Chapter Three #2
“You alright?” Digby frowns, putting his hand on my shoulder, drawing mindless shapes on my skin. “You look a bit…sad?”
Clear my throat, avert my attention back to the table and chime in with a quick laugh at whatever Connie just said.
“Sorry, sorry,” Albie shakes his head, shrugging his coat off. “Got caught up with some shit at the club.”
“Where’s Zara?” I look around. “Thought she was coming with you?”
Albie pulls that same annoyed face he always pulls at the mention of her. “Rang me on my way over, said she couldn’t come, come down with something, apparently.”
“More like she just is coming down,” Connie pipes up.
“When is she not?” Athena rolls her eyes.
When Albie sits down, we order our food and I kick George’s leg under the table and give him a look to order as much Beluga as he likes because Digby will be picking up the bill—he always does.
Thinks it will make the rest of us like him more or something?
It’s a load of shit because he already knows that he doesn’t fit in.
When we first met when I did my little stint at Uni, he stood out like a sore thumb.
Could never get used to our lifestyle. Never fully understood why I was going to sleep at six p.m. and then waking up at ten to go out for the night.
He tried to keep up, bless him, but we were always too far ahead.
“Surpsied to see you,” Digby nods his head over at Albie.
Albie’s eyebrows go up. “Why’s that then, mate?”
Digby shrugs. “Heard through the grapevine that you were meant to be taking a little holiday in Belmarsh—or was it Broadmoor? Whatever one’s for the screwlooses.”
My mouth drops open.
No, seriously, there’s nothing I can do.
My mouth falls open, my eyes go wide and I choke.
The entire table falls silent and all of a sudden a beaming spotlight shines down on the two boys—where one of them doesn’t just stick out like a sore thumb but more like a gun at a knife party.
We all collectively look over to Albie.
I catch Connie’s cheeks blow up like a hamsters behind his glass but I try my utmost not to let him drag me into it.
Albie’s jaw twitches, sniffs, darts his tongue out to wet his top lip.
I can’t even bring myself to look at my boyfriend.
I mean, what the fuck? Since when did he grow a pair of bollocks? Not even George has spoken to his own brother like that and we all remember the time he knocked seven shades of shit out of him in school.
“Nah,” Albie eventually says with a grin. “Got someone to take my sentence for me—actually, I think he’s good pals with the bloke in there doing time for your grandad. What was it again, Digby?”
“Um,” Digby shifts beside me. “Can’t remember—look, mate, it was only a joke, yeah?”
“I’m your mate now?” Albie laughs. “Fuck right off you prick.”
“Alrighty!” Athena claps just as our food arrives at the table. “Now who ordered the smoked mackerel?”
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I announce, throw my napkin down, push my chair back and beeline for the bathrooms.
It’s my fault.
I brought Digby into this group, this very unshakable, tight knit group and all he’s done is cause problems. My stomach feels hollow and I’d be lying if I said this was all new to me.
Since Arthur I’ve been walking around like a grey cloud, raining on all the perfectly white ones.
I thought seeing Dr.Kane regularly would help, I thought the medication would help, I thought moving on would help—but it’s all shit, nothing has worked because he isn’t here.
He is my only antidote.
I’ve been a freeballing mess.
Sat in the drivers seat, going a million miles per hour without being able to stop because he fucking stole the brake pedal.
He took everything that night.
He reached into my body, took my heart, my lungs, my kidneys and you can’t last without those vital organs—you can’t walk around with a smile and pretend like everything is okay because you’re fucking dead.
This whole time I’ve been rotting from the inside out.
I wondered if anybody else could see it but they couldn’t because it’s quite easy to dress up a dead body in their best clothes and red lipstick.
It was like Time had yet to exist when he left, everything happened all at once. The birth of Chaos sprung up in front of me like a Jack-in-the-box and suddenly everything was there.
With my heart in his bruised hands, he disappeared into the night a little bit like Nyx only on that night when darkness fell, Eos never swung the gates open and painted the sky pink which in turn meant that Apollo never drove his chariot across the sun and blanketed the world in a bright blue.
Day never came, it was just constant darkness.
And it can get very lonely being bathed in a constant darkness that no one else can see.
I’m glad no one comes looking for me, I didn’t want anyone too and I think they know by now not to. I’ve been disappearing off into the bathrooms quite a bit lately and because I don’t have the pelvic floor of a pregnant woman, they know it’s not because I’m constantly needing a wee.
After maybe five or so minutes, I go back out to the table.
Albie looks as though he has calmed down dramatically but as well know, looks can be deceiving—especially looks from Stratton’s.
There was a story, actually, that went around about a year ago that he cut some guys fingers off with a smile on his face.
I never asked if it was true because it isn’t my place to ask nor did I want to know.
George did tell me that it was because he lost a bet and it’s no secret that those twins love their money.
Not sure I’d want to be tangled up in their games of truth or dare but each to their own, I suppose.
“Are you feeling better?” Digby asks in a whisper. “If you want we can stop off and get you something to eat on the way home.”
Shake my head, lick my lips. “I’m fine—I’m okay.”
He nods but not because he believes me but because he doesn’t care. You can pretend like you care, you can pretend to do anything but actually doing something is a whole different ball game—one Digby has never been a constant player in.
The dinner dwindles on into the late night, we order some drinks, we talk about going to a club but ultimately decide not to because those days are kind of over for us now—that and we’re all still a bit worse for wear from New Year’s.
It’s Digby who makes the first sign for us to leave, he claps his hands, downs the rest of his drink and signals for me to get up.
“Hang on,” George puts his hand up. “Are you ready to go?”
I glance at the table, wonder who he is talking to.
“Phoebs?” He says with a slight frown. “Are you ready to leave?”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Course she is,” Digby says for me. “I just watched her yawn.”
I stand beside Digby, facing George but really, I’m in the middle, watching them pull each of my arms like a rag doll.
“Yeah, but,” George tuts, cocks his head. “Weren’t asking you, was I?”
“Just stay for another drink!” Athena smiles, leaning into George.
I look over to Spencer for some kind of resolution but she simply shrugs with worried eyes. She can’t tell me what to do. We aren’t kids anymore. We’re all grown adults.
“It’s fine,” I hear myself saying for the billionth time. “I am tired, we’ll go home.”
“Yeah,” Digby mutters, helping me slip my coat on. “Come on.”
When we walk off, I hear his name being muttered by someone at the table, probably Albie.
“Why did you say that to my friend?” I ask Digby when we get back to his apartment. “That really wasn’t nice.”
He rolls his eyes, all exasperated and kicks his shoes off by the door. “It was just a joke, Phoebe.”
“Not a very nice one.”
He spins around, arms up. “Everytime I try to make an effort with your friends, they reject me. I don’t know what else to do.”
“That was not making an effort, that was an insult!”
“I’ve sat around plenty of tables and heard them say vile things to each other!”
“Yes, but…” I trail off, shake my head, sigh.
You’re not one of us, I want to tell him, it doesn’t work like that.
Digby stands there in the dimly lit kitchen and waits for me to say it. He knows I want to but I don’t so he spins on his heel and goes into the bedroom.
I guess it’s been a bit hard, trying to make it work with him because I think he knows we wouldn’t be together if Arthur was still here.
This relationship feels like when you lose a puzzle piece so you try and fit the wrong one in the extra space but it just doesn’t quite fit, it bunches up the picture or just pops right back out.
I pull the chair out at the table, head in my hands.
And then there’s an incessant knocking on the door.
It’s the concierge—he has a specific knock, it’s that two knocks and then one more in the most obnoxious rhythm.
A second goes by, Digby doesn’t go and get it so I get up, open the door. No one’s there, the entire hallway is empty.
But when I look down, at my feet is yet another bunch of baby’s breath. I pick them up, use my foot to close the door and bring them over to the table.
No note, again. A smile still spreads over my face.
It started when we first met at Uni, the flowers.
Digby would send me a bunch every day, sometimes thrice a day.
By the end of my few months there, the girl next door had terrible hay fever and my hallway started to resemble Kew Gardens.
Whenever I thanked him for them or he came round and spotted them, he’d brush it off, smile small and carry on with his day.
I didn’t know how he managed to get them so fresh and beautiful in the winter months, I never asked, I was just happy to have them.
Pick the new bunch up, place them on the windowsill, straighten out the bunch beside them and admire my little set up.
Digby comes out of the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair soaking wet. He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist.
“I’m sorry,” He mutters into my ear. “I’ll make more of an effort with your friends, okay?” And then he presses his lips into the side of my head. “I love you.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, staring ahead out of the window to the gardens. “Me too.”