Authors: Jo Watson
“No ways!” My tone was forceful. “I’m not standing here naked.”
“Well, then let me bring it to you.”
I was hesitant to accept his offer, but I didn’t see an alternative.
“Fine, but…”
He cut me off.
“No groping,” he said, and laughed.
“And keep your eyes shut, in case the lights come back on.”
“Sure.”
Damian started to move toward me, and I could hear him as he bumped into things along the way.
“Say something to me, Lilly.”
“Hello, I’m here.”
I could hear Damian changing direction, and he was definitely getting closer.
“Again,” he said. He was very close now.
“Hi.”
“Right. I’m going to hold out the towel now. I think you’re close enough.”
Oh crap! I hoped he didn’t touch me. I covered my boobs with my free arm and tentatively stuck my other arm out. I waved it about, expecting to bump into him at some point—but I didn’t.
“Where are you?” My arm was moving from side to side.
“Here!”
He was close, but clearly not close enough. I cautiously took a tiny step forward, not knowing that he’d done the same, and suddenly jumped as I felt something hit my stomach.
Damian responded instantly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Sorry. I…I didn’t hit you anywhere…um…?” His tone was hesitant and I knew what he was trying to say.
“No! No! It was just my…never mind.”
“Okay,” Damian said. “I’m going to hold my arm out very still and you can find it.”
Yes, this was clearly a better plan, and a few seconds later I had safely retrieved the towel and wrapped it around myself. I sighed with relief. And thought I heard him do the same.
“So now what?” I felt so much better with the towel around me, but I couldn’t just stand here waiting for the lights to come back on.
“If you give me your hand, I can lead us back to the sitting area.”
Damian didn’t even give me the chance to respond, because a second later I felt his arm bump into mine, and our hands meet.
I remember the first time I held hands with a guy. At the time, it was the most thrilling and sexually charged thing that had ever happened to me. It was with a pimply boy called Charlie Lieberman, who sat behind me in math. One day I felt a tap on my shoulder and a little note suddenly appeared in my lap.
Lilly,
Do you like me, or like me, like me? Tick the box.
Like me [_]
Like me, like me [_]
Charlie.
I ticked the second box and suddenly we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Which basically meant nothing. But after a few months, we went on our first real date. And when I say date, I mean that we went to a movie with a big group of friends—
and
we were chaperoned by my brother and future sister-in-law, who sat two rows behind us.
Charlie and I sat next to each other, and the atmosphere was electric. We had both strategically placed our hands on the armrest just a few centimeters away from each other—our little fingers almost touching. I think we must have then spent the next ten minutes moving our hands toward each other at a snail’s pace until they finally touched. From that point, I think it took us about half an hour to finally do something that resembled holding hands. And even though I was only thirteen at the time, it was the most physically intense moment of my little life.
That day at the movies, with Charlie’s hands in mine, I had felt something
real
. Something extremely potent. Because there’s holding hands, and then there’s Holding Hands (with a capital H). And you can instantly feel the difference.
Well, I instantly felt the difference….
Damian intertwined his fingers with mine. His thumb, instead of going straight to the top of my hand, slipped itself, oh so slowly, across my sensitive palm. I felt my breath quicken. I loosened my fingers, so that they could gently slide down the length of his, until our fingertips brushed each other. We both moved our fingers simultaneously, letting them slip up and down, curl around and stroke.
We finally reached the couch, and I sat down. Our fingers untwined themselves and I suddenly felt a rush of intense guilt. As if I was cheating on Michael. Not that I should care, but I did. My fingers were still tingling and I wanted to see the look on Damian’s face. I was very glad that the darkness was concealing mine: my blush, my smile. I wondered if he was smiling, too. Under the shroud of darkness, everything felt so much more intense. The silence was deafening, until he spoke. His voice was soft, low and gravelly. It sounded different.
“Lilly?”
“Yes, Damian?” My voice was nothing more than a tiny whisper.
More silence
.
The anticipation was killing me. What was he going to say? My heart pounded and my skin felt like it was on fire.
“Yes, Damian?” My voice was even softer this time.
The silence throbbed in my ears.
But he said nothing.
I waited for what seemed like forever. And then I heard him.
“How’s your leg?”
Huh?
“My what?”
“Didn’t you bump your leg?” At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, and then it clicked.
“It’s fine.” I snapped at him and felt the anger bubbling up inside me. I was angry. Furious even. But it wasn’t at Damian. I was angry with myself, for letting my thoughts go somewhere they shouldn’t have. I mean, what was I expecting him to say to me? That he liked me? We didn’t even know each other, and I had a fiancé, well at least I think I have one,
had one
, or not…
I was confused!
What was wrong with me? Clearly I was suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress, or shock, or some other kind of mental illness that was turning me into a complete idiot.
What was I doing with this guy?
This was the second time tonight we’d held hands, and it was entirely inappropriate and weird and wrong and strange and all those kinds of words.
I heard a buzz and the lights flickered back on. I blinked several times as my eyes adjusted. Damian sat opposite me, looking in my direction and I quickly averted my eyes, furious for what I was letting myself feel.
“What’s wrong? You look angry?” Damn, I hated that he was so observant.
“Nothing.” I spat the word out quickly. “And everything.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see he was looking at me curiously.
“Can I make an observation, Lilly?”
This statement made me nervous, but I agreed.
“You’re not actually as powerless as you think you are.”
“What?” I snapped at him. I didn’t know where he was going with this, but I had a very strong feeling I wasn’t going to like it.
“Well, you keep saying how you feel everything is going wrong, how the world is conspiring against you. I think you have the power to change that.”
He was making no sense. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re stronger than you think. You made the decision to come on your honeymoon alone, that’s a pretty brave move—I don’t think there’re many women who could have done that. And maybe what’s happened to you is a good thing…”
I cut him off. “How the hell can any of this be a good thing?”
“Perhaps all the ‘bad stuff…’” (He gestured inverted commas, which I hated.) “…that keeps happening, is actually, well, good. Maybe it’s steering you in a different, a better direction? Perhaps you weren’t supposed to get married.”
“What?” I flew out of my seat clutching my towel for dear life.
“Of course I was supposed to get married. What the hell are you talking about? Do you know how much work I put into that wedding? It was going to be perfect!”
“Work?” The word came out loudly. “Shouldn’t you care more about the actual marriage than the work that went into the wedding?”
That sentence stung me. It stung me so hard I took a step backward and almost fell over another table.
“What are you trying to say? That I don’t love Michael?”
“Do you?” His tone was strange.
“Of course I love him. Besides, who do you think you are judging me? What right do you have?”
The rain started pelting down again, and we had to raise our voices to be heard.
“How old are you, Lilly?” Damian stood up now; he looked fired up.
“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?”
“Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”
“Twenty-three,” I shouted at him over the rain.
“Don’t you think you’re a bit too young to be getting married anyway?”
Oh wow!
Now that was the last straw. I pointed my finger at him, it was inches away from his face, and I screamed.
“You don’t know me! You don’t know the first thing about me! So if I were you I would just…” The rain softened, but I was still screaming. “…shut the hell up!”
The volume of those last words shocked us both, and I think we could both sense that there was absolutely no salvaging this situation. Whatever Damian and I had had, it was dead and buried. I turned and walked to the bedroom, climbed into bed with my towel still on and pulled the duvet over my head. I was seething.
I don’t know how much time elapsed, but at some stage, I started to feel better. Calmer. I closed my eyes and could feel that sleep would soon claim me.
I started to replay the fight in my head. Why had I gotten so angry with him? I thought about what he’d said. He’d tried to put a positive spin on my situation, tried to make me feel better, but I’d just kicked him in the teeth. He shouldn’t have said that stuff about not loving Michael and not getting married, but prior to that, he’d actually been nice.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I’d started the fight. I’d started it for my own reasons; I’d been feeling awkward, vulnerable and extremely guilty for feeling something for him. I’d pushed him away. Punished him for something that wasn’t his fault.
Sleep was creeping faster now and I knew I was about to succumb, and my last thought was…
I need to apologize to him in the morning.
Chapter Eight
I had a strange dream that night. I dreamt that I was at Esmeralda’s having my cards read. At first glance everything seemed normal, but then Esmeralda walked in wearing my wedding dress, which looked terrible on her, because on a good day she looks a little something like an elephant seal. (I was secretly very happy about this.) I was wearing my pajamas. I looked down and noticed that the floor was covered in soft, white beach sand. Her monitor lizard was sitting on the floor next to my foot eating a hamburger, which was very disturbing, because he was doing it with a knife and fork. Esmeralda began turning the cards over, but every one was the same. The jack of hearts. I asked her if she still saw the blonde male and she said no. She saw a man with dark hair. I told her she was most definitely wrong, because he was supposed to be blonde. Then she got angry and told me her cards never lied. He was dark haired and had dark eyes and was holding the moon in his hand. I don’t really know why, but this made me very angry and so I grabbed a glass of water and threw it at her. Then all her candles went out and I woke up.
I sat up in bed as if it had shocked me; the towel was still wrapped around me, and as soon as my eyes had adjusted to the bright light, I looked around the room. My first thought was yesterday’s last thought: I must apologize to Damian. I glanced in the direction of the sitting area, but he wasn’t there. I called out his name, no answer. I assumed he was outside, the sun was streaming through the huge windows and the day looked glorious, with no sign of this past night’s storm. I started climbing out of bed, but stopped dead when I felt something crunch under my hand.
I didn’t need to look down; I knew exactly what it was.
There was a note on my pillow.
Queasiness gripped me. I had a feeling I knew what the note was going to say. In fact, I was positive I knew.
He was gone. And I would never see him again.
There was absolutely no need to read the note, so I got out of bed and tossed it on the floor. Why did I even care if he was gone?
I didn’t. Damian was just some stranger that I’d met and felt sorry for. I stomped over to the coffee machine and turned it on aggressively, as if that would somehow make me feel better. The kettle started to bubble and I began making myself a strong cuppa, but all the while I could feel the note staring at me. Staring at me with its beady little paper eyes. I ignored it and walked over to the couch for my morning caffeine hit. But the note began to peck at the back of my head with its sharp, folded paper corners.
Oh, who was I kidding? Of course I wanted to read it…
I’m really sorry, Lilly.
X D
Irony had clearly come back for seconds…just four little words once more. But there was something very different about this note. Something so seemingly insignificant, but to me, it was huge. A tiny letter, that when I looked at it, made my heart race.
X.
A kiss.
I stared at the
X
on the paper.
Why would he have put one there? Did he want to kiss me? Was he just being polite? What did it all mean, or was I reading too much into it and this was just the way he signed off all his letters? Why was this even bothering me? Why was I analyzing a single letter on a note from a stranger?
And…why won’t this incessant narration in my head turn itself off and give me a chance to breathe and wake up?
I turned the note over hoping he’d left me his number, or an email address or something. He hadn’t. I suddenly realized that I didn’t even know his surname, so I couldn’t find him on Facebook. Or could I?
I went straight for my phone. The second it was in my hand I logged onto Facebook and typed in D-A-M-I-A-N. The reception was slower than a dead sloth and the anticipation was killing me as I watched that irritating thingy going round and round and round. Finally, it connected and about fifty pages came up. Too many! I tried to narrow the search and put South Africa in as a search perimeter, now there were only thirty pages. And so began my hunt.
There were a few profile pictures that at first glance looked promising: a skull and a plain red block jumped out immediately. But neither one was him. I kept going until my eyes began to sting, but he was nowhere to be found. My heart dropped into my toes, and I was gripped by this terrible realization—I would never see him again. It also dawned on me that this was the first time I’d logged onto Facebook and
not
gone straight to Michael’s page. So I quickly did, not that I was expecting to find anything new. But I did. He’d updated his status…