Chapter Ten
The deafening silence hit her the moment he left the house. He had gone. And this time, she had a feeling it was for good.
Her blood was still up from the anger she had felt when she pushed him; all the frustration; all the pent up tension; all the months of rules and ultimatums and lists and talk-a-thons and breaks. Nothing would ever be good enough for him. Not even this weekend, when she’d gone to extensive effort to buy in the right foods, plan nice things to do, keep the mood light and breezy.
But no, that morning, he had been like a caged bear. He had blamed it on a ‘vibe’ that he didn’t like. That was the reason he had packed his bags and gone home. That was the reason he was walking out of the relationship. After the hours of counselling she’d gone to at his behest, the talk-a-thons she’d endured, the hoops she’d jumped through, all the money she’d spent, it was a so-called ‘vibe’ that had finished them off. That was the one hurdle that she couldn’t jump over – maintaining a happy vibe at all times.
That’s why her temper had snapped. Like a short fuse. Like a switch that had been flicked. It seemed that she had gone from nought to one hundred, all in one go.
She replayed those final scenes. “Don’t do this,” she had begged him. But he had been resolute. His jaw had been set with the grim determination of someone who had made up his mind. He was leaving, and that was that.
Then those tears had come; loud and hysterical. Loud gasping tears which she was sure the neighbours could hear.
And then had come the push. The one and only time she had ever touched anyone. She relived it all. The pain, the anger, the despair, all piling up in one go. The frustration that nothing would ever be enough. “Fuck off, then!” she’d shouted. “Fuck off, you using bastard!”
Her blood had still been pounding after he’d gone outside.
“Get away from me,” he’d said. “You’ve physically assaulted me.” He had that air of disdain. He knew better. He was a therapist. She was like a sick patient.
Then, after his taxi had gone, she had paced around her apartment, frantic. Her head had throbbed; her mind had raced.
You’ve physically assaulted me. His words rang in her ears. You’ve physically assaulted me. Shame washed over her like a high tide. I must be a really sick person; to push someone like that. Oh my God, I’m so fucked up.
With trembling hands, she found her fingers lifting her phone, frantically trying to phone someone; Jason, her sister, anyone. Anyone that would listen. Anyone that would confirm that yes, this was not a nightmare. And yes, this was actually happening. Yes, this was just another row with Kirk, and he was bound to come back.
Jason listened intently, letting Sasha’s frantic and hysterical words fall out of her until eventually, after what seemed like a long time, she began to calm down a little bit.
“It’s not your fault,” Jason assured her. “Of course you didn’t physically assault him. You gave him a tiny push. My God, how many couples up and down the country haven’t done that at some stage?”
“No,” Sasha disagreed. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him. That was wrong. I must be a bad person.”
Jason persisted, “Sasha, please. Stop beating yourself up. My God, if you were to phone the police and say you’ve physically assaulted someone, if you then told them it was a push, they’d laugh at you. They’d think you were wasting their time.”
Sasha sat silently then, letting his soothing words settle on her; wishing that it was true.
“Kirk has you so ground down,” Jason went on. “He’s made you feel so shit about yourself, that this is just another way to make you feel bad.”
Sasha came off that phone call wanting to believe Jason. Wanting with every inch of her body to feel that it wasn’t all her fault. But she continued to watch her phone with despair, wondering if Kirk would text her, wondering if this wasn’t some horrible blip in their relationship; but knowing deep in her gut that this time it really was the end.
He wasn’t texting her. He wasn’t coming back. Not this time. She had gone one step too far. She had assaulted him. There was no coming back from this.
She texted him regardless; begging texts apologising for pushing him; claiming that it was the first (and the last) time she’d ever do that. That it would never happen again. That she was so sorry. But he ignored her. Every single text was left unanswered.
She was still in shock. She really couldn’t believe that it was finally over this time. After all the times they’d fought and made up, she really did think he would suddenly message her again, and everything would be forgotten.
In work, that next week, she carried her phone around with her everywhere. When she went to make tea, she kept her phone on the tea-tray, watching it the whole time, hoping that he would message. When she went to the loo, she set the phone on the floor and watched it the entire time, hoping it would spring to life. Last thing at night and first thing in the morning, she’d reach for her phone to check if he’d messaged her. Nothing.
An email did arrive. Not one week later. Not one month later. But two months later. Her heart hammered as she saw his name flash up on her screen.
A voice inside her said, See? I knew he would get in touch eventually.
She held her breath while she read his message; her fingers quivered with shock.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hey Sasha, I was just thinking of you, and wondering how you are. Things are okay with me, however, my dad is not well at the moment, unfortunately. He’s in hospital with cancer, and we don’t expect he has long to live. I’m staying with my mum quite a bit, to help her through this difficult time.
I hope you and your family are well.
Kirk X
Sasha’s heart continued to hammer as she read and re-read the email. Despite herself, she went into immediate analysis mode:
• What does this mean?
• What does he want?
• Does he want me back?
• He must be missing me?
If his dad is unwell and he’s turning to me, that means that the person he wants to comfort him, is me.
Sasha read and re-read the email, reading the words in black and reading her own presumptions in the white spaces in between. It was a sign, surely.
With her hope restored, and her dreams of his love for her confirmed, she replied,
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi Kirk,
It’s nice to hear from you.
I’m really sorry to hear about your dad. I’m sure it’s a very difficult time for you and your family. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.
Sasha x x
Looking back, she should have ignored his email completely. However, if love was a switch, she couldn’t turn hers off immediately. And unfortunately she was still in love with him, even after the storming out and the vibe and the physical assault. It was love. Pesky, annoying, inconvenient love.
There was no reply to her email. Another few weeks passed before he emailed her again. It was as if he’d dangled a carrot in front of her and then snatched it away.
‘Yes, I’m still here. Yes, I still think of you,’ the carrot said. But, ‘oops! That’s me off again! That’s all you’re getting!
Heart – you may have been starting to heal – but let’s reignite the fire and bring back all the pain for you…
If it had been a one-off email, Sasha might have understood. But looking back, she never realised that these carrot emails would appear, sporadically, for a long time to come.