~ Nick
I wake with a dull ache in my head. Opening my eyes, I can see sunlight streaming into the apartment and it hits me that this is the first time I’ve woken up to the daylight in ages.
I lie in bed, trying to process what this means and whether I actually managed to sleep through the night. But then I remember the dream, the images of Emma running from my bar that night. It’s different again, not the truth of what really happened, but close enough that it still scares me.
I remember watching her as she ran to the door, her bloodied fingers reaching for the bolt as she tried desperately to unlock it. She’d screamed in frustration when she finally did, because even though it was now unlocked, the door hadn’t budged. I’d stood there watching as she kicked at the glass, her legs covered in cuts, until eventually the door had opened.
I’d moved then, stepping towards her. I wasn’t quick enough though, and instead, I’d reached the door and watched her chasing a taxi down the street, even as her torn clothes hung from her body.
It wasn’t anything close to what happened for real that night, but it was enough to wake me. I guess this time though, I’d somehow managed to fall back to sleep again.
I roll over and slide out of bed. The apartment is silent; the only noise that of the street outside. I grab some track pants and a t-shirt, pulling them on before walking out to the living room.
Emma’s lying on the couch reading, Oscar curled up beside her and a mug of steaming coffee on the table. She looks up as I walk over, smiles as I crawl onto the couch, laying my head in her lap and closing my eyes as she brushes her fingers through my hair.
“How’s the head?” she asks.
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
“Did you have a good night?”
I shrug again. “It was good to catch up,” I say. “Good to talk.”
“I’m glad,” she says, and I don’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling.
“Thank you for making it happen,” I add, sliding my hand beneath her legs.
Emma says nothing, just continues to run her fingers through my hair, over my shoulders. Already I can feel the headache fading, as though her touch isn’t just comforting, but healing. There’s a familiarity to it now that is so easy to get lost in.
“Tony feels guilty about what happened that night,” I say, even though she isn’t asking for details and I don’t know why I’m feeling the need to share them.
“What do you think about that?” Emma asks.
“I think it’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
I open my eyes, rolling a little so I’m looking up at her now. “Why should he feel guilty?” I ask. “He didn’t do anything.”
Emma raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
“He had to take the money to the bank,” I continue, as though justifying why he wasn’t around when it happened. “He was gone like fifteen minutes. How the hell could he have known what was going to happen?”
“He couldn’t have,” she says, her fingers brushing over my cheek. “Just like you couldn’t have either.”
I roll over again. “That’s different,” I mumble.
Emma doesn’t speak, just reaches for her coffee. She offers it to me and the smell is enough to have me taking the mug from her hands. I take a sip before passing it back to her.
“Seems like you slept better last night,” she says changing the subject as she puts the coffee back on the table.
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Still had a nightmare though.”
I expect her to ask me about it and just like the last time I dreamt about her, I don’t want to have to tell her about this one. “Are you going to go and see Amy?” she asks instead, and for a second I’m not sure exactly who she means. “You said talking to Tony was good?”
“Mmmm,” I answer, closing my eyes again. I know that as much as it might have been awkward and weird at first, it was good to finally talk to Tony, especially as I’ve been MIA from the bar these past few weeks. I’ve been a shit boss, but I’ve been an even shittier friend, and I’m lucky he knows enough about what happened to get it.
But at the same time, I really don’t need him thinking he did anything wrong that night. Nothing he said or did played a part in what happened to Amy and I hope I got through to him enough that he understands that.
I also know that I really need to go back to work again, if only so I don’t push things so far that I lose him as a friend.
When I next open my eyes, it’s late in the afternoon. I’m still on the couch, my head in Emma’s lap as she reads. I roll over, looking up at her as she does. I know she knows I’m awake, but her eyes stay on the page, skimming over whatever it is she’s engrossed in. Eventually she slips a post-it note into the page, closes the book and looks down at me.
“Hey,” she says, smiling.
“Hey.”
“Are you hungry?” she asks and it occurs to me that for all the hours I’ve spent asleep on the couch, my head in her lap, she hasn’t been able to move. Not to get food or to go to the bathroom. She could have woken me up, but she didn’t, as though staying here and letting me sleep was more important to her than either of those things.
“Why do you stay?” I blurt out.
“What?” she asks, her smile disappearing.
“Why do you stay?” I repeat. “Why are you so good to me?”
The smile returns but it’s sadder now. Her eyes move to her fingers, watching as they comb through my hair. “Because you need me,” she eventually says, her words a whisper.
“Is that the only reason?” I ask, unsure what I’m really asking. “Because I’m sure none of this is fun for you.”
The hurt flashes quickly across her face, but almost as soon as it appears, it’s gone, as though she’s buried it somewhere, somewhere I can’t see it.
“Are we back to this again?” she asks, her hand falling to her side, her fingers no longer in my hair.
“No,” I say, even as a knot of tension forms in my stomach at the possibility that we might be.
“Do you want me to go?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine.
“No,” I tell her, wondering how it is I manage to keep fucking things up so much.
“Why?” she asks, staring down at me. “Why do you want me to stay then?”
I stare up her, our eyes locked. I wish she could see inside my head and all of the reasons, all of the answers I could give her to that one question. But she can’t, and as shitty as it is for me to do this right now, with all the other crap that’s going on, I know I owe her the truth. The truth I haven’t wanted to admit to myself, much less to her.
“I like the person you make me want to be, Emma,” I say, my eyes still on hers. “I like that you never let me go either. That as fucked up as things get, and as much of an arsehole as I am, you never give up. On me,” I add, a hand on my chest. “Or on this,” I whisper, lifting that hand to gesture between us.
Emma stares down at me, not saying anything. I can’t tell what she thinks of my reasons; the look on her face is unreadable. Even though I’m scared and confused about all of this, about what’s been said and what’s still to come, I know there’s one truth I can no longer hide from her.
“But the main reason I want you stay,” I whisper, swallowing hard as I force myself to continue. “The only reason is that I’m in love with you and I don’t ever want you to go.”
Emma’s eyes immediately fill with tears and it scares me enough that I sit up, grabbing her hands as I pull her towards me. She resists though, shaking her head as she swipes her fingers beneath her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately say.
She shakes her head again. “Don’t,” she says, finally looking up at me. “Don’t be sorry, don’t say that right now.”
I nod, even though I have no idea what she means or why she’s reacting the way she is. Maybe my confession was too much or not what she wanted to hear. I know the timing is fucked, and that having someone as messed up as I am in love with you cannot be a good thing.
But I need her to know it, need her to hear me say it. Because as fucked up as everything is, I really need her to understand why I want her here, why I continue to try and do this even though every second of it kills me. Reliving the past, talking about what happened, showing this side of me to her. Fuck, the things I’m doing to her and the things I’m putting her through; that kills me more than anything and I’d do anything to be able to make it all go away.
“Do you mean it?” she eventually asks, her words a whisper. She looks up at me, her eyes still swimming with tears as they meet mine.
I nod. “Yes.”
She bites her bottom lip as she slides closer on the couch. I watch as she picks up my hand, encircling it in both of hers.
“The reason why I stay,” she whispers, her eyes falling to our hands. “The reason why I want to.”
“Yeah?” I say, my voice hoarse.
She looks up. “It’s the same reason as yours,” she says, offering me a small smile as a tear slides down her cheek. “I love you too and I would do anything for you.”
This time she doesn’t resist when I pull her towards me.
And afterwards, it’s both of us who fall asleep on the couch.