I kissed the side of her neck. I needed to apologise for not being there for her today, because it was her it was happening to, not me. I hated when people took someone else’s drama and made it their own and I’d done that – not for the attention. Boxing yourself up in a room was not looking for attention. “I know. I tried it. But sometimes it’s hard not to go there. I’m sorry I wasn’t what you needed today.”
She didn’t say anything, simply looked out of the window and I wanted to paint her again, from behind as she gazed out at the night from a plain room in which she was the most beautiful element.
“Gabe. This – this what we have is a summer thing. I know that on September first I’ll be back in London at school. Even if I choose to move back here, that won’t be till December at the soonest. And I don’t know if I’m – or you – are right for anything more than what we’ve been doing.” Her voice was pained and the words sounded forced.
I wanted them to sound forced.
“Then let’s not analyse it or take it for any more than what it is. Let’s just have a good summer. And you don’t need to explain how you’re feeling or what happened – I get it.”
“I know you do.” She moved out of my hold and went to the window, looking out towards the sea. “I get why you had to rush back here afterwards.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me, standing up but not following her. I had no idea how to respond; what to say or how to be. A rift had been created, one that I couldn’t fill with hot words and orgasms.
Anya turned round, her eyes catching the faint light that was falling through the door. “Will you show me your paintings?”
I felt like a teenaged boy again. If Ryan was there he’d have taken the piss so hard.A pretty girl likes you, Gabe. Has she got you tied up in knots? Never seen you like this before…
He’d never actually said that to me. There had been women who had been fucking hot and I’d felt like a dick for about ten seconds before muscling up some sort of game. Usually those women had been wearing short-ass skirts with high heels and displaying enough cleavage to lose your wallet in. Anya was nothing like that. She was wearing an old T-shirt and denim cut-offs, her skin clear and I guessed she wasn’t wearing make-up. Pretty. That was the word I’d use to describe her and I felt like a boy who had a crush on a girl in his class. Ryan would’ve been right; he wouldn’t have seen me like this before.
“All of them?” She’d seen some already, but not the ones of her.
There was a nod and a smile, one I couldn’t decipher.
“I’ll show you.” I held out a hand.
She took it. “You sound nervous.”
I was. I’d fucked up today. I wasn’t going to thrash myself with it, because the panic had been something that was almost out of my control, but I knew I had to start to make that leap into being what others needed me to be. Because I wanted to be there. “I’m showing you stuff no one else has seen.”
“You make it sound like you’re a virgin.”
I grinned at her, finding a bit of wickedness. “Can’t think of anyone better to lose it to.”
This time her laugh and smile were full-bodied and lighter. “Come on, show me your goods.”
“Do I have time to grab a really quick shower.”
We had stopped on the landing, outside the bathroom.
“You haven’t changed or showered yet?”
I shook my head, aware that my hair was matted from the sea.
“You went straight into that room?”
I shrugged. “Coping mechanism. I had flashbacks. I needed to be in a small space and just ride with it.”
She was quiet. “I don’t know what to say. Everything I can think of is just words and words won’t take any pain away or dilute the grief.”
I nodded. “It isn’t rational. The way I felt.”
“I know. I know and I get it. Go get your shower. I’m going to grab some of that god-awful juice you drink.”
The change of topic was good. My apple, kale and ginger juice was an acquired taste and I think she’d just about acquired it. I would’ve asked her to jump in the shower with me, but I needed the space more than I needed her, more than I needed to need her.
I washed and rinsed off quickly, finding Anya in the kitchen with a half drunk glass of juice and one of my sketch pads that I had left lying around. The pictures were ideas, things I’d seen and wanted to capture while they were still in my memory, others were variations on photographs that I’d taken.
“You’re really talented.” She didn’t look up when I entered, her eyes fixed on the sketches.
