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Diarmuid

 

 

 

I sat in my truck watching Saoirse walk away as I always did. Upstairs on her floor, she appeared on the balcony. For a few moments we just watched each other. She lifted her hand in a slight wave and disappeared inside her shithole of an apartment.

Something twisted in my gut. What did it say about you when your best friend was a fourteen-year-old girl? What did it say when she was the one I was most comfortable with?

I hated grocery shopping. Saoirse had made it fun. I hated washing up, but with her beside me it felt like a game, not a chore.

She had such a tough life, but she was still so brave and hopeful. She gave me hope.

I didn’t go straight home after I dropped Saoirse off. I drove around, my mind whirring over Saoirse’s words from earlier. I ended up at the pizza joint we always went to. I ordered a Club Orange, a fizzy orange soft drink, and sat at Saoirse’s and my usual booth, sipping my drink and staring at the spot where she usually sat.

You don’t love her.

Why are you with her?

I took Ava here once. She didn’t like the place. Too casual. She liked places where she got to dress up. I used to as well because she looked great when she was dressed up. But now…when was the last time we even went out on a date? When was the last time that Ava and I even laughed together or had fun?

I thought over the night that Saoirse and I had. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard or felt so at ease. Had Ava and I ever laughed like that?

I tried to imagine Ava jumping on the trolley and letting me push her through the aisle. I tried to imagine her dancing with me in the kitchen. But I couldn’t. She just didn’t fit.

She didn’t fit.

Dear God. And it took a fourteen-year-old girl to make me realise it. Saoirse was so wise and yet so innocent. A fourteen year old going on thirty.

You don’t love her. Why are you with her?

Did I love Ava? Had I ever loved her? We had wanted each other. That much was clear.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I remembered how I’d felt when Ava had smiled at me.

She was dressed to the nines and with her stylish girlfriends. I had never imagined that a girl like that could ever look twice at an ex-juvi foster kid like me. I saw the way she looked at me, a large brute of a man from the wrong side of the tracks, my tattoos and my shoulder-length hair. The lust had been obvious. I thought that lust had turned into love.

Had it?

I remembered Saoirse telling me about the frog. That if you throw a frog in boiling water, it will hop out. But let it sit in cold water and turn up the heat slowly, it will sit there and boil.

Was I the frog? Had Ava and I stopped being right for each other so slowly that we couldn’t see it? Were we boiling alive together?

Ava and I didn’t connect. I mean, Christ, a fourteen-year-old girl understood me more than Ava did. And when was the last time Ava and I had sex?

Weeks ago. A quickie in the morning which I felt was almost an obligation rather than the fact that either of us wanted it.

Was this what long-term relationships turned into? Ava had been hinting at a wedding. Actually, more than hinting.

If Ava was the right woman, shouldn’t I be thrilled at the idea of marrying her?

 

 

 

I knew I was in trouble the second I pushed open the door. Ava was waiting for me in the living room, her manicured hands fisted right where I used to love grabbing her.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Just driving around, Ava. Calm down.” I hooked my jacket on the stand, kicked off my boots.

“Driving around, huh?” Ava followed me into the bedroom where I dropped my keys on the dresser.

“Yeah.”

“With that girl?”

I spun around to face Ava. Her eyes glittered with hatred. How could she hate Saoirse? She hadn’t even given Saoirse a chance. She was the one who cancelled on our dinner where she was supposed to meet Saoirse, a concession I’d allowed her when she’d complained that I was spending too much time with the girl.

“Her name is Saoirse,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I tried to call you but you left your phone at home.”

What was she trying to accuse me of?

“I hadn’t even noticed I’d left it.”

“How fucking convenient.”

I let out a groan and sank onto the edge of the bed. Fuck. Did we have to fight again?

We’d always fought. In the beginning it was kind of thrilling; the drama of it, the excitement, the hot make-up sex afterwards. Now it was just exhausting and pointless. I had no energy for this anymore.

“Jesus, Ava, do we have to do this now?”

“You son of a bitch.” Ava crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you fucking her?”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“Are you fucking that…that Saoirse girl?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ava. She’s four-fucking-teen,” I exploded, leaping to my feet. “Do you really think I’d be attracted to a girl?”

“I saw you two together. I was watching you both before you realised I was even home.”

My body burned with rage at the thought. How could she accuse me of something so vile? Saoirse was a girl. A child. I cared about her more than I’d cared for any of my other kids, but I never, not once, looked at her in that way.

“I am going to pretend that you didn’t just accuse me of fucking a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“She doesn’t act like a girl. And you don’t act like she’s a girl. You don’t talk about her like she’s a girl.”

That’s because she’s not a girl in her head, I thought angrily before I shoved that thought aside. “For fuck’s sake, she’s like a little niece to me. Like a little sister.”

“She has a crush on you, you know?”

“She does not. I’m like a big brother to her.”

Ava snorted, and it was an ugly sound. “You really are fucking clueless.” She grabbed something from her back pocket and shoved it in my face, the familiar symbols like rubberbands snapping at my skin.

Saoirse’s journal.

“This is hers,” Ava said as she waved it in front of my face.

“Where did you get that?” I growled, snatching it off her.

“I took it out of her bag.”

“You went through her bag?” I said, disbelief coating my voice.

Saoirse carried that journal almost everywhere. She must have brought it with her tonight. Ava must have snatched it out of the bag before I took Saoirse home.

“Read it,” Ava said. “It’s a fucking love shrine to you.”

I lowered the journal to my side, my fingers digging into the leather cover, the contents calling to me like a siren.

I would not read it.

It was private.

I respected Saoirse enough to let her keep her privacy.

Ava did not.

I stared at the woman I’d shared a bed with for over three years, disappointment filling my body. Funny how the person lying next to you can turn out to be a stranger. But then again, perhaps Ava and I had been strangers for some time. I’d only just let myself see it now.

I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’d steal a young girl’s journal, that you’d read it, invading her privacy like that.”

“I had to, Diarmuid. I had to find proof. She wants you and she won’t stop until you are hers. You can’t deny it anymore.” She sounded almost deranged.

I wiped my face as Saoirse’s words from earlier came back to me.

You don’t love her. Why are you with her?

I couldn’t keep lying to myself anymore. I couldn’t keep lying to Ava.

“Ava,” I said slowly, weighing up my words, “I can’t do this anymore.”

She froze. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t do this,” I pointed my finger between us, “us anymore.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No. You are not leaving me for a fourteen year old.”

I sighed, tired of being accused of a crime I had no intention of committing. “I am not leaving you for a fourteen year old. I’m just leaving you.”

“I was going to wait for another night,” she looked up, her eyes flashing, “but this can’t wait.”

“Ava, just let it go. It’s over.”

“No, it’s not. I have something to tell you…”