They sat side by side on the couch, stiff and unmoving. The drive to his place had been mostly in silence, with no words spoken since. Vincent waited for Charlotte to speak, watching her as she thought. Eventually she turned towards him, flicked her hair out of her eye, and spoke.
"Vincent, I'm sorry. OK? I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I left you. No," she said, as he began to interrupt, "Let me finish. I have to say this, then you can have your turn."
"Oh, I get a turn too, do I?" he mumbled. "Go on," he said as she looked at him.
"I'm a lesbian," she said, reiterating the well-known fact that had come between them. "I don't like men, I like women. You know that. You know all that. You were saying yourself last night that I can't change me, that it's not my fault. And it's not, Vincent. It's not my fault that I couldn't love you like you wanted to be loved."
Vincent began to speak, then thought better of it, letting her have her turn in the hope that she'd do likewise for him. He nodded for her to continue. She leant back into the couch, facing the wall opposite them.
"It was stupid to marry you. I mean, I was happy, at the time. I thought I wanted it to be forever. I honestly don't know how I didn't realise, and I've wondered so many times why I just didn't see the signs. How I can fool myself so well that even I don't know me. But I did, and I fooled you, too. And I married you, and that was wrong. And I left you, and that hurt you, and that was probably wrong too, I don't know."
"It wasn't wrong," Vincent said softly. She ignored him and continued with her thoughts.
"It wasn't a wonderful marriage, though. Was it? Deep down I never wanted you to be a husband, I wanted you to be a best friend. And you were a husband. You were a wonderful husband," she said bitterly. "You had a great job and shitloads of money and you looked after your woman in all the old fashioned ways. But there was never anyone for me to come home to, was there? Never anyone to talk to about my day, never anyone to cry to when I was upset, never anyone to listen to me bitch or whine or carry on."
She paused, and Vincent sat silent.
"I might have stayed if it had been better." She turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I left you, Vincent. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I'm a lesbian and I couldn't be a good wife. But ..." Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to find the right words. "You weren't good for me. You weren't what I wanted. In any way, really. And I'm sorry that that'll hurt you too, but it's true. We can only be friends now, without all this coming between us, if we're honest. And honestly, Vincent, I loved you, and you were wonderful. But in the end you were too much like a husband and not enough like a friend."
They sat in silence for a few minutes while he thought. She had asked to see him, but he wasn't here to listen. He was here to make her understand.
"Charlotte." He paused, bringing a hand up to her face.
"Don't," she warned through tears.
He looked into her eyes for a moment, before pulling his hand away. "OK," he said. "OK." He thought a moment. "I loved you," he said. "I really did love you. And you're right, I sucked as a husband. I was worse as a friend. I wasn't much of anything to you, really. But I wanted to be. I stuffed up - I know that, Charlotte. I pushed you away and I was surprised when you walked, and I shouldn't have been." He leant forward, resting his head in his hands, trying not to lose his composure.
Sitting back again, he continued, his eyes red and moist. Charlotte breathed in sharply, not recalling seeing him cry so openly before. "I wanted to be good for you. And if I stuffed up, I could live with that. I could easily hate myself for the rest of my life for hurting you. But I can't, not really. It doesn't fix anything. Because there was nothing I could do for you. Not a damn thing. You lied to me for all those years, making me think I could be the one to make you happy. I couldn't. I was a man, Charlotte, and you let me think that was what you wanted. When you left, I was shattered. I pulled myself back into line and I worked a lot of things out and I realised where I fucked up. And I was going to make myself into a better person and come back to you, ask you to take me back. Beg, if I had to. Because I wanted to make you happy."
He avoided looking at her, refusing to be deterred by the tears on her face, her broken, sympathetic expression.
"When I found out you were dating women, I did hate you. For letting me think I could be something to you. For letting me think I meant something to you." He spat the last sentence, his tone one of disgust at his own naivety. He looked up at Charlotte, speaking softly. "You made me think I could make you happy. That was the worst thing you could have done to me, Charlotte. That hurt me more than anything else, realising that after all these years, I never could have made you happy even if I had done everything right. Realising that I'd wasted four years of my life making a home for us, for someone who didn't even want to be living in it. That hurt. And we can be the friends you wanted, I can sit here and listen to you talk, but my heart won't be in it. I can't forgive you for that. I can give you anything you want, out of a gesture of remorse for everything I did wrong back then, but I can't go back there. I can't care for you, I can't sit and listen to you. You lied to me, and you let me believe."
Vincent's steady voice and calm composure countered Charlotte's sudden crying. Sitting still, she wept silently, her eyes staring through him, showing a mix of pain and sorrow. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as her lips quivered and, realising he wasn't going to say anything further, the weeping turned to heartbroken sobs. Vincent stood, pausing a moment to look down into her pleading eyes, then walked into the bedroom. He heard her collapse onto the couch, crying loudly, before shutting the door behind him. Several minutes later he sank back into the bed as he heard her gather her things and slip quietly out the front door.
***
[chapter seven in progress]
"Vincent, I'm sorry. OK? I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I left you. No," she said, as he began to interrupt, "Let me finish. I have to say this, then you can have your turn."
"Oh, I get a turn too, do I?" he mumbled. "Go on," he said as she looked at him.
"I'm a lesbian," she said, reiterating the well-known fact that had come between them. "I don't like men, I like women. You know that. You know all that. You were saying yourself last night that I can't change me, that it's not my fault. And it's not, Vincent. It's not my fault that I couldn't love you like you wanted to be loved."
Vincent began to speak, then thought better of it, letting her have her turn in the hope that she'd do likewise for him. He nodded for her to continue. She leant back into the couch, facing the wall opposite them.
"It was stupid to marry you. I mean, I was happy, at the time. I thought I wanted it to be forever. I honestly don't know how I didn't realise, and I've wondered so many times why I just didn't see the signs. How I can fool myself so well that even I don't know me. But I did, and I fooled you, too. And I married you, and that was wrong. And I left you, and that hurt you, and that was probably wrong too, I don't know."
"It wasn't wrong," Vincent said softly. She ignored him and continued with her thoughts.
"It wasn't a wonderful marriage, though. Was it? Deep down I never wanted you to be a husband, I wanted you to be a best friend. And you were a husband. You were a wonderful husband," she said bitterly. "You had a great job and shitloads of money and you looked after your woman in all the old fashioned ways. But there was never anyone for me to come home to, was there? Never anyone to talk to about my day, never anyone to cry to when I was upset, never anyone to listen to me bitch or whine or carry on."
She paused, and Vincent sat silent.
"I might have stayed if it had been better." She turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I left you, Vincent. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I'm a lesbian and I couldn't be a good wife. But ..." Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to find the right words. "You weren't good for me. You weren't what I wanted. In any way, really. And I'm sorry that that'll hurt you too, but it's true. We can only be friends now, without all this coming between us, if we're honest. And honestly, Vincent, I loved you, and you were wonderful. But in the end you were too much like a husband and not enough like a friend."
They sat in silence for a few minutes while he thought. She had asked to see him, but he wasn't here to listen. He was here to make her understand.
"Charlotte." He paused, bringing a hand up to her face.
"Don't," she warned through tears.
He looked into her eyes for a moment, before pulling his hand away. "OK," he said. "OK." He thought a moment. "I loved you," he said. "I really did love you. And you're right, I sucked as a husband. I was worse as a friend. I wasn't much of anything to you, really. But I wanted to be. I stuffed up - I know that, Charlotte. I pushed you away and I was surprised when you walked, and I shouldn't have been." He leant forward, resting his head in his hands, trying not to lose his composure.
Sitting back again, he continued, his eyes red and moist. Charlotte breathed in sharply, not recalling seeing him cry so openly before. "I wanted to be good for you. And if I stuffed up, I could live with that. I could easily hate myself for the rest of my life for hurting you. But I can't, not really. It doesn't fix anything. Because there was nothing I could do for you. Not a damn thing. You lied to me for all those years, making me think I could be the one to make you happy. I couldn't. I was a man, Charlotte, and you let me think that was what you wanted. When you left, I was shattered. I pulled myself back into line and I worked a lot of things out and I realised where I fucked up. And I was going to make myself into a better person and come back to you, ask you to take me back. Beg, if I had to. Because I wanted to make you happy."
He avoided looking at her, refusing to be deterred by the tears on her face, her broken, sympathetic expression.
"When I found out you were dating women, I did hate you. For letting me think I could be something to you. For letting me think I meant something to you." He spat the last sentence, his tone one of disgust at his own naivety. He looked up at Charlotte, speaking softly. "You made me think I could make you happy. That was the worst thing you could have done to me, Charlotte. That hurt me more than anything else, realising that after all these years, I never could have made you happy even if I had done everything right. Realising that I'd wasted four years of my life making a home for us, for someone who didn't even want to be living in it. That hurt. And we can be the friends you wanted, I can sit here and listen to you talk, but my heart won't be in it. I can't forgive you for that. I can give you anything you want, out of a gesture of remorse for everything I did wrong back then, but I can't go back there. I can't care for you, I can't sit and listen to you. You lied to me, and you let me believe."
Vincent's steady voice and calm composure countered Charlotte's sudden crying. Sitting still, she wept silently, her eyes staring through him, showing a mix of pain and sorrow. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as her lips quivered and, realising he wasn't going to say anything further, the weeping turned to heartbroken sobs. Vincent stood, pausing a moment to look down into her pleading eyes, then walked into the bedroom. He heard her collapse onto the couch, crying loudly, before shutting the door behind him. Several minutes later he sank back into the bed as he heard her gather her things and slip quietly out the front door.
***
[chapter seven in progress]
