Chapter Seven #2
But I do sit down, next to him on the other chair, half facing him. I take a deep breath, we sit in silence. He’s probably thinking about all the bad stuff while I’m still stuck on the fact that he’s here, alive and breathing next to me.
“I don’t want to talk to you if it’s just another box to tick on your 12 steps,” I tell him without thinking.
He blinks, faces me. “I don’t have a program to follow.”
Tilt my head. “But I thought all addicts did?”
I missed him so much. I didn’t realise just how much, I don’t think. All I want him to say next is that he loves me and then I can leave Digby and that we can run off together far, far away from this terribly beautiful city—
“Well, I mean, yeah I have to make amends but—”
“What?”
He shifts, sticks his tongue out to wet his top lip. “I can make amends with everyone else with a couple of conversations but you—I'll spend the rest of my life making amends with you.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “How do you make amends with me?”
“I say sorry,” he shrugs, all a bit lost. “I tell you—I promise you—it won’t go back to how it was ever again and then I let you move on.”
I frown. “Why would you let me move on?”
“Because I didn’t back then.”
“What if I don’t want to move on?”
He squints, confused. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Have you moved on?”
“No,” he says very quickly with a shake of his head.
“Do you still love me?” I ask with every hope that all the stars in the sky tonight are feeling particularly wishful.
Arthur sighs, hides a smile behind his hand before muttering, “Never stopped.”
“I don’t want to go through the whole apology thing with you, it doesn’t feel right.”
“So what do you want?”
He glances up at me with clear earthy eyes that I still find myself getting lost in. “Anything, Phoebs,” he says with a sincerity that sounds like a promise—one that he’ll actually keep this time.
“Just tell me where you went, what you did.”
“Okay,” he nods. “I went up to Scotland, checked into a rehab facility for about six months, detoxed, had therapy. After that, I knew I couldn’t come back to you.
I didn’t feel ready. So Grandad let me stay in the house up there.
Enrolled into the RAF as a reserve soldier, continued therapy.
And then one day, I woke up and I knew it was right for me to come back. ”
I stare at him in shock. He looks like my Arthur, sounds like my Arthur, even smells just like him but my Arthur would never voluntarily enroll into the forces.
“Look, Phoebs,” he swallows, reaches for my hand.
“That me, the one you looked after for so many fucking years? He’s gone.
Forget about him, alright? The only version of me that I need you to see is the one sitting right here.
The one who will die trying to make it up to you.
Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of the shit I put you through but I remember some of it—that night in your bathroom with the mirror,” he nods at me.
There’s still some evidence of that night, just a little red scar no more than five centimetres.
“That shouldn’t have happened but it did and I’m fucking sorry. ”
I sniff. Didn’t realise I had started to cry.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I believe you and I forgive you.”
Glance up into the dark sky, The Nightmare appears like the Cheshire Cat, laughing at me. I get up, walk over to the edge.
“But,” I tell him, unable to look him in the face. “I can’t be with you, Arthur, because I’m not where you are. I’m not in the place you’re at right now and I’m not sure I ever will be.”
It physically hurts to tell him but I know Dr.Kane would be proud of me kind of telling him…?
That, and it’s the truth. He’s come back and he’s matured, he’s aware, he’s grown up.
And if I thought I found him attractive in school, I was wrong because this version of him was the one I’d dream up while he was passed out beside me.
I think I’m just happy because he’s happy?
That I know he can be happy without me so if anything did happen, he’d be okay.
I love him now because he loves himself which makes my loving him just a little bit easier.
I’m not really thinking about myself anymore. He said he needed to let me move on but actually, I think I’m the one who needs to let him go before I turn back time and we find ourselves back to where we started.
Dr.Kane once told me that I loved Arthur just as much as I hated myself which was harsh to hear but also, I don’t think I’ve stopped hating myself. If anything, I hate myself more. I can’t open him up and pour all of my content into him. What good does that do anyone?
It’s different for me, though. When I hate, I hurt myself. When Arthur hates, he hurts himself and everyone else around him. I can deal with the despair inside of my chest—Arthur cannot.
Until I love myself, I can’t love him.
“Phoebs,” Arthur starts, walking up behind me. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t bother to wipe my tears as I face him. “If I asked you to sleep with me tonight, would you?”
He freezes, looks at me the same way I used to look at him, pulls back a bit. “No, I wouldn’t—I couldn’t.”
I didn’t ask him because I wanted to, I asked him to prove something. “Exactly.”
He shakes his head, eyebrows pinched. “What are you talking about?”
Take a deep breath, tuck my hair behind my ears, wipe my tears. “Tell me what you learned while you were gone.”
He nods, leans against the wall. “I taught myself three languages—Russian, Greek and Finnish. Tried to solve a couple murders—didn’t get very far—but mostly, I spent a lot of time playing chess by myself.
Tried to play Monopoly on my own, as well—didn’t work, don’t recommend. Definitely a three player game.”
I laugh. “Do you still like butterflies?” I ask in a small voice.
He cocks his head at me. “Do you still like blue?”
I stare down at my blue dress.
“I’m still me,” he smiles, nudges me. “Just sober.”
“Have you been home yet?”
He grimaces. “Yep, didn’t go down too well, though.”
“Because of Sebastian and Mia’s thing?”
He nods.
“Do you remember that time we caught them in Oxford?” I try my best not to laugh but I can’t help it, I giggle a bit.
“Yeah,” he sighs, raises his eyebrows. “I mean, how fucked up is that? Two timing your own fiancée? And I was the one painted out to be the most scandalous, can you believe it?”
“I can, actually. Remember that time you and Connie stood on the sidelines of the London Marathon offering keys of cocaine and pints?”
Arthur rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “Can’t believe no one but us found that funny.”
“Remember you going for a piss down a few alleyways, too.”
“Yeah…but, who hasn’t?” He shrugs mindlessly with a small smile like he misses being that way which scares me slightly.
We both lean over the edge, staring at the same buildings. “Have you seen Connie’s paintings?”
“No.”
“Yeah,” I cringe. “He takes acid and then spends weeks doing these absolutely dreadful paintings—they really are so bad, Arthur—and then sends them off to actual galleries. People love them. Apparently it’s all abstract modern but if you asked him, he wouldn’t even remember which day of the week he painted them on.
I think he’s just bored now that Primrose is at Uni. ”
“Christ,” Arthur sighs and then nudges his finger with mine. “How comes I haven’t seen Bliss?”
I swallow, take a deep breath. “We fell out.”
“What?” He pulls back. “Why?”
I continue staring out while his eyes are fixed on me. “That summer—the first one while you were gone—we went to Ibiza. She said something I didn’t like. Haven’t spoken to her since,” I shrug. There isn’t much more to tell.
Arthur tuts. “What? You’ve fallen out with her over a drunken comment? You and her have been best mates since primary, surely it’s got to take more to end a friendship.”
I shake my head, don’t want to talk about it. If I do, I’ll have to tell him what she said and I’m not ready for that yet.
“I should probably go back down, Digby will be wondering if I’ve run off with you.”
He puffs out a little laugh. “How is he?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“He drives an offensive car but other than that, yeah, he’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Arthur nods knowingly. “Heard about that car of his—does he, like, does he treat you well, though?”
I think about it. He isn’t a bad person, Digby. Just got a really dickhead-y name and an ugly car.
“Yeah, sure.”
“You’re happy?”
I shake my head. “ Je ne suis pas heureux depuis que tu es parti.”
He hangs his head. “Je suis désolé. Tu m'as manqué.”
“Je suis fier de toi.”
And then I walk away because the longer I stand there, the more liable I am to kiss him and kissing him isn’t what I should do. I need to give him his space, and myself space from him. We have almost three years worth of talking and remembering to do.
Digby or no Digby, I’m going to make up those lost years with him.
? ? ?
The next morning, Digby rings me while I’m still in bed to come downstairs .
“What jumped up prick did this?!” He screams, storming around.
“Oh, yeah,” I mutter, take a sip of my coffee. “Real shame.”
All six windows of Digby’s car have been completely smashed in. The tires slashed, the steering wheel removed and most of the black paint scratched off.
“You can’t have anything nice in this city, can you?” Digby rages on, hands tugging his hair.
I lean against the wall behind me, yawn. “No, you can’t.”
He walks over to me, breathing heavy. I kiss him, take him upstairs and sleep with him so he stops threatening to call the police. And I think he orgasms to the vision of that god forsaken car.
But all I’m thinking about is how much I love my friends.