I knew she stared at me with red, puffy eyes through the darkness as I stumbled recklessly through the door. She turns over in the bed I can see clearly from here. I strip off the many layers of clothes needed for a New York winter night and tripped through the short hallway and small living room, into the bedroom. Her body's curled up in a tiny ball wrapped between the sheets and duvet cover. I slide in on the side closet to the window, sighing heavily and closing my eyelids. I turn to face her but she switches the other way, knees up to her chest and head tucked in. I sigh again and go to sleep. Maybe, I think, when I wake up, everything will be back to the way it was.
/
She is sitting in the corner, beer in hands, dull eyes fixated on a wall, looking bored and sad. She's beautiful nonetheless. Hair falling around her face, simple white dress fluttering around the sides. She doesn't notice I'm looking at her and meaning every word I'm singing… but then again, she never notices anything these days.
I finish the song and get a simple round of applause. People have better things to do then to put their hands together for a moment. An idea comes to mind and I call her name into the microphone.
Her head snaps to attention, eyes a little wide and face off guard. I smile because her eyes are beautiful, even from a distance and beckon her forward. She shakes her head but as soon as people get what I am doing, they send a chorus of her name around the bar. She sighs a little – thinking nobody will see but I do – and walks up to me.
"What are you doing?" She whispers harshly, not ever enjoying the spotlight. I just smile and Joe knows what song to play so he puts it on. I grab her waist and rock her gently to the music. At first she tries to pull away but soon she is laughing and smiling and happy and that's all I ever want her to be. I sing along with the song and soon enough the sad people drinking beers at the bar are dancing.
The song ends and another begins and she pulls away. The smile is gone and the frown is back. She goes back to the corner and I turn away. I know she is sad. I know she spends nights in bed crying while I pretend to sleep. She doesn't like me to see her cry. I know she misses home. We had it hard here. Barely being able to get a place to live and barely enough to eat. I was ecstatic to get this job but it meant spending nights working and days sleeping.
I did it all for her though. So she could be happy and alive just like right before we left London.
/
She was curled up on the couch, tea cup in hand, the old TV casting flickers of light on the wall, when I came home. I take off my shoes and jacket slowly and walk into the living room. She looks up at me, tears running down her rosy cheeks and I notice the postcards.
"Just saying everything is okay." She whispers and moves them to make room for me, pulling the blanket over my shoulders once I'm seated, the heat warming me. "You can tell me you know." I wipe the tears away with the pads of my thumbs.
"Joe fired me," I admit. "He said something about some new act." She kisses me softly but I know she's disappointed about it. "I'm going to get another job," I say quickly. "Everything will be okay." I promise but she doesn't say anything back. I said things would be okay when we moved here but they weren't.
/
The next morning I wake up groggy and happy. The space next to me is empty but I hear the coffee maker buzz and my body moves to the sound, stomach growling. I stretch and yawn, feeling every tense muscles relax. I stop in my tracks when I enter the tiny kitchen. She's standing there, mixing two coffees and wearing some type of fancy suit I didn't know she had.
"What is going on?" I asked, a left over yawn creeping out. She hands me a mug.
"We need money if we are going to get out of here." She goes to the table and shuffles some papers around.
"Get out of here? Why?"
"Isn't that what we said last night? I can't live here anymore. Everything reminds me of home." She straps a bag of her shoulders and kisses my cheek. "We tried. That's all we were going to do." I want to stop her from walking out the door but I don't and she leaves.
/
After two weeks, she stops talking about home. She changes the subject when I mention it. She spends her time walking around and I took up the task of looking for jobs. We rarely talk and most nights she falls asleep on the couch. I kiss her on the forehead each time before turning off the TV and going to bed.
I'm at loss of what to do and how to reach out to her. Before, we use to never have enough time for each other and now it only seems like we are earning more time to spend apart. I love her. That I know. It's how to love her that makes my brain turn to mush.
I swing the half filled cup of Jack, watching the liquid spin around and around. I know I'm either drunk or on my way and I'm beyond caring. I spill everything out to the bartender; pay for the drinks and head on home, throwing up in a few trash cans along the way.
She's got her own bottle of half finished Jack Daniels on the cocktail table. She stares at me while I hang my coat and stumble into the kitchen. I hear her get up and the footsteps get closer.
"Where were you?" She demands.
"Out." I say and gulp down water.
"Well that's three out of five nights this week. How many more?" Her voice is bitter and I know if I turn around her eyes would be harsh. I move to sit down but she stops me.
"Move, Claire." I say simply and irritated.
"You can't keep doing this Harry." Her voice changes but I move past her and collapse on the couch. "I need you now more than ever. You can't go out every night and get wasted!" She mad and when she is mad she is vicious. I sigh.
"It's not like you haven't been giving me the silent treatment, right? Falling asleep on the couch and barely looking at me in the morning." I reply harshly.
"You're such an ass." That bothers me. I stand up.
"I'm in ass? I'm an ass? 'Cause I haven't been trying to get money to get you home because you won't stop whining about it. I'm not out all day, stopping in every store at every corner. I don't treat you like you're the fucking queen of the world." I glare at her which she easily returns.
"No, you don't. You spend your days away from me; your nights away from me. The second you wake up, you're out the door. You come here smelling of booze and sweat and sex. You're probably out there all night shagging anything that moves." She's crying now and I can feel that she's lost a sliver of trust for me.
"Fuck you Claire. Fuck you for even thinking I would do that to you." I take the few steps into the bedroom and slam the door shut right as she throws the glass bottle of Jack against the wall. I hear the sobs with no trouble through the thin door and slide down it, head between my knees, hands covering my ears to block out the sound that breaks my heart.
/
She's waiting for me in the morning. Her eyes are striking even when red and swollen. My shoulder is cramped from sleeping on the floor and against the door. We only stare at each other for what seems like forever. She hands me the extra cup of tea and I take it. She stares down at her cup, her finger traces the edge and her wild hair is making it impossible for me to see her face. I yearn to hug her and kiss her and whisper sweet everythings in her ear but she wants to speak first.
"I'm sorry." She finally says. "I meant what I said last night – not the shagging part – but the needing you part. I'm homesick. You're the only part of it here. I need you so much." She pauses, as if not knowing she should go on. "I love you more than anything, you know that it. I've just been missing you."
New tears form in her eyes when she looks up at me. I put the tea down and go to cup her face in my hands. I kiss her softly first but it turns rough. It's like I'm kissing her for the first time and I can't stop. Her taste is addicting and I realize how much I've missed it.