Chapter Three
In the confines of the bus station, Sasha began to feel the weight of tension start to lift from her shoulders. She was away. Now she could get on a bus, get home and return to some peace and quiet. No more would she have to listen to the prolonged talk-a-thons and the constant put-downs. She looked at the large digital screen announcing all the departures, and realised she had just missed the hourly bus to Belfast. She would have to wait, get a cuppa and gather her thoughts. Her only consolation was that at least she had got away from him to safety.
Browsing slowly through the bus station café, she perused the selection of hot foods and breakfast temptations. Sausages, bacon, egg. Suddenly her stomach growled out in eager anticipation. Now the stress and anxiety had gone from her shoulders, she was relaxing in the peace of the bus station. Studying the sausages and eggs and formulating her order in her head, in the corner of her eye she saw a dark figure appearing at the end of the counter.
Her gaze lifted, and she realised that it was actually Kirk standing there – his expression a mixture of emotions she was unsure of. On the one hand he looked defeated. As though he couldn’t quite believe she had run off on him like that. And on the other, he looked sad. As though he missed her already and he was coming to win her back.
She should have been scared. Of course she should. His appearance could only mean one thing – a further talk-a-thon – another endurance test. Another discussion of epic proportions. If she had climbed the mountain and reached the top, now she had discovered there was yet another mountain to climb.
But he stood there, still, his expression soft, inquisitive. He cocked his head to the side. He smiled. He had the attitude of a lion tamer, gently trying to calm a raging feline back into the cage. His smile widened. “Are you okay?” he mouthed.
Everything in her should have ran away. Everything in her should have made her find another path out of the café, and dodge past him, like swerving an advancing bullet. But there, in the glow of the lamplight illuminating the sausages, her shoulders sagged and she smiled back, defeated.
He approached her, gently put his arms around her and hugged her softly. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
If onlookers saw them, they probably would’ve thought they looked cute. A young couple in love; making up after a fight.
Coffee was ordered. They found a table. They sat. Still no food. The appetite was gone again. There was an awkwardness at first. A gentleness. A soft ‘what happened there?’ question hung in the air. They began to talk. Quietly. Tentatively. Then tears fell. Sasha’s. Fat droplets running down her cheeks and splashing onto the table. Single droplets and then faster. Until she was sobbing. Deep, rasping sobs which left her feeling relieved.
He cradled her in his arms, soothing her.
They were accumulating looks from other café users at this point. Probably people looking at them with a mixture of pity and envy. Aww, look at that couple. She’s probably crying because she has to get the bus now and leave him. Oh, to be young and in love again.
“I wonder where all these tears are coming from?” he mused, gently stroking her arm and looking at her with a mixture of pity and worry. “Maybe it’s all the therapy work you’re doing. Maybe it’s bringing stuff up for you.”
Looking back, her stronger self would’ve known her reply to him. Her stronger self would’ve said, “Maybe it’s because you’ve completely worn me down. Maybe because I’m starving, and exhausted and my bank account is bled dry and that talk-a-thon has worn down my soul and I’m beat.”
But her weaker self, which didn’t know better, nodded in agreement. “Maybe.” Maybe it is the therapy work. Maybe it’s dredging up issues for me. Maybe I’ve deep-down problems I need to sort out. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it’s my problem.
That was the hidden message, Sasha realised, looking back. That was the message he was always trying to feed her subconsciously. That it was her fault. That she was the one with the problem. That she had issues. That she needed to change. That she needed to stop being jealous. That she needed not to mind if he didn’t want sex. That it was all her fault.
Not that he should stop torturing her with talk-a-thons and trying to change her.
She took a deep breath. Her tears had stopped. It felt wonderfully… cleansing. She didn’t care that her face was red raw. She didn’t care that people were staring at them. She felt purified. Like a river run dry. Now there was no more tension. He was being sympathetic. He was soothing her. The atmosphere was okay.
“Why don’t we go and get something to eat?” Kirk said.
Sasha’s eyes widened. “What, now? But my bus is coming.”
“Don’t go home,” he begged her. “Stay with me for the day. We’ll get a Sunday lunch. We’ll chill out. Let’s put all this behind us.”
Sasha wavered. She had been so looking forward to getting on the bus. The peace and quiet. Getting home to her own apartment. A hot bubble bath. Bed.
But he looked at her with pleading eyes. “We can go to the Horse and Cart,” he tempted her, knowing it was her favourite pub. “We can get their Sunday carvery and read the papers,” he tantalised. “We can go back to mine and have a lie down.”
His words tempted and lulled her into a false sense of security.
“Let’s forget all that arguing this morning. Let’s just chill out, and eat, and relax.”
She found that her head nodded of its own accord. She found that her legs carried her out of the bus station and into the taxi with him. She found that she was standing in the queue of the carvery, choosing the most tender-looking piece of meat, along with Yorkshire puddings, and roast potatoes, and lashings of gravy. She found that she was sitting with make-up refreshed, tucking into a delicious meal, with her boyfriend next to her and the Sunday papers in front of her. She found that they looked every inch the perfect couple, doing the perfect Sunday couple thing.
Afterwards they strolled home hand-in-hand, back to his bedsit. Back to his bed, snuggling up next to each other, dozing into a cosy food coma slumber, their limbs entwined in a warm, lazy, relaxing, Sunday glow. Mid-snooze, the warmth of his hand found the softness of her nipple. Her skin twitched with pleasure as his fingertips gently caressed the nerve endings; springing her groin to life and causing a stirring to occur which made her legs open in eager anticipation. She wanted the hardness of his cock to find her moist stirrings. She wanted him inside her. He wanted to be inside her. She could feel it. He was initiating it. He wanted her. With joyous realisation she knew he wanted her. She opened her legs for him, her heart, her mind, her everything. He entered her, firm and sure and gasping with eager gratitude. Groaning with pleasure he pounded her, licking her, wanting her; wanting every inch of her.
They both cried out in gratification, spent.
Falling into a relaxed slumber, they slept. When they awoke, Sasha stretched with a satisfied glow. All was okay. They had had a fight. They made up. All couples did this. Everything was okay. But as time wore on and Sasha realised she needed to get herself organised and head to the bus station to go home, she noticed Kirk’s mood shift again. His face clouded over, as though over-thinking. The roll of thunder crashed across his face again, as though the clouds were darkening and another storm was coming.
“You know, earlier?” he began.
Sasha felt her heart sink with the realisation of another talk-a-thon beginning.
“I can’t believe you ran away down the street from me.”
Sasha closed her eyes, feeling the dread wash through her.
“Do you realise how embarrassing that was for me? Running down the street after you? You jumping in the taxi to get away from me? A woman saw us. I was so embarrassed.”
Sasha said nothing. She got up, picked up her clothes and got dressed. She was going. She wasn’t discussing this.
“Are you going?” he asked her. “We need to discuss this.”
“I’m going to get my bus home,” Sasha said firmly and assertively.
“Look at me,” he said.
She leaned against the counter wearily and looked at him.
His face was stern and solemn. “If you walk out that door now and get the earlier bus, I’ll know that you don’t care about our relationship.” He continued to stare sternly at her. “But if you stay here another hour, and discuss this, and resolve our relationship, and get a later bus, I’ll know you care.”
Sasha continued leaning against the counter looking at him. She weighed up the time proposal in her head. A later bus would mean her getting home after 11pm. She would be knackered for work in the morning. Her boss would probably have a huge pile of typing for her to do and, whilst she could do it standing on her head, she didn’t fancy yawning the whole way through her Monday. If she got the bus now, she’d have time for a pampering bubble bath before bed. She also assessed the ‘one hour discussion to sort out our relationship’ proposal. She knew that Kirk would never sort out their relationship in only one hour. That it would take a marathon of weeks of discussion and still he wouldn’t be satisfied.
She opened her mouth to give her verdict, “You can take your ultimatum…” she said, “…and you can shove it up your arse.”
And with that, she stormed out, jumped into the nearest taxi and headed home. This time he didn’t chase after her.