CALLUM
It’s been barely eight weeks since I first laid eyes on Abby, yet I know without a doubt I’m falling hard and the weight of it consumes me from the inside out. She must feel it every time I touch her, with every stroke, with every kiss. She stirs emotions within me, that until recently, I hadn’t believed I was capable of. I’d been missing this woman in my life for as long as I could remember, forever even. I should have been more understanding yesterday when she mentioned the trip. I want her to be happy, underlying tension doesn’t sit well with me.
I arrive outside Abby’s before seven and park in my usual spot on the tarmac drive next to her Mini Cooper. For once, she isn’t at the front door to greet me. The curtains twitch from the window of her neighbour’s house. I raise my hand in greeting, but the old woman drops the net quickly. I knock, check my watch and wonder if she’s gone for a run.
The door inches open, an unrecognisable version of my girlfriend appears before me. Crimson eyes, tear-streaked cheeks and scarlet blotches set alarm rippling through me.
‘What is it?’ I immediately embrace her. She buries herself into my chest, inhaling the scent of my shirt.
‘Don’t go mad,’ she pleads, handing me her mobile phone from the table in the hallway.
A photo of a man with his hands placed meaningfully on my girlfriend’s shoulders illuminates the screen. The man looks suspiciously like he’s about to kiss her. And it’s all over the evening gossip columns.
Searing, stabbing jealousy pierces my insides. The thought of anyone else placing their disgusting hands on her sickens me.
‘Who the fuck is that?’ I ask.
‘Sean Fitzpatrick,’ Abby says quietly, beckoning me into her sitting room and flopping onto the cream fabric couch.
Fevered anger consumes me. He couldn’t just stay away. This man has a whole lot of history with my girlfriend. He’d meant more to her at one point. More than I do now. She’d agreed to marry him, for fuck’s sake. He probably knew the curves of her body better than me. He met her family, went on holiday with her, shared a home with her – all of the things I was yet to do. His reappearance now could signify the end of us, a thought that has the potential to ruin me. I briefly consider telling her what I learnt about him, but then I’d have to admit I sent someone snooping.
I’ve never seen Abby looking so wretched.
Is she upset because she still cares about him? Or because he won’t leave her alone? I pray it’s the latter, but a sinking sense of hopelessness hovers. If she chooses to take him back now, I’d have no choice but to accept her decision. Even if it’s the wrong one.
‘Talk to me, Abby.’ I take her hands in mine, itching to ask her a million questions. ‘Do you still have feelings for him?’ I prefer to face the situation head-on, have some idea what I’m up against.
Her prolonged silence is deafening and hurts more than any words she could have uttered.
I gently disentangle myself from her and stand to leave. ‘Wait, Callum,’ she begs. ‘It’s not what you think.’
My stomach balls into a hundred knots and nausea sweeps through me with a greater force than the strongest tackle.
‘He launched himself at me; it’s not what it looks like. He’s been following me. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but it really was him. I don’t have feelings for him, not like that. I just feel an overwhelming sense of sadness about the whole situation. He constituted my entire life since I was fourteen years of age. I didn’t know who I was when he left me. I didn’t really like the me that he left behind… until I met you.’
This is new territory for me. I struggle to relate to the pull of the first love, having nothing to compare it to myself until now.
‘I still have no idea what exactly I did to him that drove him away, so how do I know I won’t do the same thing to you? Seeing him today reminded me of the me I used to know. A simpler version of me. But I’ll never be that me again. It’s her I mourn, not him.’
I could tell her what drove him away, and it wasn’t her. But is it my place to? I don’t think it is. It might do more harm than good.
Abby pulls me towards her, her eyes searching mine for the connection that we have, the one that’s between us and only us. Tears fall from her long, wet eyelashes as she unbuttons my shirt. I’m in no doubt of what she wants, but for the first time in my life, I hesitate. I want her more now than ever, desperate to stake my claim on her, remind her what we have, but a tiny lingering sliver of insecurity eats at me.
Is it really me she wants? Or is she just seeking comfort from me because I’m the one standing here? How can I compete with years of history?
I consider it rationally for a few seconds, battling the ugly green-eyed monster lurking within. If she wanted him, it looks pretty clear from the photo that she could have had him. He’s her past. I’m determined to be her future. The concept of purchasing an enormous diamond is increasingly appealing. Some might consider it a little early, but I’d be a fucking fool to leave it too late.
There’s only one way to deal with the situation – to remind her exactly what we have, what I would do for her. And trust her to make the right decision.
I lift her into my arms and carry her upstairs to the bed that I’ve spent the last few weeks with her in. Her eyes don’t leave mine. She’s hungry and wanting, enough to get me off by itself. She’s like no woman I’ve ever had before, and with the threat of losing her, I reach an unwavering conclusion – nobody else will ever do.
Tiny prickling goosebumps ripple over her soft skin as I remove her dress. My tongue traces her stomach, kissing every part of her. Tense legs clench beneath me. Her body begs for more. I draw it out deliberately.
‘Please, Callum,’ she moans, pulling me up towards her.
Undoing my jeans, she grips my backside hard, pulling me into her with an urgency that matches my own.
She writhes against me. Sweat beads her skin, mixing with my own. She tugs my hair and cries out my name again as she reaches her release. I follow suit, placing my mouth over hers to muffle the words that I long to say.
