Chapter Seventeen
When they stepped out of the taxi and shut the door behind them, Kirk stood still, looking at Sasha’s front door. Perhaps it was the beer he’d drunk; perhaps it was the length of time since he’d last seen her place, but he was dramatic in his response.
“My God,” he gasped. “The green door.” Sasha smiled, “Yes, the green door.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve looked at this on Google maps?” he confessed. Sasha could hardly believe her ears. What? Really? He had been sitting at his computer, typing her address into Google maps, going on a virtual trip down memory lane? She could hardly believe it. After all those months when there was no contact; nothing, emptiness, little had she known that he was stalking her, hanging around outside her front door.
However, she hardly had time to digest this information because Kirk, who was now hyper (as well as drunk), was talking at a million miles per hour.
“Are we really sure about this?” he was saying. “Do we really want to do this?”
Looking back, she supposed that this was the point where she could have said, “Yeah, actually, let’s not. Let’s call you a cab again and you clear off back to Dublin.” But, of course, it was far too late for that. The wheels were already in motion. Just like an alcoholic who has taken the first sip and simply cannot stop drinking; so too was she powerless over Kirk. The arrangement was made, they were standing here outside her apartment and pretty soon they would go inside and have sex and that would be that.
Sasha laughed. “It’s a bit late for that – we’re here now. Come on!” She pulled him playfully in the direction of her home.
Going inside, his dramatic side continued to flourish. He took a tour around every room, holding his hand up to his mouth, reminiscing about old times in every room he went into.
“The blue room!” he exclaimed, when he entered her bedroom and realised that it looked exactly the same as it did a year ago. Sasha smiled, watching him with interest; entertained and surprised all at the same time.
“I want to give you something,” Kirk announced then, out of the blue. Sasha assumed he was talking about something sexual; a kiss, a kiss down below, something dirty. But no, he was talking about drugs. “They are tablets, strong painkillers. The doctors gave them to me. They’ll make you feel all floaty and woozy.”
Of course there should have been alarm bells. Loud, clanging alarm bells. Alarm bells that would have cried, ‘Drugs? He’s wanting to give you drugs? Sasha! Wise up! Tablets to relax you? For God’s sake! It could be a date rape drug! Don’t take it!’
But all sense had gone out of the window long ago, back when she agreed to meet up with him in the first place.
Sasha simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “Cool!” She was partial to a little painkiller at times, especially at that time of the month when her tummy was a bit crampy. So what harm was there in a wee floaty tablet to take the edge off things?
Sasha was amazed at how quickly they worked. Only half an hour later, she could feel them kicking in. She felt as though she was stepping gently on bouncy clouds; as though cotton wool was hugging her warmly.
“I love this!” she exclaimed. Kirk grinned in recognition. “We need music,” he declared. “The tablets feel even better when there’s music”
“Music!” she repeated, opening her laptop so she could use Spotify.
“What’s that song that always used to come up first on your Spotify?” Kirk asked, taking another walk down memory lane. “Ellie Goulding, that’s the one.”
So Sasha played that song and Kirk danced with her; transporting themselves back to that happy place, when they had just fallen in love and everything was new, and magical, and sparkly, and the world felt like an amazing place.
Soon he was kissing her, pulling her top up, devouring her, licking every inch of her, pulling her legs apart and lapping inside her.
And in that moment, Sasha really didn’t care. Didn’t care if it was the wrong thing. Didn’t care that he had plied her with drugs. Didn’t care that he might disappear the next day, and she might never hear from him again. All there was, right now, was Kirk’s face, in between her legs, licking every inch of her, swallowing her whole; devouring her.
That wasn’t the only time they did it that night. They had sex many times, stopping for intervals in between. During the intervals, they would sit out on the porch and smoke fags. Kirk would drink beer, Sasha would sip wine. They would chat and reminisce. The drug made everything easier. Gone was the resentment; the hard feelings. In its place was understanding, calmness; an ability to talk about their situation calmly.
“I’m still in love with you, you know.” Kirk told her. “I mean, I love Denise, but I’m not in love with her. She’s kind, caring, gentle; she’s a nice person. But I don’t feel about her the way I felt about you.”
Sasha smiled, “I still love you too,” she said quietly.
This was the point where she should have said, ‘So what are we doing then? Why are we wasting time? Why are you down there with her and I’m up here alone? If we still love each other?’
But they were too woozy for that. Too woozy and floaty and carefree; as though nothing really mattered. As though the only thing that was important was right here, right now, spending time with each other.
They ordered takeaway. They sat side by side at the table. Kirk generously loaded up her plate with prawn crackers and chicken balls. They talked animatedly.
They played games; games that they used to play when they first got together. Where she would pretend to be a sick patient and he would pretend to be the doctor. She would visit him at his surgery and explain her symptoms. He’d put on that dramatic side that he played so well. He’d say he’d have to investigate her tummy, use his finger to probe around her lower belly, then his fingers would investigate further down and further down still, until she was opening her legs for him and they’d be having sex all over again. All the games that they used to play in those early days of their relationship, when everything was new and fresh and exciting; unspoiled by arguments and talk-a-thons and one month breaks.
“I’m falling in love with you all over again,” he said. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replied.
A year later, after months of absence. “I love you too.”
She knew that this was it. That they had confessed their love to each other. That they would surely end up getting back together again. That he would go back down to Dublin and break things off with Denise once and for all. That he would return to Sasha in Belfast, making plans for the future. Everything was going to be okay.
When he left the next morning, he hugged her tight.
“This is the bit I hate,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around her. “I hate saying goodbye.”
He used to say that to her every Sunday, when he had to head back to Dublin. And now here he was, saying it all this time later.
She smiled bravely. She knew it wouldn’t be the end. She knew that this was just the beginning; that they would certainly be back together again. It was as if a jigsaw puzzle piece had been clicked into place. All those months of silence, all those months of no contact; yet all along he had been thinking about her. All along he still loved her. She was so relieved to know that she hadn’t been going mad. She knew all along. She knew he’d be back.
“I’ll contact you,” he said. And then he was walking off, turning the corner. She stood and watched him and he looked back to wave goodbye.