SIXTEEN
Zeus
Most normal people spend the days off before they start a new job relaxing. Me? I turn my frustration at not being able to progress with the Barracuda until the new parts arrive into renovating my goddamn house.
The afternoon breezes by, my focus intent on getting the kitchen painted so I can peel everything back and use it to cook dinner. I don’t realise what the time is until the sun sets and I find myself squinting to cut the final coat in around the cabinets. The brush balances precariously over the tin, my hand hovering after I set it down just to be sure the damn thing isn’t about to catapult itself off and splash my floor with paint. Satisfied I’m not about to start some artistic feature on the tiles, I head over and turn the overhead lights on.
The lights. A few weeks ago, I would have cringed at the intrusion, rushed over and smacked the fuckers off again to hide out in the cold, comforting dark. But already the Belle effect has taken hold. Fuck—all she has to do is be in the damn country and my mood lifts.
Things have never been right with her overseas, never felt… complete. I battled with the ability to justify what I did, to the point I broke and fell into old habits. But shit—what if I struggled to reason the split with myself because it was never the right thing to do?
Yeah, Belle appears to have done well. She achieved everything she set out to do. But where does that leave me? Where does it leave her? Why the fuck isn’t her boyfriend here?
Whoever the arsehole is, he doesn’t deserve her. Nobody deserves her. Not even me. But the point of difference between that cunt she dates and me is clear: I need her.
I came to the conclusion after talking with Jodie that I should figure out who I am, without Belle, in order to figure out where to go from here. But that’s just it. Without her… well, fuck, there’s nothing. I can’t see life any way but with her in it, and that, I realise, is exactly why I’ve struggled to make any headway these past three years.
I’ve been doing what I’ve been told is right, not what comes naturally. I’ve pushed back against gut instincts and the result has been a fissure in my state of mind.
The man I am, the man I want to be—they aren’t anything without her. And yet here I was, trying to be “complete” without the one essential ingredient: Belle.
Why the fuck do I still allow the opinion of her father—the guy who made it clear I was expendable when he found what he needed in a new woman—to govern what I do with his daughter?
Why the fuck do I still fight my natural instincts?
I take a few steps sideways, centring myself opposite the kitchen as it dawns on me what I’ve done. Subconsciously, I’ve given Belle her dream home—the one she would talk about when I first bought the place.
There’s your answer, motherfucker.
In a mad frenzy, I shift the paint pot, and then peel the tape off the areas that are already dry. The drop cloth billows as it slides to the floor under my frantic hands. I snatch up my phone and scroll through the pictures in our message thread until I’ve found the one I want.
Holy shit.
In my left hand, a dark grey kitchen with matte black handles, the accent done in a deep charcoal that could almost be passed off as black too. In front of me, drying, is almost the exact same thing: grey cupboards, black handles, and darker grey accents.
I haven’t looked at this picture since she sent it three years ago. I’ve put off updating the old chipped décor for years, and now? Why did I do this now?
I flick to the camera and take a picture of the newly painted room. Should I? Fuck it, why not? The image uploads and the little blue tick changes to a solid circle beside it.
Jodie told me I should speak to Belle to lay what was to rest, to figure out how to move on with my life. I might not have seen my dove in the flesh yet, but I fucking know without a doubt that doing so wouldn’t give me any great moment of clarity.
I already know the answer.
I’ve struggled to move on, because there is no moving on. Why force something that doesn’t fit? Why deny what needs to be said?
My phone pings in my hand, and my thumb flies over the screen to wake it up.
B: It looks amazing.
Well, I fucking know that. But….
Z: Do you like it?
Her reply is almost instant.
B: It’s your house, Zeus. Doesn’t matter if I like it or not.
I can almost hear the passive aggressive tone she uses.
Z: It’s OUR house, Belle. I slouch against the counter as I type out what’s probably the pivotal message for us. I bought this house with you in mind. I live in this house with you still on my mind. You belong here. Fuck what anyone says. Fuck what anyone thinks. This is OUR house.
I tap Send and stare at the screen until it goes black. She’s seen it, but her dots didn’t dance. I’ve either scared her away, or she’s taking her time to word her answer. I fucking hope it’s the second option, because I’m fucked if I’ll let her bolt when the going gets tough.
Three years without talking to her, three years without seeing her, but I know what we had. I know how Belle felt because I felt it to. What we shared? You don’t forget that shit. It was once in a lifetime love, the sort you can’t force with somebody else. You either have it or you don’t, and me and Belle, we had it. Fuck did we have it.
Fuck her boyfriend.
I wake the phone and send one more message. One that, if I haven’t managed to already, will without a doubt break through whatever walls she has up.
[heart + dove]