We take a taxi back to my place, and my nerves reach fever pitch as we turn into my street. Despite the desperate desire I feel for Josh, the reality of being here with him is even worse than I’d anticipated, and I’m having massive regrets.
“What’s wrong?” Josh asks, most likely sensing the tension I’m giving off.
With my vow to honesty, I answer. “I’ve never invited a guy to sleep over here before.”
“Well that makes me ridiculously happy,” he replies, putting his arm around my shoulders as I rummage in my bag for the keys. “No pressure. Okay? I just want to be with you. I want to be here for you.”
His words are like a balm on my deep and painful wounds. “Thank you.”
When we’re inside, I don’t give Josh even a moment’s opportunity to take a look around. Instead, I grab his hand and drag him to the bedroom with the single-minded focus of a woman possessed, and he offers me no resistance. In fact, he’s half-undressed by the time we fall onto the bed in a frenzy of lust. His hands are everywhere, and his deep thrusts remind me how much he wants me to be his.
Afterwards, Josh slips easily into a deep sleep, while I toss and turn. My body is content, but my mind grants me no peace. It’s a raging inferno of yet-to-be-spoken truths and the anguish I’ll feel if they ruin what I have right here in this warm bed. Eventually I drift off, my mind conceding to continue the torture in my dreams.
What feels like minutes later, my toe stubs painfully on the corner of the skirting board, and I nearly scream out, but I can’t find my voice. What am I doing in the hallway?
Then I remember. I heard the front door closing, and I panicked like I’ve only ever experienced once before in my life. Naked, with Josh’s arms still locked around me, I struggled to push him off me, then managed to slip one of my oversized t-shirts I often slept in over my head.
Everything feels too fast but not fast enough at the same time. My world is crashing in on me in the worst possible way. I exhale, now thinking it had simply been a very vivid nightmare. Obviously my subconscious wreaked havoc and made my fears seem real.
Deciding to get a glass of water to calm myself down, I tiptoe towards the kitchen. When I turn the corner into the lounge, I come face-to-face with Mereki. This time I do scream, but my hands fly up to my mouth to muffle the sound. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and he looks different. He appears older, as if the years since moving to Melbourne have caught up with him all at once.
“Nineteenth of November,” I say, hopelessly, holding out my hands to touch him, desperately wanting to touch him. “I was going to explain everything by the river. I needed more time.”
He points to Josh’s jacket and raises his eyebrows, then sits on the couch. Instead of ignoring me like he has done for what feels like forever, he doesn’t take his eyes from mine. The strange thing is, he doesn’t appear angry. Instead, he appears resigned and, dare I say, happy. I pinch myself to make sure I’m not, in fact, still dreaming and find I am most definitely awake.
Walking over to the couch, I sit down next to him. Oh God, I love him so much. What have I done?
“Will you still come to the river on the nineteenth?” I ask. It comes out in a sob of anguish.
I need him to nod. Just a tiny movement of his head to tell me he’ll do what we promised five years ago.
“Please.” I’m begging now, and my voice is louder and more demanding. “I need to hear your voice, goddammit. I need you, Mereki. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” Tears are now coming hard and fast.
“Emerson?”
Hearing Josh’s voice, I leap off the couch. I can’t look at him. I can’t face this scenario.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.
I glance at him standing by the doorway in his black boxers, then stare down at the empty couch. The sob that escapes my chest is not of this world. It’s the unparalleled pain of acknowledging that someone you love more than your own life is dead. Mereki is dead, and there isn’t a goddamned thing I can do to change that. Lord knows I’ve tried. It doesn’t matter that I still see him, still talk to him, still love him. He’s gone, and it crushes me to the bone.
I’m completely confused, I’m terrified, and my body starts to shake uncontrollably.
“What’s going on?” Josh crosses the room and stops in front of me, blocking my view of the couch. He takes hold of my upper arms. “You’re scaring me. Did you have a bad dream?”
I almost laugh at his question, holding my hands out, palms up, willing the shaking to cease so I can try to explain. “I wish that’s all it was.” I raise my eyes to meet his concerned gaze.
He tries to pull me into him, but I shake him off. I can’t handle him touching me now.
His eyes flare with confusion. “Tell me what’s going on, Emerson. Please.”
Like a wild animal caught in a trap, my eyes dart around the room looking for an escape. This is no one’s business but my own, and now I’m going to have to verbalise something I don’t think I can explain out loud.
Irrational anger swamps me, and I go on the attack. “I don’t know what is and isn’t normal anymore.”
“Why are you shouting at me?” he asks, holding his hands up.
I feel like I’m smack bang in the middle of a train wreck, and I don’t know what to do with myself because I’m both the cause and the casualty. Josh has become collateral damage. When he looks at me again, his eyes are unreadable, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. I’m emotionally spent. My mind spins, and I struggle to organise any coherent thoughts in my messed-up head.
Swallowing hard, a cold sweat prickles my skin. The simple act of pushing my shoulders back gives me a little strength, and I swipe at my eye, irritated by a few strands of hair that won’t behave. “I have so much to tell you, and I don’t know if you’re going to understand, but I owe you the truth.”
Josh bristles. “Okay,” he says drawing out the vowel. “I want to know everything about you. The good, the bad, and I suspect the ugly stuff have all made you into the incredible woman you are today.” His hand reaches out for mine, but I still can’t let him touch me. “Tell me what you’ve been hiding, Emerson.”
Closing my eyes briefly and taking a deep breath, I say, “When I was eighteen, my boyfriend and I were mugged. The money I took for that drawing that hangs in your mother’s house was stolen along with my entire world. The only reason I wasn’t raped and most likely killed was they panicked when they realised Mereki wasn’t breathing. He’d been knocked out trying to save me, and his head hit the pavement in just the wrong way. He died in a deserted alleyway, a few metres from where I lay unconscious.” The words spill out so fast, my head spins.
The colour drains from Josh’s face. “Oh my God, Emerson. You were talking to him as if he’s still here.” He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“Let’s sit down,” I say, gesturing towards the couch.
Taking a deep breath, I start at the beginning. I give him a quick summary of my first ten years and my less-than-ideal family life. Then I recount the story of how I stumbled across the market and found my love for art after running away from Jacob Smith.
Again, Josh reaches for my hand, but I don’t let him take it. I am hanging on by a thread, and his touch could unravel me. “I made my first true friend a few weeks later down by the river doing my pebble art.” Josh’s eyes are soft and encouraging me to continue. “Mereki and I were inseparable, and our relationship turned into something more when we were seventeen, and we acknowledged we were in love with each other.”
Josh sits back slightly. The movement is small, but the significance is large. No man wants to hear about an ex, let alone one on an untouchable pedestal.
“How long were you together?” he asks, his voice breaking with emotion.
He asks the one question at the heart of why this conversation is so bloody difficult. “Not long enough,” I answer, truthfully.
Josh leans further back as if he has reached a conclusion all on his own. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
I glance around the room, looking for guidance. Maybe I’m looking for Mereki’s strength. Oh, the irony. “Mereki was my whole life from the age of ten, and all the good qualities you seem to see in me are because of him.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are everything all on your own.”
I shake my head violently. “That’s not true.”
Awkward silence hangs between us, and I desperately wish my toe could actually dig a hole in the carpet to swallow me up.
“I need to tell you the rest of my story.” My words are whispered, and my heart is aching.
“Can I just say something first?” he asks.
I nod, quietly relieved.
“I’m thirty-one years old, and you’re the first woman I’ve been unable or unwilling to find a fatal flaw with. All my serious relationships ended because I’ve been waiting for you without even realising.” He cringes. “I don’t think I’m perfect by any stretch, but I was always looking for that someone who would be perfect for me. There’s a difference, you know.”
“At this point in my life, I’m not perfect for you and have more flaws than you can possibly imagine.” I’m still whispering.
“That’s just it, though.” He hesitates before continuing. “Whatever you think your flaws are, I see as beautiful imperfections.” He cups my face and wipes away the tears with his thumbs, just like Mereki used to do. “There’s so much sadness inside you and now that I know why, I want to help. But I need to know you’re here with me and not stuck in the past.”
I lift my hands and cover his with mine. I committed my life to Mereki and, in a million years, I had never expected to question that commitment.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” I say, tears slipping down my face. “I want to be, though, and that’s a big step for me.”
Silence builds a wall between us, and I don’t have the energy to stop it.
“Try to get some sleep now,” he says eventually.
“Are you going to stay?” I ask, then chew on my bottom lip.
He nods but doesn’t move, so I turn on my heel and return to my bedroom. As if my body knows I need a reprieve from reality, sleep claims me quickly. I dream of curling up by a dried riverbed, crippled with devastation. I am Miann, and my tears are going to make the river flow again.
When I wake, daylight streams in through the open blinds. Last night’s events come rushing back, and my heart clenches. Squinting, I rub the sleep from my puffy eyes and see Josh standing on the balcony. I have no idea if he slept in my bed or on the couch or if he’s been awake the whole time. Even without seeing his face, I know that he’s desperately sad. His back is to me and his shoulders are slumped, perhaps heavy with regret that he ever got involved with me or the fact he’s getting ready to walk out the door. It kills me to know I am entirely to blame. My life began again when I met Josh, but I haven’t been fair on him, and he has every right to leave me. I’m relieved he cared enough to wait for me to say goodbye in person.
As if sensing that I’m now awake, Josh turns to face me, leaning against the railing, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. My body aches, but I push myself out of bed and join him, knowing it’s time to face the music.
“Did you get any sleep?” I ask. My voice is raspy, so I clear my throat.
He shrugs. “A little.”
Biting my bottom lip, I’m unsure what to say next, so we stand there staring at each other.
He breaks the silence. “Last night was . . .”
“I’m so sorry, Josh.” I don’t try to reach out to him.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, flatly.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like that. I’m actually sorry you found out at all.”
He nods, smiling, but it’s a sad smile. “You know, sometimes I talk to Dad when no one else is around. I tell him about my artworks or how Mum is doing. I know he isn’t there and I’ve no idea if he can hear me, but when I talk to him, the void doesn’t feel quite so painful.” He pauses for a few seconds, and I hear him take a few deep breaths. “I know what it’s like to wish someone you love was still around, but I don’t know how you can be with me while you’re still in love with a ghost.”
Tears slip down my cheeks because I can’t give him the reassurance he so desperately needs and deserves.
He holds his arms open, and I’m unable to resist his warmth. I step into him, crying five years’ worth of tears into his chest with his arms wrapped around me. I think back to the grief counsellor who came to talk to me in the hospital when I’d been told Mereki was dead. She told me about the five stages of grief, starting with denial.
“He isn’t gone though,” I’d told her. “I saw him standing right next to my bed.”
She had tried to explain that I’d been in a drug-induced state and he wasn’t real. Instead of believing her, I took denial to a whole other level and fought tooth and nail to stay in that stage forever. I believed if I let go of denial, I’d be letting go of him. Whilst I was only just treading water, I wasn’t drowning in my devastation. I can’t keep treading water forever though, and it’s time for me to swim again.
Eventually, I pull away from Josh. “I think we need some space for a while.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want space.” His brows furrow. “I don’t run when things get tough.”
“I love that about you, but it’s important I face up to this on my own. I just need a little time and space to sort myself out properly.”
His eyes harden. “What the hell does that even mean, Emerson? You were happy to lead me on while I was in the dark, and now I know the truth and don’t do a runner, you push me away? What the hell is that? How much time?”
Walking past him, I lean against the railing. “I’m heading back to my hometown for the five-year anniversary of Mereki’s death. It was a pact I made with him when we were eighteen that we’d return to our clearing by the river at sunset on the nineteenth of November every five years. It was meant to be something we did together, but I plan to uphold our pact and say a proper goodbye to my best friend.”
Josh places his hands on the railing next to me, and I glance up at him. His face is a myriad of warring emotions. I know he wants to understand so we can find a way forward, but this is obviously testing his staying power. I don’t blame him at all. “This is pretty fucked up.”
I nod. “I’ll call you when I return, but I completely understand if you rethink this.” I wave my hand from him to me. “Rethink us.”
Josh hangs his head. “I hope you get the closure you need.” He pauses for a few moments, then raises his eyes to meet mine. “It kills me to say this . . .” He steps forward and kisses my forehead. “Goodbye, Emerson.” And with those words, he goes inside and leaves my apartment.
Staggering back inside, I crumple onto my bed, unable to stand. My heart splinters with a new wave of devastation, rejecting my decision to push Josh away while I confront the mess I’ve made by holding onto Mereki. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I don’t leave my house all weekend. In fact, I barely leave my bed, and I allow myself to wallow in self-pity before I have to pull myself together again.
On Monday morning, I go into work and give Carrie my four weeks’ notice. She isn’t happy but doesn’t ask for an explanation. I am replaceable, and she sets about finding a new employee. If she’d asked and I thought she’d care, I would’ve told her it was time I stopped hiding from life and pursued my passion for art. Ever since I met Josh all those months ago, I’ve slowly opened my heart again to love, but also to art. The memories that have flooded in since have reminded me that when I found my passion, I also found a gateway to my inner strength. I found my wings then and I’m so close to finding them again, I can feel the sun’s warmth on my face and the cool breeze kissing my body.
That would’ve no doubt been entirely too much information for Carrie, and she would’ve cut me off with an eye roll, a shake of the head, and the sight of her walking away. But that’s what I know in my heart, and that’s what matters now.