His eyes are begging me even more than his words; even more than his heart, which I can feel thumping against the palm of my hand, pressing against his chest. It’s yelling at me to let him go, to set him free. To help him find a way into the light: even if I’m not the one to meet him there.
I push him towards the bed and make him sit down. I bend down towards his mouth and kiss him slowly, as I feel his hands slide down my back. My lips are moving against his, telling him the first lie.
I tell him that I was never there, watching him, as he ran laps of the rugby field. I tell him that my heart didn’t leap into my throat every time he was tackled. I tell him that I didn’t run home crying like a baby every time another girl caught his attention, leading him further and further away from me.
I sit on top of him, slipping him slowly inside me. My body recognises him instantly. I place my hands on his shoulders and lift myself up a little, before sinking back down to feel him inside me. I tell him another lie. I tell him that I didn’t wait there all night in that damn swimming pool, asking myself where I went wrong, what I was thinking; so angry at myself for taking it too far, for pushing him away from me forever.
My movements quicken, and I feel his beard scratch against my breasts. I lie again: I tell him that I never thought of him every time I was with another man. I tell him that I never closed my eyes and imagined it was him who was touching me, kissing me, wanting me.
I stretch myself out on top of him, his hands keeping a steady grip on my waist, my body sliding against his. Our pace quickens with our breathing, as I tell him that I never believed his lie; that I never sat around, waiting for him to come back. That I never hoped, and would never have kept hoping for the rest of my life.
I tremble on top of him, as I feel him shuddering inside me. I tell him that I never fell in love with him the first time I ever went to watch them train. I tell him that I never kept loving him, silently, for all these years. I tell him that I won’t keep loving him forever.
I slump onto him breathlessly; but I don’t tell him that, in that moment, the biggest lie is the one he’s telling me.
67
Nick
Her lies hurt. They’re heavy, unbearable. But they’re so real that I can’t help but believe them.
Casey has written her lies all over me; she used her hands, her mouth, her whole body. She’s imprinted them onto my skin, onto my heart.
And they’re so beautiful, so terrifying. They’re lies I want to dive into. They make me feel so safe. Some.
There’s no way to shrug them off. There’s no way to forget tonight: its desperation, its understanding that this is the end. I’ll never be able to forget her, and everything we never had.
I’ll never be able to move on. I’ll always be left behind.
Casey lifts herself up slowly, her hair tickling my chest, her fingers tracing the movement.
Her eyes.
The inferno within them grabs hold of me, with no escape.
She stretches herself onto her back, next to me, her graze turned to the ceiling. I instinctively reach for her hand, but as soon as my fingers brush against hers, she pulls away, laying it over her stomach instead.
She doesn’t want any more contact.
She doesn’t want me.
She lies there for a few more minutes, as I try to gather my thoughts, scanning my brain for something to say that will keep her here a little longer. But I’m not exactly a smart guy; the only thing I can do is wait here, slowly dying, dragging her down with me.
Casey sits herself up, brushing her hair away from her face before finally turning to look at me.
“I’m leaving, Nick.” Her voice is determined, steady. “And I’m not going to come back. Not this time.”
I lift myself up, too, moved by the fear that she reallywillleave. I stretch a hand out towards her and grab her arm, trying to pull her closer to me. Casey sighs heavily and shakes her head, before trying to get to her feet; but I don’t let her. I pull her onto my lap, taking her face in my hands and begging her, my heart ablaze: “Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”
“You were the one who left me. And… you never came back.”
“Look at me. I’m here,” I say, lifting her face so that she can look me in the eyes. “I’m right here in front of you.”
She slides out of my grip and moves her head aside.
“I don’t see you.”
It feels like I’m dying. But it makes no sense; I’d never be able to feel pain like this if I were really dead.
