Miles Away

If our hearts are never broken
Well there's no joy in the mending
There's so much this hurt can teach us both
Though there's distance and there's silence
Your words have never left me
They're the prayer that I say every day.

New York – Snow Patrol

Hey Arnold...

The cursor blinked accusingly, waiting for something else to be written. Hey Arnold, what? What was the point of this email exactly?

A little bubble of anger burst at the surface of her mind and she hastily typed.

You're miles away. What does it matter?

Backspace.

Helga had been staring at her laptop for nearly an hour now, agonising over how to respond to an unexpected and irritatingly short email she had received.

Hey Helga,

Sorry I missed you when I was in town. I was really disappointed not to see you. Being a writer keeps you really busy, I guess. I saw your article in the New Yorker, it was really good. And man, the New Yorker! Didn't I always say you were destined for great things?

Anyway, maybe we can catch up next time I am in town.

Stay in touch.

Arnold x

"Oh fuck you", she hissed angrily, to herself, to the computer screen, to the divide of ocean and continents. "You didn't even try to see me", she whispered aloud.

That's not true.

Somewhere, the rational part of her mind, the part that just the very thought of him suppressed, managed to be heard. It wasn't true; he had reached out and sent a text. Granted, it was obviously a group text sent to everyone he had left behind and wanted to catch up with on his brief return to the States. She had been so angry at that text, that text meant for everyone and not just for her, it was absurd and she was ashamed. How the fuck had she managed to convince herself that she was any more special to him than any of his other friends? She hated herself for not being sane enough to just reply to that text and suggest they grab a drink. They had been able to do that once.

Once, when they had appeared as friends and Helga supposed that on some level they were. They appeared to have a healthy and platonic friendship that, to the outside world, and of course to him, had worked. It wasn't until he was leaving...for good...and with her...that Helga realised what a complete and utter fucking farce it all was. Who the hell was she kidding? He was never her friend. Somewhere deep inside of her, battened down with scar tissue so it was barely ever able to creep to the surface, the thought that one day he might finally see her kept her hopeful and stoked her need for that friendship to continue. Even though, in her weakest moments, she had to admit to herself that letting him back into her life had been the biggest mistake she had ever made.

And that was the rub, wasn't it? Being angry at him was so irrational because she was the one that let him back in. It was so easy in her rage to blame him but this whole situation was entirely her own fault. She was punishing him for the hurt that she brought on herself. That thought humbled her, made her so unbelievably sorry, made her want to just become the bigger person she had always wanted to be and type out a friendly reply. Open up the channels of communication like any other normal person would.

But normal had never really been in Helga's vocabulary. She groaned and pulled her hands through her long blonde hair.

"How did I get myself into this mess?"

"Yo, Nick, we need more Corona. Chop, chop!" Helga called to her co-worker. She finished pouring a pint and slammed it on the bar top. "That'll be 4.50". She held out her hand to the scruffy dude, clad in token rock shirt and ripped jeans. A typical representative of the Brunswick's clientele, he fished an extremely crumpled five dollar bill from his pocket and pushed it into Helga's held out hand.

"Keep the change" he said with a slightly lurid smirk.

"Gee thanks, a whole fifty cents, it'll be steak for dinner tonight" She snarked, ringing up the transaction and flipping a couple of quarters into a jar with a label that read "Show us your tips!"

"Hey Helga, that's downstairs open"

Already mixing a gin and tonic for a girl with purple hair, Helga turned to give a wiry guy with a Black Flag T-Shirt and many piercings in his face the thumbs up "Gotcha", she called back.

Finishing up her order, she turned to the cranky old sound system nestled on the back of the bar and pulled down the music that was currently being played and yelled across the room.

"Alright you chuckleheads, the venue is now open for you to go see your shitty rock band".

This earned her a few arched eye brows and filthy glares from skinny chicks with safety pins in their clothes and giant holes in their fishnet tights but a few regulars who were used to the bar manager's particular brand of banter chuckled.

The crowd at the bar started to ease as most of the punters siphoned off to see the band so Helga began loading glasses into the glass washer and wiping down the bar top as the aforementioned Nick re-emerged with a case of Corona.

"What now, boss?" Asked Nick as he begin to restock the Corona into the bar fridges.

"I need you downstairs, working the venue bar" she replied.

"Aw shit, come on, I saw the band sound checking earlier and they are fucking terrible! I'll bleed from the ears if I have to work down there tonight", whined Nick, bouncing from one foot to the other in a ridiculous childlike fashion.

"Tell it to the judge, bucko! Now get downstairs", Helga hitched her thumb towards the door at the back of the room.

"You're a harsh mistress, Pataki", grumbled Nick, as he made his way to the end of the bar.

"Hey Nick..." she called after a beat. As he turned she tossed him a bottle of Furstenburg which he just managed to catch. "To ease the pain, don't say I am not good to you".

A very wide grin broke on Nicks face as he popped the top from the beer, "I take it back. You, lady, are a legend!"

"Get to work!" She yelled and with a quick salute Nick was gone.

Smiling Helga pulled the pencil from the twist that held her hair on top of her head and it tumbled to her waist in a long blonde curtain. Hoisting her black skinny jeans up, she crouched to peer into the fridges and make a note of what stock needed replenished after the rush.

"You know, I am sure the manager would frown upon the staff drinking on the job".

Helga shot up again as though she were spring loaded, she knew that voice. It had been a while but she would know it anywhere. Slowly, she turned back to the bar where a slightly too skinny man with unruly blond hair and piercing green eyes stood, casually leaning across the bar top, disarming her with that smile. That smile was her kryptonite.

To Helga it felt like several hours passed before she was able to gather her wits and walls about her but in reality it was just a few seconds. "I doubt she would have much to say about it since she's me".

"In that case, are you hiring?" His grin became cheeky and he leaned a little further across the bar top.

"Sorry, I am up to my eyes in goofball geek boys who can't pour a pint to save themselves already".

"Ooh, you cut me deep, Pataki", he moved away from the bar top a couple of paces. His smile softened in a way that made Helga want to punch him "Seriously, how's tricks?"

His eyes met hers and she experienced a wave of nerves and irritation. She crossed her arms and cast her glance away from his "Tricks are for kids. And Idle chit chat doesn't pay the rent so are you going to order something or what?"

Something that wasn't said hung in the air for a moment.

"Sure", he replied eventually "A pint of Guinness and a rum and coke please".

Helga made a mental note; he still drank Guinness. Rum and coke, not a certainty but probably a girls drink. She then mentally scrubbed the note, scolding herself. She didn't need to file that. While she poured the Guinness she took a moment to really take him in.

Arnold hadn't changed a bit in the five years since they left University. He was still too skinny and not all that tall, probably only a couple inches taller than her. He still wore the same baggy jeans, faded geeky t-shirts topped with an unbuttoned plaid shirt. He was wearing the same ridiculous leather jacket that he was wearing when she last saw him. The one that made him look like a little boy wearing his father's coat. He was still fucking gorgeous. Suddenly she was acutely aware of her own appearance. She must look like shit! Glancing down for a quick inventory; black skinny jeans, ratty old band t-shirt – Sonic Youth, I can't remember if he likes them, oh for fucks sake Helga, get a grip of yourself – biker boots. That was acceptable; thank God she washed her hair pre-shift. Around anyone else she wouldn't give a fuck but he made her so insecure.

She was snapped from her mental spiral by Arnold asking "How long have you worked here?"

"I started about year or so after we graduated".

"I've always really liked this bar"

"I know..."

Another fleeting moment of unsaid thoughts, Helga cleared her throat nervously before adding "I love working here. I mean it's still just a bar job to pay the rent but I can imagine working shittier places".

Arnold looked her straight in the eyes as she placed his drinks in front of him "Are you still writing?"

This caught her off guard and she felt held by his gaze for a moment. She debated giving him a snarky response but eventually said "Yes...pulling pints is a means to an end...obviously".

He smiled "I'm glad. You're too talented to not be chasing that".

That just made her really, really sad. Her hands went to her hair, twirling the ends of it and tugging like she did when she was nervous, stressed or thinking. Part of her wanted to tell him he had no right to say that to her but that would sound insane and she was too emotionally stuck to simply say thank you. So she said nothing. Like a complete dumbass.

His eyes dropped from their contact with hers and moved to her tugging act with her hair. As if he knew she was feeling uncomfortable he took his drinks and gave her casual smile. "I'll see you later ok?" And with that he disappeared downstairs to see the band.

Arnold: Afternoon Pataki

Helga felt a little flutter in her chest and she couldn't suppress the grin that spread across her face as the Google Chat IM pinged into the corner of her laptop. It happened around about the same time each day. It was noon and Arnold was in his office at the University and she was in her flat trying desperately to hit the 1200 hundred words on an article for a local culture magazine for which she freelanced.

11:57 me: How's it hanging, Shortstuff?

11:57 Arnold: I never tire of that nickname you know

11:58 me: That's good to know because I never tire of using it :)

11:59 Arnold: Glad we are on the same page. *rolls eyes* How's you today?

12:00 me: Still a struggling underappreciated creative genius

12:00 Arnold: Bit of a one trick pony, aren't you Pataki ;)

12:01 me: Hey, one trick is all you need if it's damn good one.

12:01 Arnold: Fair point

12:05 me: Did you watch the new episode of The Walking Dead last night?

12:05 Arnold: I most certainly did. Awesome as usual.

12:06 me: Yeah it was pretty good. Although I have to admit them being at Hershels farm is beginning to drag a bit for me. It's been way too long. As great as the show is I think I prefer the graphic novels.

12:07 Arnold: I'll really need to get a loan of those from you sometime

12:07 me: Happy to contribute to the ongoing campaign to make you cooler and more interesting ;)

12:08 Arnold: How very benevolent of you! Oh, we finally got some zombies in last nights episode.

12:08 me: Don't use the Z word.

12:09 Arnold: Why? Because it's ridiculous?! :D

12:09 me: Because it's ridiculous

Damn! Beat me to it!

12:10 Arnold: Every time. We should really stop haning out.

hanging*

12:10 me: probably for the best. It is a little annoying, what with you trying so hard to be just like me, as cool as me. It's just embarrassing and futile, you realise

12:12 Arnold: Hah

I wouldn't mind.

It's just you keep stealing my comedy.

12:19 me: pfffff

well given the fact that 90% of our comedy is referential I think you will find that is, in fact, redundant ;p

12:22 Arnold: Oh OUR comedy now is it? :-p

12:22 me: you wish

12:23 Arnold: Pah.

And so things went on like this. They talked online almost every day, bantering and talking about everything and anything, they would meet after the working day for a pint, Arnold would visit her at the Brunswick and sit at the end of the bar with a Guinness and alternately keep her company and read his book, they would hang out at each other's apartments and watch movies and eat take out. They appeared to very much enjoy each other's company. Despite their interactions bordering on downright flirtatious they were strictly just friends.

Ever since that night in the bar when Arnold appeared out of the blue after an absence in Helga's life of nearly five years they had been almost inseparable. That night Arnold had approached her after the band had finished. Helga had ribbed him about them being awful and he agreed. He had to go but said it had been really great to see her. She replied sarcastically that she was sure it was. He said they should grab a drink sometime. Helga called his bluff and gave him her number not expecting him to get in touch; certain he was just saying it because it was social etiquette to say something like that. But he did. He'd text her and Helga, convincing herself that there was no reason why they couldn't be friends, had met him for a beer.

Did it come up that they were just friends? Arnold had a girlfriend. The same girlfriend that he'd had since University, the same University where briefly Helga had been...something...to him. That's why sometimes Helga would tear herself apart with confusion and frustration. Sometimes she got the distinct impression that Arnold might like them to be more than friends. Certain actions or tones of conversation imperceptible to anyone but her made her wonder. And there would be times she would catch him looking at her in such a way that went straight for her heart and made her feel like she had just been kicked in the chest.

Then she would get angry. That irrational anger that unbeknownst to her was being steadily cultivated by their relationship. Angry that he would deliberately keep her near to him, an arm's length away, but never close the gap.

Despite her best efforts to keep him at a platonic distance with well placed witty banter, by never letting the conversation get too deep – not for lack of trying on his part – and an inordinate amount of self preservation she still started falling for him again. She started to remember what happened all those years ago at University.

And then in one little moment it all implodes.

High School was not even a memory, she was only half way through her first semester at University and Helga was already utterly confused. Helga did not understand why he was paying so much attention to her. Was she suddenly more noticeable without the backdrop of High School? Did University suit her? She still felt like the same socially inept, angry girl she had always been. A couple of recently made friends had been adamant that he was flirting but she refused to accept that. It just didn't compute. This was Arnold they were talking about; funny, smart as all hell, hugely popular and devastatingly gorgeous Arnold. The one thing that she had always yearned for, wanted so much it actually created a physical ache. Helga didn't get to have Arnold, that's just the way it was.

And yet she couldn't deny his behaviour. He had been with her all night at Revolution, the on-campus bar and club where pretty much the entire student body liked to hang out, he was buying her drinks and definitely going out of his way to try and make her laugh.

Although she didn't trust it she certainly wasn't going to put a stop to it. If he's on some social outreach kick then she might as well enjoy it. She can handle herself.

Several hours later in a darker, quieter corner of the club, long after the DJ started and the swirl of inebriation meant that no one cared to notice Helga was pinned against the wall by Arnold's weight, his lips on hers and the situation recklessly beyond her control.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of sweet and furtive text messages, stolen moments in both Revolution and his old bedroom back at the Boarding House and whispered conversations from places no one else got to go. Helga, so lost in it all, even gave him a couple of poems, scribbled in class when she was meant to be taking notes because the words kept coming, spilling chaotically from behind the meticulously built walls holding them back, the walls that crumbled like a child's sandcastle under the intoxication of him. And the worst part was that she couldn't remember ever being as happy.

One lazy evening as they lay on his bed, she with her back to him, he leaned across and whispered in her ear "I don't know how you work yet?"

Her mind began to cloud; his closeness made her feel dizzy, as his breath murmured across her neck.

"What do you mean?" She managed, her throat already beginning to dry.

"Like...where and how..." His hand was ghosting the length of her side, dipping into the curve of her waist. It came to rest on her hip and his voice was dangerously low when he asked "is it here" his lips brushing the nape of her neck.

"Or here maybe?" his fingertips traced a delicate path across her stomach, causing her breath to hitch. She was still holding her breath when she rolled over to face him and meet his eyes. She exhaled slowly, the air shuddering from her lungs, as he looked at her. Their faces were barely a centimetre apart.

"I'm really losing it here" she whimpered as their lips met.

And then suddenly and without warning it stopped. Helga had been dancing on thin ice without even knowing it and now it had cracked and split. As she plummeted through the fissure her heart was blanched in ice and abruptly stopped beating.

The weather had just turned, making the palpable snap from late summer into winter, and the slight edge of a chill hung in the air. Helga was standing on top of the flight of steps that led from the street up to the entrance of Revolution. It was still summer when she woke up that morning so she hadn't dressed for the change; she rubbed the edge of cold from her exposed arms and repeatedly checked her cell phone. A ball of irritation and anxiety was gradually knotting itself in the pit of her stomach. Twilight was slowly settling around the campus, painting over the burnt orange of the day with an inky dark blue. A familiar figure finally approached the steps. Helga's relieved smile faltered when he stopped at the foot of the steps, hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets, he didn't look at her right away. Her smiled died.

"Oh god" she said, barely under her breath, as a horrible realisation dawned on her. He didn't need to say anything for her to know what was about to happen.

"Helga...I think...we need to talk". He wouldn't look at her. The knot in her stomach tightened violently.

"This is ending isn't it?" asked Helga. He remained at the foot of the steps, still not really looking at her, still not saying anything. His silence was her answer.

"Shit..." she hissed. She felt the tears prick at her eyes when the enormity of what she was feeling began to take hold. Casting her gaze skyward to keep them from falling she gritted her teeth as the airspace in her lungs began to compress, was this the onset of panic or something worse? Was she dying? He was starting to say things now; they were sounds not words, which barely reached her ears from the few feet away where he still lingered. The blood was pounding in her head, her ears, her chest, turning whatever he was saying into meaningless background static. Helga screamed at herself from inside her head, forcing her to get a hold of herself. The angry, scared little girl was regaining control of her vessel; this emotional mutiny was well and truly over. She was going into emergency defence mode; the walls were rapidly being rebuilt. Whatever happened next she would not cry. She would not let him see how much he was hurting her.

Like landing on a clear frequency on an old radio, Helga tuned into the here and now on two words.

"I'm sorry".

It's incredible how those words can sometimes cause more damage than they fix.

"I just don't understand what's happening here..."

Arnold was fidgeting now, his gaze darting everywhere, unable to keep contact with hers. He rubbed the back of his neck like he always does when he is nervous or stressed. Helga used to think that was cute. "I guess things are moving too fast. I am not ready for a serious relationship and I think I need to put the brakes on this before we both end up somewhere we don't want to be".

How could he be so callous? Who was this person?

"How long have you been feeling like this? I know it's only been a few months but you could have fucking talked to me about it? Why did you even let us get this far?" Helga was conscious that she was starting to raise her voice but anger was volleying for control.

"I don't know...I wasn't really thinking it through...I kind of figured anything worth trying should be approached with reckless abandon".

Helga's expression darkened and her anger spiked.

"I am NOT a fucking adventure holiday or some shit. Reckless abandon, really? Don't try and distract from what you are doing here with the lamest attempt at profundity I have ever heard!"

Arnold just blinked at her. Her old temper flaring up seemed to have thrown him off whatever bullshit break up excuse he had concocted.

"You know what, forget it Arnold. You're right; this was a huge fucking mistake".

With that Helga turned and retreated inside of Revolution. She wasn't sure if she heard him call her name because that pounding in her ears had returned and the dam holding back her tears was breaking. What she did know for sure was that he didn't follow her. When she finally reached the girls bathroom in Revolution she only just made it into one of the cubicles before crumpling to the floor. It was two hours before the sobs subsided enough for her to leave with whatever shred of dignity she had left.

The months that followed were a spiral of self-loathing and a hurt so impenetrable that Helga became unreachable. For a period, she couldn't even write about it. She was furious with herself for falling so hard and letting go of all her emotional weaponry. She had let herself become vulnerable and in exchange she had been gunned down. It was her worst fear realised and she felt like she was moving through a waking nightmare.

The rage and self-analysis was poisonous. She replayed every word exchanged, every move made, and every minuscule interaction over and over again in her head searching for where she was at fault. "I referred to myself as his girlfriend at one point, I shouldn't have done that", she thought. All the while she detested herself for being so pathetic. It was an internal war. Helga came to the conclusion she was too needy, too open, too much in love. She had scared him. It was her fault. And once she had arrived at that misguided notion she managed to convince herself that Arnold had every right to do what he did. Who was she to make him go faster than he wanted? He didn't want a relationship right now. Maybe when he was ready things would change...

Helga's fragile network of comfort that she constructed around these ideas seemed to keep her from going completely insane. But being in love is like a disease; a rampant fever that tells you lies and like all ailments it either gets worse and you flat line or you fight and pull through.

When Helga found out about the girlfriend through an awkwardly cagey conversation with a mutual friend the humiliation was overwhelming. Arnold didn't just break her heart, he obliterated it and whatever survived the aftermath never really recovered. But Helga, true to form, didn't flat line. She fought with every ounce of feeling she had left. She fought with edge of her synapses and the marrow in her bones.

Arnold didn't want her. He got close and saw something he could never love. Helga wrestled with this truth to the brink of her sanity and back again until finally it submitted. Then she buried it in the place where the darkest poems formed and she never looked back.

Except she did look back; just like in the movies when they say don't look down and they only go and do it anyway.

Almost a decade later a similar scene played itself out in a street in front of a pub that was to become the backdrop to so many confusing moments in this second stage of their relationship.

Arnold had told her some weeks prior that he and Elaine were moving to South America. A job offer was on the table with the anthropology department of one of the Universities out there and it was something he couldn't pass up for far too many obvious reasons that Helga didn't care to count.

She knew it was nuts and unjustified but she couldn't help but feel like history was repeating itself. She had allowed herself to fall for him again and now he was leaving her...again.

It wasn't her intention to be hovering around this pub. The one that was their regular haunt but that was the very problem. She was being haunted and she needed to perform an exorcism.

He was leaving in a week and tonight was some farewell drinks. Helga hadn't returned any of his messages.

When he finally arrived, with colleagues and friends in tow he was laughing, practically glowing and it made her feel sick which in turn made her boil with her own self-loathing. When he saw her he stopped and just looked at her and she was consumed by this overwhelming urge to run away.

The conversation was brief and Helga didn't say a single thing that she was thinking.

I am in love with you.

I fell in love with you the first time round.

I can't handle the fact that you are leaving but at the same time I need you to go.

I hate myself because I want you to be happy but your happiness makes me miserable.

I've been avoiding you because it all hurts too much.

I've been living in a dream world and it's time to wake up.

Instead she lied, made up some lame excuse as to why she couldn't join them for drinks and gracelessly left before Arnold could respond. And that was how she left it.

He left without so much as a goodbye text. She wanted him completely gone so she couldn't say she didn't get what she wanted.

The cursor continued to flash...

This was the first proper contact since that night when Helga managed to simultaneously humiliate herself and rip up the foundations for any possible friendship. In many ways, she thought in a moment of self-reflective clarity, she didn't deserve this much from him. She didn't deserve him to be the bigger person when really that responsibility should fall to her.

Yes. He hurt her. Badly. But that was ten fucking years ago now...if she couldn't get over it then she wasn't the strong and intelligent person she thought she was.

It occurred to her that maybe she could fix it. Arnold would no longer pry or pressure her for the truth about her actions. She knew that was a privilege to which she had no right anymore. She could just email him back; keep it bright and breezy like nothing was wrong, like the intervening six months never happened. It wouldn't be like it was before; it would be a new phase of their relationship, one that floated on the surface of things and never really became an island.

And that was better than nothing...right?

Helga got up and paced the room, staring at her laptop like it was some dangerous animal poised and intent on attacking her. She stood there for a moment, tugging at her hair and biting her lip in a state of utter anxiety before taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Get a grip you freak", she muttered to herself. A cement like resolve settled upon her and she marched over to her computer with a renewed since of purpose. She sat down, back straight...and closed the laptop.