Chapter Fourteen
Sasha kept staring at the words in his email; ‘I won’t contact you again. I would ask you not to contact me either. I am in a committed relationship with Denise.’
She should have felt rejected. She should have felt angry. She should have felt embarrassed. After all, his message was a ‘fuck away off and don’t contact me again’ email. It was as if he was treating her like some sort of bunny boiler from hell; someone that he had to beg to leave him alone. She imagined that he sat in beer gardens with mates, complaining about his ‘obsessive ex-girlfriend’, saying ‘Wait d’ye hear what she’s done this time.’ As though she was some sort of laughing stock among his friends. She should have been mortified. But for some reason, she felt none of these awkward emotions. It was as if, for the first time in a long time, she was beginning to see sense.
The embarrassment was non-existent. The shame was nowhere to be seen. And she refused to beat herself up for their email communication.
This is not one-sided, she told herself. It is Kirk who emails me – especially late at night, possibly when he’s drunk. This is not all my fault. Kirk can be as stand-offish, hurtful and erratic as he wants. But I can choose to be calm. I can choose my thoughts. I can choose to walk away.
It is my choice to disengage myself from him. It is my choice to walk away from the drama.
The thoughts liberated her. She felt free. Like a bird able to fly anywhere. She no longer had to obsess about what Kirk was thinking of saying. She could just walk away.
Funny, she thought. How it is possible to fall in love with someone so quickly – and then fall out of love in time. Why would you keep loving someone when they continued to treat you worse than a dog? Giving you only tit-bits of treats and then leaving you out in the dark for weeks on end? Then another bit of attention to get your hopes up again. And then dismissed to the cold darkness again.
Why hadn’t she thought of this wonderful revelation months ago? But a little voice niggled inside of her. Perhaps you’re just getting over him now. Perhaps that’s all it is. Perhaps it’s just that time has passed and it’s not so raw and you’re just moving on. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps it has nothing to do with sense or reasoning. Perhaps it’s just time.
Time had allowed her to fall out of love. Time, and that last email.
She found it easy not to email him again. He certainly wasn’t sending any more songs to her. Perhaps this was closure, for once and for all.
Months passed and Christmas approached. She was determined to make it a good one. She was not going to drown in a pool of self-pity. She was going to move on, one day at a time. She would make an extra-special effort to buy lovely Christmas presents for her family. She would be in good form and add to their day. The atmosphere would be light and airy.
Was it really a year since Kirk had stormed out at Christmas, and left all his presents behind? Was it really a full year, where he had still been her every waking thought?
Christmas day was lovely. Her family gathered at her sister’s house. Everyone was in good spirits and the atmosphere was great. Her sister had gone to great effort to cook a massive dinner and the food was delicious. After dinner, they all sat around the living-room, opening presents and chatting. The day flew by. Sasha went home, realising that she hadn’t thought about Kirk all day. She hadn’t wallowed in any self-pity. She hadn’t berated herself for yet another ‘single’ Christmas. Instead she had just thought about her family and how she could make their day better. Contented and happy, she crawled into bed that night, delighted to have got Christmas over successfully.
So when she looked at her phone, she was very surprised to see Kirk’s name flash up on it.
Her heart jumped into her mouth. It was like seeing a ghost appear out of the darkness.
She held her breath as she clicked on the icon to read his email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hi Sasha, I know I said that we shouldn’t contact each other again but as it’s Christmas, I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas. I hope you are doing okay?
I’m staying at my mum’s at the moment in the spare room. She’s not well unfortunately (breast cancer). Added to that, she’s never really recovered from losing my dad. Anyway, hope you’re well. If you’d rather not reply to me, I understand.
K x x
Sasha stared at the screen in disbelief. After months of no contact, here he was again, jumping out of the shadows as though nothing had ever happened. She should have been angry; rip-roaringly angry. But instead that pesky ‘See!’ voice had returned.
See? He’s still thinking about you. After all this time. He’s thinking about you on Christmas Day – the most emotional day of the year. He’s at his mum’s, alone, thinking about you. He’s not out with his girlfriend at Christmas; he’s lying on a single bed, thinking about you!
The gift box entitled closure had immediately popped open, the ribbon had been ripped off and all the old emotions were jumping out: denial; lack of acceptance; inability to move on; hope for a reunion. And on. And on. And on.
Sasha replied. Of course she did. She was too nice to ignore him. She was too nice to say, ‘fuck off! Are you having a laugh? You emailed me months ago telling me not to contact you again and now here you are, on Christmas day, the most emotion-laden day of the year, emailing me again? You absolute prick!’
Instead she said:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hi Kirk, it’s nice to hear from you. And a happy Christmas to you too I’m sorry to hear that your mum is struggling so much. It can’t be easy for her. But it’s good that you’re there to support her.
My Christmas was nice, thanks. I spent it with all the family, and it was a lovely day.
Sasha x
That should have been it; niceties over, job done. But no. There then ensued a string of emails that went well into the early hours of the morning. Responses pinging back and forth immediately. It was like taking a long glug of water after a spell in the desert.
He was in reminiscing mode again.
“Remember when you used to read to me? Fantastic!”
“I remember your lovely cosy bedroom. I used to love lying there at night. You asleep. Me listening to the radio on my earphones. I felt so safe.”
They discussed books, and radio plays, and latest news. They were like a couple on a first date, eagerly getting to know each other.
And then… then it just stopped.
His replies stopped and Sasha realised that he’d probably fallen asleep. Drunk and asleep.
Sure enough, the next morning, in the cold sober light of day, his formal reply arrived.
“Sorry. I fell asleep last night. I was so relaxed. Thanks for the chat. Take care.
Best wishes. K x.”
Take. Care.
Take care.
Sasha knew what ‘take care’ meant. ‘Take care’ meant ‘fuck off again’. Take care meant, ‘I don’t want these emails to continue. I was just drunk last night. And maybe I’d taken drugs. I was feeling nostalgic. But today, in the cold light of day, I regret it. And I don’t want this string of emails to continue. I’ll be meeting up with my girlfriend today and I don’t want your name to be popping up on my phone.’
Take care. Why did those words sound so pleasant, yet actually mean the opposite?
Her heart sank with the weight of disappointment yet again. How many times was she going to be duped by him? How many times would he keep coming back to kick her in the stomach? How utterly, despicably unfair was he, to keep trampling over her like dirt and then just run away again?
Yes, she had pushed him once, but did she really deserve this treatment?
She felt her mood dip, despite herself. She should have been angry. Bloodcurdlingly angry. So angry that she should have stormed right down to his house (wherever it was) and told his new girlfriend a few home truths. But she wasn’t angry. The anger had redirected itself back towards herself into a thick treacle of despair. It made her just want to duvet dive; to sofa-surf; to hide behind a series of box sets and TV dramas. Depression. That was the word. She was depressed. The doctor prescribed her tablets which took away the can’t breathe feeling and made her feel like she was sinking down through the carpet.
Depressed.
God, where are you? When are you going to make things better for me, please?
Perhaps God did have something in mind, but not what she expected.