‘What?’
‘Holiday Nick? Is that who this is?’
He looked at me, so confused. ‘That is what you wanted, Abbey. “I miss him, Holiday Nick.” That’s what you said. I thought that was what you wanted.’ His voice was gentle, but I could hear shock as well.
‘Jesus, this is too much.’ I felt overwhelmed and I couldn’t articulate what I was thinking, because I thought I already had. There shouldn’t be a Holiday Nick, there should just be … Nick. I was just Abbey. Any notion about the feelings I thought we shared, well, that was just a bit too much to think about, a bit too shattering. For him, this was clearly just sex.
‘Hey.’ His thumb grazed against my ear. ‘I bought that dress because I want her. I miss her. Holiday Abbey.’
What the fuck did that mean?
‘What the fuck does that mean? You bought a dress so you could have her? For two weeks? This is the cost of fucking you for two weeks, is it? Oh, that is lovely, mate. I need to get this off.’ I pushed away from him.
‘Wait, no. Abbey, that is not what I said. You’re putting words in my mouth. I thought … I thought this was what you wanted. Or I thought we could at least discuss if this might not be perfect?’
I walked into my room, which did not smell like paint anymore, heedless of whether he followed. I tried to get the dress off, but I couldn’t reach the zip and after watching me contort myself, he marched over and roughly unzipped it.
‘You can have your goddamn dress.’ I picked it up off the floor and threw it at him. I was topless underneath with tiny, soaked knickers on. I picked up my Fleetwood Mac tee, dragging it over my head. ‘My grandmother warned me about shit like this.Don’t let men steal your spirit.You are fucking unbelievable. Two fucking weeks!’
‘Abbey, stop it. I’m not trying to take your fucking spirit. You’re being ridiculous and, honestly, fucking offensive.’
‘I’m offensive? You know what, Nick, if you want someone to fuck for two weeks, why don’t you go fuck that twenty-five-year-old?’Now … that … was offensive.‘You can fuck anyone you want to. They will adore you and your floppy hair and your posh accent and your fucking money. And you can give them whatever segment of yourself, whatever version you want to. Holiday Nick or Arsehole Boss Nick or Can’t Fall in Love Nick. Leave me the fuck alone.’
He threw the dress on the bed. There was colour in his cheeks and a curl had fallen forward over his brow. His breathing was rapid, and his eyes were flaming at me. I had never seen him angry, and I knew it was madness, but I felt quite proud that I had made his control slip enough to show it to me.
There was a second or two where I felt like we might just walk until we crashed into each other. Apologise. Kiss softly. Foreheads together.
He shook his head. ‘Goodnight, Abbey.’
I heard the front door close firmly a moment later. I fell back onto my bed.
Fuuuuccckk.
Nick
What the actual …?
I was so fucking angry with her I wanted to march back in there and have it out.What the fuck did she want from me?I thought I was giving her what she wanted. I had bent over backwards for that woman over the last two weeks.You know what? Fuck her.
Christ.She made it sound as if I was trying to purchase her services for two weeks. As if I was hiring her like a common prostitute by buying her a dress. That was not what this was.
I had told her from the start that I could not fall in love. It wasn’t a thing. I’d made myself clear.
Why couldn’t she see we were perfect for each other in that regard? We were both old enough to understand that love was bullshit. Love required the rose-coloured glasses one only owned in their twenties. Sometimes naïve people kept them in their thirties. I had actually never owned them. I’m pretty certain I was born with a healthy amount of pessimism. Maybe I borrowed a pair once upon a time. There had been a period when I had been more open. I had believed in hope; I’d had faith in others. I gave my heart away and did not think of the consequences. Then I was broken.
I know what she thinks, of course I do. She thinks she wants all of it. All of me. But Abbey and I are just physical. It’s good physical; it might be the best physical I have ever had. I was thinking about her all the time, constantly aware of her; I always knew the minute she entered a room. Sometimes, when she was close, I had to shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out to her.
I’m drawn to the sound of her voice and to how expressive her eyes can be when she is communicating something important. I know her movements and I have learned to read them like a foreign language. When she’s anxious, she touches her grandmother’s pendant, though it is no longer there. When she is thinking something that she’s not prepared to say, she bites her bottom lip. Tonight, I saw her fuming and even that was beautiful. All colour.
And it helped that she was funny and cute. Smart. Competent. Dedicated to her family. It helped that she was amazing with Oliver. Better than I could even have predicted. I mean tonight … he was about to freak out and she just settled him right down, with her gentle, no-nonsense common sense. Do not be feeble. What fucking brilliant advice! I would have copped one on my chin if I had said that.
And what Iris said about Abbey having her colours on. Christ, I cannot imagine her being beige, and it makes me wonder about her ex-husband. The kind of man who doesn’t let a woman like Abbey shine. She is so luminous. Everything about her gleams. Tonight she shone and watching it was like looking through a fucking kaleidoscope, shards of crystal light moving about. I could not have stopped looking at her if I had tried. There is a part of me that wants to stand in that light. Permanently bask in it.It’s terrifying.
Abbey doesn’t seem to see that I am a black hole absorbing light. That my darkness can completely stifle her. Yet sometimes, being next to her, I feel her light pierce through my dark. I crave it and I don’t know how I feel about that.
This is why, Nick. This is why you should not do shit like this.I don’t do this. I don’t get involved with women. Not physically and definitely not with feelings. I don’t do things like this, ever.
Which Abbey … does not know.
