penny to my name… hell, I would walk up that aisle and marry Dean right now if I could just look at those dark messy curls one more time.
I grab my phone, trying one last time in the space of a week.
‘Matty, please. I just want to see you. I love you more than anything. Hell, I’d marry Dean right now if that’s what it would take just for you to answer me. Matty, I love you. Please. I can’t bear this.’
This is so unlike him. I hover over the number for Nick, wondering if getting his brother involved would just make things worse.
‘Nick, is Matt, okay? I haven’t heard from him, and I don’t want to make things worse, but I just need to know if he’s safe?’
My heart drops into my stomach – he might hate me for dragging his brother into the drama, but at this point, it’s been a whole week.
‘He’s safe, Ella. He just needs space.’
Well, at least I know.
I open the freezer with a sigh and grab my best friends Ben and Jerry from the drawer. Nothing like cookie dough ice cream to mend a broken heart, I suppose.
I might as well resign myself to marrying the man I was apparently destined for.
I grab a spoon and stare at the ice cream, but I don’t think even ice cream could mend the gaping wound Matty left when he walked out that door.