Chapter Forty
Unfortunately, Sasha’s confidence and security in Sam didn’t last. If trusting him could have been a button that she pressed once and was done with, that would have been superb. But it wasn’t like that with Sasha.
Sasha’s insecurity was like one of those heat lamps in a pub garden. You pressed the big red button. The lamp was illuminated with a soft red glow. You sat underneath, basking in the heat and the warmth. And then, suddenly, on a timer setting, the red glow disappeared, and you were plunged back into the cold and the dark. You’d have to get out of your chair, stand up, go over to the red button and press, to afford you another few minutes of heat and light, before being thrust into the darkness again. So it was with Sasha’s insecurity. The trip to Dublin with Tara was like pressing the red button and feeling the warmth of trust and security and acceptance. But then, back on her own again and back on her default setting, the button clicked off and she was plunged into insecurity again.
This time it was triggered by another announcement of Sam’s. Not that he was going to Dublin again with Tara, but that he was going on a yoga weekend with her.
“It’s Tara,” he said, over dinner that night. “She’s invited me to London with her, there’s some yoga weekend on. She wants company.”
They were sitting in a romantic setting – a plush restaurant with red velvet chairs and flickering candles in old Chianti bottles. The waitress was smiley and helpful. There weren’t many other customers, and the customers that were there, were hushed and polite.
It should have been perfect. It should have been the perfect romantic setting. But Sasha felt slapped in the face.
A yoga weekend away with Tara? Was he fucking kidding?
Immediately her mind flew to negative fantasies. A room full of scantily clad women in brightly coloured leotards. All of them had perfect bodies, of course. They were stretching out on their mats; their perfectly-sized derrieres being pointed upwards in Sam’s direction. He would be having a hard time containing the erection that was threatening to poke out through his shorts.
After the yoga, they were bound all to be going for dinner and drinks. Of course Sam would be the only guy in the entire group. The other girls would be pouncing on him; vying for his attention. Surely he would end up succumbing?
Suddenly Sasha realised, in her negative heightened fantasy, that clearly she didn’t trust Sam. Did she really trust anyone? Did she really trust any guy?
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, breaking her reverie.
“Huh?” She looked up at him quickly, suddenly realising that she hadn’t heard a word he’d said because her mind was going ninety miles an hour.
He smiled softly at her. “Are you okay?” he repeated. “You seem a little distracted?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, waving the idea off like a fly. But the meal continued in painful silence. Pathetic small talk ensued about how nice the food was and how nice the décor was, but a large, overwhelming elephant sat in the room between them. Sam; puzzled at her silence. Sasha; her mind racing with the negative images of the yoga weekend.
“I’m just nipping to the loo,” Sasha excused herself, pushing back her chair and giving him a small and insincere smile. “Back in a mo.”
“Sure,” he said, his face worried at the change of atmosphere.
Sasha hated herself. Right at that very moment; she hated herself. She knew she was being awkward, uncomfortable, and rubbish company. She knew she was being insecure, negative and untrusting. But she couldn’t stop herself. She was on that train again, and it was speeding off the rails, and she couldn’t stop herself.
She wished she could wrench inside and pull the insecurity out and throw it far, far away. But she couldn’t. It was lodged there. Her default setting. And she needed constant reassurance each time it raised its ugly head. And she knew Sam couldn’t give that to her. What man could constantly feed her reassurance each and every time, without getting tired of it? An extremely patient one, that’s what. And she wasn’t sure Sam had it in him for that. She wouldn’t blame him either.
She tried to give herself a firm talking to in the toilets.
C’mon Sasha! Snap out of this! Please! Just let it go!
But it was like talking to a brick wall. The words bounced off and reverberated back again.
Returning to the table, Sasha suddenly felt exhausted with the mental table-tennis that had been battling about her head. She was drained.
“How about a nice chocolate dessert?” Sam grinned at her, as though a feed of sugar would change her hormones from this tense and stressed-out stranger, to the normal bubbly, chatty Sasha.
Sasha bit her lip. “Would you mind terribly if we headed home? I have a bit of a headache.”
Sam could not hide the hurt that etched over his face when she said that; as though he too had been slapped.
“Sure,” he gulped. “I’ll get the bill.”
It should have been a perfect evening; a Friday night, a romantic setting. But she had ruined it entirely. She metaphorically kicked herself the whole way out of the restaurant and back home.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Sam said softly, when they were back at home and sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in hand.
In that split second, she loved him. She loved him for being so calm. She loved him for not becoming angry or defensive with her. She loved him for being willing to help.
She took a deep breath. She decided she had to be honest. She owed him that much at least.
“I felt jealous,” she admitted. Saying the words slowly, with trepidation and embarrassment.
He looked at her quizzically.
“About the yoga weekend,” she continued, spitting it out in one go.
He nodded slowly, as though he understood.
“Is this about Tara?” he asked. “I thought you two got on okay? I thought you were all right with her now?”
Sasha shook her head quickly. “No, it’s not Tara,” she said. “It’s all the other girls going. All those girls in their leotards with their perfect yoga figures…” she trailed off. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame. Cringing; that’s what she was doing. But she owed him an explanation. She owed him that much at least.
She was waiting for him to be defensive. She was waiting for his body language to clam up and his voice to become harsh and for him to say something like, ‘Don’t you trust me?’
And her answer would have had to be, ‘No, no I don’t trust you. But then again, I don’t trust anyone. Any anyway, shouldn’t trust be earned?’ She hadn’t known him long enough to trust him. And that would have been her honest answer.
But he didn’t do all that. He didn’t get defensive or accuse her. He simply said, quietly, “What happened, Sasha? What happened to make you so insecure like this?” His voice was soft, calm, gentle. He was coming from a loving, concerned place.
His question startled Sasha. She hadn’t been expecting warmth and love and compassion. She had been expecting defensiveness and anger and impatience.
“Good question,” she replied, honestly. “I think it would take me too long to tell you, though.” She thought back to the number of counsellors she’d been sent to see. The number of times she’d told them her story. The number of times they’d looked across at her, over the box of tissues, shaking their head in sympathetic horror.
Sam linked his fingers with hers across the sofa. He looked at her warmly. “I have all the time in the world,” he smiled. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Sasha took a deep breath. Really? He was really wanting to hear her story?
As if reading her mind, he said, “I want to hear. I want to find out about you. I want us to last, Sasha, so I want to know the real you – not the one you portray to everyone.”
He looked at her softly with that kind warmth in his eyes; the warmth of the heat lamp. “I’m falling in love with you, Sasha. So of course I want to know all about you.”
Sasha felt the red glow of the heat lamp suddenly illuminate and tingle right through her. Heat and warmth tingling from the tips of her toes to the hairs on her head.
He loved her. Even on a bad night, when she was pretty unlovable, he was being kind and caring.
This was real love, she thought. The unconditional kind. The kind when he loves you even when you’re not on your best behaviour. When things aren’t going his way. When he’s trying to understand, rather than be understood.
“Okay,” she said bravely, buoyed on by his confidence. “Okay, I’ll tell you my story.”