Part 8:
(( forgive me))
C-
The pizza is actually sitting on the counter, not far from where we were on the couch. We reason that Darius must have brought it, saw us in whatever state we were, and promptly excused himself from the scene. The kid sure does put up with a lot, but.. Oh, well.
As promised, it's my favorite white cheese and spinach pizza, a combination I'd never thought I'd enjoy but fell in love with anyway. It took Erik a couple tries to warm up to it, and he may never love it as much as I do, but he seems to enjoy it, despite the mess the too large spinach always makes.
Given the heaviness of the conversation we just had, or its potential for heaviness, I both really want to keep the ball rolling and talk about the masked elephant in the room and want to give us a break, let us have a softer, lighter moment. It's been a heavy day in general, or at least this last part, and I don't really think either of us needs another potential stressfully back-breaking moment. I feel, more than ever, that if and when I bring it up, we'll be able to talk through it, but is now the best time for that specific conversation? To ask, or even suggest he be able to reveal himself? Now? No. No, not quite.
"So are we an item now?" I ask through a mouth of crust, instead.. Erik snorts in surprise, a hand moving to his mouth to hurriedly hide his shock.
"Y-you- we-" He blinks. "We what?"
"An item. A couple. A thing. A relationship." I list, trying not to laugh at his shock.
"You want.. with me?" He act truly befuddled.
"I did kinda just kiss you.. Is it still too soon to be calling us anything?"
"I.." He sets his pizza down on his plate, and then the plate on the counter. "I would not call it 'too soon'. I would call it.. me being wildly unprepared, in any case."
"Prepared for what?" I ask, noting his nervous tick, his playing with the silver and blue ring on his right hand.
"For when you eventually leave. To.. to be and act with such emotion- to be even closer- I worry that I will not be able to let you leave when the time comes.." He says, turning to lean on the counter rather than face me across it, all the happiness of the moment prior sapped away. He is cold and distant, that ancient sadness perpetuating through him.
"Why do you still think I'm going to leave? I won't- I don't want to, anyway. Are you saying you're going to have to have me leave? Don't you.. don't you want to be with me?" I mumble the last part. I did not think this conversation would turn so harsh so quick..
"Of course I do! That is the problem! I love, I adore the time I spend with you. I want nothing more than to continue on, in whatever way most pleases you, but I know.. all good things end. Especially for me. I do not say so to be dramatic or to cause problems, it's simply the pattern of my life.. and you are the best thing in my life. When you leave, and life will assuredly force you to leave somehow and someday, it will be the worst loss I ever experience." He shudders.
"But I don't want to! I wanna be with you just as much, and nothing can change that!"
"I know of several things that can change that." He says flatly, bitter, but is it at me? I can't tell. I pound a fist on the counter. He doesn't move, doesn't react.
"Bullshit. I'm not leaving. Nothing can change that. And- And I'm kinda insulted you think I'm so easily swayed, that, that I would leave you just like that. How could I forget all of this, all of you? Why would I want to?"
"Please.. can.. can we not discuss this now?" He asks with a shaking breath, turning further away from me.
"Erik.. it can't be avoided forever. It's obviously stressing you out, and letting that go unspoken is only going to make things harder for the both of us. I wanna be with you. Right now, I'm so certain I want to live the rest of forever with you, okay, and that doesn't mean I want a ring or a ceremony or something, I just.. Like you said, I want to keep going the way we have been. I just want to know where we stand.. If you want to be with me like I want to be with you, then what's the problem? What's so terrible it's gonna drive us apart?"
"Me. I will. I always do. I never mean to, it's never, ever my intention, but I always do. I ruin everything. It's my curse, my poison." He snarls, shaking. "I am an inevitable end to all things decent and good."
"Erik, you.. you're not some rabid animal. It's not like you're just gonna suddenly turn on me, are you?"
"..No." He sighs.
"Then why can't we work through it? I thought, I thought for sure you'd reject me for my thing, my big reveal. It had literally never gone well for me before.. but look, we found something in common through it! Maybe I won't immediately understand whatever it is that you have, but I will try, and even if I never succeed, that won't stop me from loving you and wanting to be there anyway. I don't completely understand lots of things that I like!" I try to explain, try brighten him, but he only slowly looks up, turning his head.
"Love?" He asks, turning somehow paler. Did I say love? Did I say I love him? I think I did.. Oh my god. I do. I do.
"Y-yeah. Yeah." I shake at first, but the more I realize it, the better it feels.
"You.. you love me?" He pushes off the counter, shoulders tensed.
"Yeah. I do. I.. I hadn't realized it until right now, but I think I have for a while.. Is that okay?" I ask, not ready to ask the other question, the one I hadn't thought I'd ask ever again: do you love me too?
"You are.. impossible.." He breathes, my unspoken question going unanswered. "How- You don't even know- I don't understand.." He whines, stepping back until he hits the wall, and then he slides down the floor with his arms over his head.
"Erik?" I nearly shout, and dash around the counter to be with him. He's shaking, hands curled and buried angrily in his hair. Oh god, is he crying? "Erik, what's wrong, what did I do? I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No, no please don't apologise-" He says, hands coming away from his head, out to me. His eyes are wet, and I can see streams of tears coming down under his mask. "I- I simply never thought- what did I do to trick you like this?" He shakes his head, breath catching.
"You didn't trick me, Erik. Why do you think you're.. unlovable?" That's the only word for it. That's how he acts, how he's always acted, and I hoped it would go away but..
"Because I am! I should be- I don't deserve-"
"I decide who deserves my love. I decide that you do. Are you saying I'm wrong?" I don't mean to sound so bitter, so confrontational, but I do.
"Yes- no- I- You don't know all of what I've done, where I've been, oh, the things, Christine, the things I've done.. You would know me for a monster if you knew.." He sobs, hiding in his hands again. I put mine on his shoulders, trying to be as supportive of him as he was of me, but I don't understand, what's wrong?
"Then tell me, so I can prove to you it doesn't matter. Where you've been, things you've done, those are who you are now.."
"I can't.. I can't tell you or it will ruin everything!"
"According to you we're already headed for disaster.. What do you want, Erik? Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to leave?" I feel ready to cry again myself, so confused. How did we get here? Where did my grasp of the situation go? Erik looks up at me, equally bewildered, his expression like a child called up to perform rocket science and completely caught out of his depth. But then something changes, some resolve sets and hardens.
"You need to leave." He says, voice clear and sure.
"What?" I nearly screech, pulling back.
"Please, for both our sakes, you must leave. Yes, it's the only way, now, while I can see clearly.. It's safest this way." He mumbles, eyes unfocused.
"Erik, that doesn't- you're not making any sense!" His eyes snap back to me, and for the first time ever, I'm uncomfortable trying to hold his gaze.
"Before everything is completely ruined.." He says, standing, pulling me with him. "I am sorry, Christine, but it's for our- for your own good. This is in your best interest." His hands are on my shoulder, but they're too firm, too harsh.
"Like hell it is! What do you think you're- Erik!" I push against him, hoping to shock him out of this bizarre state he's in, but he just pushes me on. It doesn't hurt, physically, but I feel my heart aching as we go. I'm not ready for this! "Don't you dare push me away, Erik! You're just fulfilling your own self-destructive prophecy! I don't want to leave! Nothing you could tell me would make that change!"
"You don't know that." He says, grabbing my bag.
"Neither do you!"
"On the contrary, I have an entire life that informs me of the outcome. It's better this way, sooner, rather than later. It was foolish to let it go on this long." His voice is cold as he sets the strap of my bag on my shoulder for me, then continues to point me toward the door. "This is better, I promise."
"No." I sob, angry at him, for thinking this, for choosing this.
"Yes." He whispers with finality, and I lose control of myself. I melt against him, let him guide me, somewhat forcefully, out the door, down the stairs, past the gate.. Everything is blue-gray, somber and sad and ashy, like the world's already burned down around me, and I'm just waking up to the aftermath. The gate creaks behind me, and I turn just in time to see one last glimpse of his face, his mask, his eye. There is no opportunity for hesitation there. The gate shuts and I hear, "Goodbye, Christine."
I just fall to my knees. So suddenly, so unpredictably.. it's over. I hear things crash and break, I hear the slamming of hands on wood and yelling and I don't even know what else, but it's distant, like on a hazy t.v. in another room. I feel completely numb, empty, barren. I was so happy, and he was too, so what changed? Is he so sure he can't be loved that me saying it caused him to panic? I didn't even consciously realize until that very moment, and I don't regret saying it, don't regret trying to talk through things, but I can't understand how one thing led to the other. I expected resistance. I expected difficulty. I did not expect him to.. break up with me.
And it hits me that that's what this is. We were almost a solid something, call us lovers, call us a couple, call us anything, but we were almost there, already were there, in some senses, and now it's gone? It doesn't make sense and here it is. Here we are, here I am, alone again.
I push myself to my feet in a daze. I guess I need to go home, to my empty, tiny apartment, with no plants and no books and no Erik. I wander out towards the bike rack, but I consider leaving it there, forgetting about it, shutting this whole thing out. It would give me an excuse to come back, too. I don't intend to leave it, Erik or the bike, here. This can't be the way it ends.
"Christine?" Another new sound presents itself, from far away. I turn to find the source. It's Raoul. My knee-jerk reaction of anger brings me back to clarity, just a little bit.
"I still don't want anything to do with you." I say, my voice harsh and pained. I wish I was stronger than this.
"I know. I just.. I don't know. I can't stop thinking about you."
"Congratulations." I gripe.
"Christine, what happened in there? You look.. well, not the best. Worse than I sent you in.." He comments, still following me.
"I'm not entirely sure, Raoul, and it's not your business anyway." I reply snidely. Please, just let me be..
"Christine.." He only says my name once, like he used to, when he knew I was breaking down, and instead of comforting me like he wants, it infuriates me.
"He broke up with me, okay!? I- I don't even know why. He wouldn't explain it, just.. said it was better this way and pushed me out. Are you happy? Happy that I'm all alone and defenseless and vulnerable?"
"No! I.. I hate seeing you like this. I hate knowing I did this to you, too, once upon a time. I just want to help." He begs, and I let myself see the sadness, the guilt, that's almost been etched into him.
"I got my tattoo covered." I say to gauge his reaction, and also just to be bitter. "It's a big ol' celtic knot now. Not a trace of the old one."
"I understand. I'm sure it's prettier now, in any case.." He shrugs. "How can I help, Christine?"
"Give me some space, Raoul. Seven years wasn't enough." I mumble, and walk off into the deepening gray of the evening. Raoul doesn't follow, and I'm not sure if I'm glad or sad. I pull out my phone and dial Meg. I don't want to feel this alone again..
E-
I watch her interactions with the damned boy from my window, wishing for unknown and unnameable things. Ultimately, she leaves alone, pulling out her phone. I look to mine on the counter, but it does not ring. I suppose she's calling Meg, then.. She disappears behind a building, drenched in woeful shadow, all her internal light seeming snuffed out, and I ache to see her so, to know, worse, that I did it, and even worse than that, to know it was necessary.
But if something is bound to fall, is it not better to choose how it will fall than to let luck and chaos determine the worst of every outcome? I had to do this. If she found out- no, when she found out, it would have broken her, worse, far worse, would have ruined her.
I still rail and writhe against the necessity. I hate this life, this burden, that gives and then takes away with interest. I want her, I want her so badly, back in my home and my life, but it's too late. I had to.. I had to. I can't let her back in for her own sake, and for mine, too. I try to take comfort. If everything must be awful, at least I have chosen the time and the place. At least it was not stolen from me, this time.
But Christine..
I moan, and tear my mask from my face, throwing it hatefully at the floor. It shatters, screaming, and I roar in the silence after. Damn this world, damn this face, damn its eternal suffering, and damn the god who gave it all to me! What did I do to earn this life? What predetermined me for this horrible fate? Why was I set for this, without any choice, to suffer and ache and fall? I rampage through my perfectly tidy apartment, ferociously and mercilessly tearing apart anything I can with my bare hands, which is most of everything.
By the end of an hour, nothing but the bed and the kitchen remain whole and standing. Even I am more damaged for it, my hands torn and bleeding, arms and legs and throat sore, and I rest, panting, against the island that divides the main room from that tiny kitchen..
And I break apart again in sorrow, alone, and by my own actions. I both crave and miss her, and know that I should never see her again. I want her, I need her, but I need her to be alive and safe and free even more.. To love me would mean to love a cage, and she is already trapped by too many things for me to allow it. If I must break her heart to set her free, then I must. It is a deed I do not look forward to living with, but it's the only way to protect her from my past and my future, in essence, from myself.
I lied, earlier, when I said only the bed and the kitchen were left whole. My violin, my faithful instrument, is still safe and lovely and whole. I find that I can no longer express myself with tears or violence or words.. but she can cry for me. She can cry when I cannot. She will sing when I cannot. She will mourn with me, though, for I can do that, at least.. Together we will mourn everything we cannot have and be.
C-
I call him every day, sometimes several times. I text him. I email him. There is no response. In the beginning, this makes me panic. This is just like Raoul, all over again. He knows it, too, but I suspect he's doing this to drive me away. It won't work. I'm determined to get a goddamned answer before this is over. But by the end of the first week, the panic is gone, replaced with a deeper, more long-term sense of fear and dread.
Meg comes over every day, either to the parlor or to my apartment and sometimes both, bearing ice cream and coffee and sweets. She's as appalled and surprised as I am, and she does her best to distract me or talk with me through it, to try to reach some kind of understanding. We never do, but it's cathartic anyway.
Raoul stays away for four days, before appearing at the parlor again. Firmin threatens to toss him out, which would normally be funny, as he is a small, round slightly older fellow, who is reputably physically inept, but the earnest with which he declares it is intimidating, even on him. But I let Raoul in on the fifth day. I let him talk. He just says the same things, he's sorry, he regrets it, he just wants to understand now, for my sake.
On the sixth day, I give up and talk back. I explain to him, as I did every time, how it works, how I feel, what it means. I don't feel any better for it, though. He says he understands, but I think he still doesn't get it in that fundamental way that I, despite being differently minded from him, can understand how he feels from a distance, removed but empathetic. It sounds like he's just saying it, but it also sounds like he is trying to understand, which I appreciate. It's all too late for me, but it's sweet nonetheless. Maybe some other girl will have an easier time from this.
Raoul seems insistent on being more again, in the beginning, but I have no interest. I tell him he can try to stick around if he wants to, but there's no love for him. We fall back into friendship, though, slowly, and painfully. He seems okay with this in time. He'd better be, or it'll be the highway for him. My promise to break his nose still stands..
Even so, with Raoul being no more than friendly and Meg being more supportive than ever, I am not happy. I always thought that, after a horrible experience like Raoul and my dad's death and losing everything, I'd never hurt so much over anything, but here I am. I miss him terribly, but for all that I reach out, he refuses to reach back. I know he's there. He never leaves, after all.
In the wake of everything, I feel like the tiger lillies that I took home, that withered and died, alone in my apartment. I feel like I'm fading away, falling to dust, with nothing to keep me together. I wonder if I would hurt so much if I just knew why he thought this was needed. Why? Why?! Just.. why?
I keep thinking about it, but I only get more and more confused, more and more hurt. I find no joy in my work, no art or music can cheer me, and even the stupidest of Meg's jokes can't lift my spirit for more than a moment. No matter how bright the sun shines, I feel wasted and gray and hollow, no longer full of a life of my own, just a golem of muscle memory and dusty tears.
For three weeks, I try to contact him every day. Then every other day, for two weeks, and then not at all. I fall into despair. What else is there to feel? We were at the height of joy, and we should've only gone further up, but now I feel not only like I've fallen to the bottom of the mountain, but a step further, down into a valley, alone. Even if Meg and Raoul both try to pull me up, sooner or later they'll realize I'm too heavy, not worth saving, and have to let go. Or, maybe like Erik, I'll have to cut them free.
But I understand why I would. I'm shutting down, falling apart. I am at my very worst, and I don't know how things can ever be better again. I don't want to drag down the only other caring people in my life with me. But he- we- were doing so well, so happily together, so perfect and content and.. I just don't understand.
I decide that, tomorrow, nearly six weeks after, I'll go retrieve my bike. One last try. It's all I have, and then it'll really be over, and I'll never be the same again.