It's Not You It's Me (3 page)

S
o, I shut up about it. I hid my feelings.

Oh, probably not very well. I have to say that much. I was probably as transparent as the thinnest of thin rice paper. I probably mooned around the apartment like a lovesick cow. But Jas didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t say anything, and things continued as usual.

Until our third last day together.

We’d been fairly busy up until then. Of course everyone in the building had to leave, so we’d spent the last few weeks running around and helping out with the odd spot of packing. Wrapping up endless china cups and knickknacks for the arthritic Miss Tenningtons—why old ladies always seem to own about a hundred china cups and saucers in rose patterns that never match is beyond me—and waving people off as their families came and transported them to, usually, nursing homes.

By our third last day together, our third last day in the apartment, just about everyone we were close to had gone.
There was only a handful of people left in the entire building. It was quiet. Too quiet. Even the building seemed to know it was coming to the end of its days, because the day before the lift had stuck between floors—thankfully, there was no one in it—and had refused to budge for twelve hours. It had taken five workmen to get it started again.

It was almost midnight when I got home on that third last day. I’d just finished my last shift at my crappy waitressing job, and though I should have been ecstatic I wasn’t. The day before I’d been notified that I had officially failed my Modern History subject. Again. I had a million boxes to pack. I had to move. My mother was sick. All my friends from my days at Magnolia Lodge were being packed off to nursing homes around the country that they didn’t want to go to. My sculpture had died a slow and painful death. Life wasn’t exactly great.

When I got up to the apartment and opened the door I was surprised to find it was dark inside, even though Jas had said he’d definitely be up late packing. Just as I was about to turn the light on there was a noise—a chair scraping against the balcony tiles. I dropped my hand from the light switch and looked out to see Jas stand up.

‘Hey,’ I called out, wary, a part of me already sensing something was wrong.

‘Come and take a seat,’ Jas said.

I crossed the floor, dropping my bag and keys on the dining table on the way.

‘What’s up?’ I tried to read Jas’s expression as I sat down in the iron chair he’d pulled out for me. Before he could answer, something distracted me. I sniffed. Sniffed again. Spotted the small plastic bag on the balcony ledge, then the papers and the lighter. ‘Is that…?’

Jas made a face. ‘Was. Sorry.’

My eyebrows lifted. I hadn’t seen Jas smoke before. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t know how to tell you this, Charlie…’

‘What? What is it?’ I started to get scared. ‘Is it Mum?’

‘No. No, nothing like that. It’s Mr Nelson.’

‘Mr Nelson? What’s wrong with him?’

Jas paused. ‘He died this afternoon, Charlie.’

The information didn’t really register at first. I’d waved at Mr Nelson that morning as he stood on his balcony, and only a few days ago I’d run over to his apartment to give him an old toiletries bag I didn’t need any more. He’d mentioned he needed one. And Jas—Jas had been over there all the time. He and Mr Nelson got on like a house on fire—they were always up to something. Usually no good. Their favourite pastime was swapping dirty jokes. Preferably dirty jokes about blondes. What was it with blondes?

‘It was a stroke.’

I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. No protests to make. I simply stared up at him blankly, then back down again at the balcony floor.

Jas kneeled down in front of me and put his hands on my knees. ‘Can I get you something? A drink? Water?’

I tried to say no, but nothing came out.

‘Charlie?’

I shook my head, unable to meet his eyes.

Jas stood up and pulled out another of the chairs to sit beside me.

And then we sat.

We sat there for ages on that balcony. Just sat. Saying nothing. Watching the shadows move around on the lawn and the ferries travel up and down the river.

At about twelve-thirty a.m. I got up. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ I said.

I showered until I’d used all the hot water up. Then I stood there for a bit longer as the water got colder and colder, until it was freezing, almost punishing myself. I don’t know why. Now, I think maybe the sensation of the too-cold water made me feel something other than the numbness I’d felt since I’d walked through the door and heard the news.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Jas wasn’t on the balcony any more. I walked into the kitchen to see if he was there, which he wasn’t, then went back to the bathroom, still drying off my hair. ‘Jas?’

‘In here.’ The voice came from his bedroom.

I hung my towel over the bathroom door before going over and pushing his door open slightly. He was lying on the bed. Face up. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah. Just tired.’

I went in and lay down beside him on my stomach, my chin resting on my hands.

It was then that we talked about Mr Nelson. I can’t remember exactly what we spoke about, but I remember we talked for hours. In the end, not just about him, about…everything.

And I must have fallen asleep right where I was, because I remember waking up halfway through the night and looking for my bedside clock to check the time. This confused me because, of course, not being in my bedroom, it wasn’t there. I must have woken Jas up then, because he rolled over and his arm landed on top of me. Now we were both on our sides.

Kind of close.

Actually, from my point of view, more like kind of
achingly
close.

I stayed as still as I could. I didn’t move in case he moved. I didn’t dare.

Then, slowly, it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to be able to control myself. Or my arm, anyway. Because my arm, independent of my sanity, started to snake up and under his arm and over his back. And with a little levering we were closer still. Close enough to…

…kiss.

Which is what I started to do to him. Very softly at first, so soft that he didn’t even wake up. But that didn’t last very long. Because, like I said before, I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t help it. It just…happened.

As I leaned in even closer, my heart was thumpa-thumping again, like it had done in the boat shed all those weeks ago, and I remember this strange feeling washing over me. Half of me was petrified of what Jas would do when he woke up, the other half was so excited I didn’t think I would be able to wait until he did. It was
excruciating.

And then he woke up.

His eyes flicked partly open and his body jerked, startled. I knew then that this was it. Whatever happened next was how it was. How he really felt. There was a sickening moment as Jas started to pull away…

But then he leaned in. Even closer. And he started to kiss me back.

It was—well, even now I can’t explain it. I’ve never been kissed like that before, or again. I don’t think I ever wanted anything that badly, so for it to actually happen—I wasn’t even sure I was really awake. The one thing I could tell, though, was that he wanted it to happen too. Because the moment he’d opened his eyes and realised what was going on he’d seemed relieved for a split second. As if he’d been waiting. Biding his time the same as I had.

We kissed for what seemed like for ever. Until I decided it wasn’t enough.

Still painfully nervous, I inched my way on top of him. And I mean inched. I was so scared. Scared that this bliss would stop at any moment. But we kept kissing. And I kept inching. Finally I was there. At the summit. I had climbed Mount Everest. If I’d had a flag, I would’ve stuck it in.

Charlie was here.

I became gamer then, spurred on by my victory. I ran my hands underneath his T-shirt and then, in one swift movement, pulled it over his head. His chest was just beautiful. And, yes, I know everything I’m saying is so cliché and next I’ll probably be using awful words like ‘glistening love cavern’, ‘glowing milky-white orbs’ and ‘throbbing, pulsating manhood’, but that’s how it was. I mean, after all the lusting I’d been doing over the past month or so, Jas could have had a full third nipple and I would have waxed lyrical about its lickability or something.

And, oh God, as if things weren’t good enough already, he then ran his hands up over my thighs and onto my hips, pushing my white cotton nightie up in the process.

I thought I would die.

But not before I’d remembered my manners and thanked my fairy godmother for giving me the foresight to shave my legs that morning and not to wear my rotten old men’s pyjamas with the easy-access fly panel that was, well, a bit rude at times.

He rested his hands on my hips then, on top of my undies, and I prayed, prayed, prayed as hard as I could, to the goddess Hussy, that he would just rip them off. But he didn’t. His hands slid down again onto my thighs.

I started to get impatient then. Why don’t men ever know there’s a time for foreplay and a time to get straight down to business? I’ll never understand it. I didn’t want to
get bossy, though, so I decided to get even gamer instead. I wiggled my hips down, down his body, until…

Eureka!

I found what I wanted. What I
needed.
And, my, it was glorious. Truly glorious—there are, after all, benefits to a guy being six-foot-four. It was everything I’d been dreaming of in that boat shed and more. So, Charlie, I told myself. This is it. Really it. Not that silly flag stuff on Mount Everest, but country-conquering territory.

Slowly, slowly, I snuck my hand into his boxers. I wanted so badly just to grab it, but I didn’t. I like to think I’m a lady! Instead, I prolonged the agony. I ran my hand over his hip and down onto his leg. Over his stomach and…oh, everywhere. Everywhere but. And when I couldn’t wait any longer I went for it. But then something went wrong.

I stopped, confused. It was, um, shrinking. And, frankly, that wasn’t something on my agenda. It wasn’t something that was supposed to happen.

Oh, fuck.

‘Charlie—don’t.’ Jas had frozen. ‘Just get off me,’ he added, scrambling up, pulling my hand out of his boxers.

I moved just as fast off the top of him and onto the other side of the bed.

And inside my head I swore and swore and swore.

The one thing I was grateful for was that it was dark in the bedroom, like the balcony had been before. This was a good thing, because for that awful, quiet moment before anything was said I knew that I just never wanted to see Jas again. I wanted the bed to engulf me. For me to sink right in, where no one would ever find me. To never have to hear what he was about to say.

I waited, all the time just dying inside. Withering away. And those words kept repeating and repeating themselves
in my head.
Charlie—don’t. Get off me. Charlie—don’t. Get off me.

At first, sitting on the other side of the bed, Jas didn’t say anything. Then he sort of groaned, and that was it. But it was a telling groan. Or at least I thought it was. A ‘how embarrassing, my flatmate’s just jumped me’ kind of groan.
Charlie—don’t. Get off me. Charlie—don’t. Get off me.

And then it started. ‘Charlie, I…’

Charlie—don’t. Get off me. Charlie—don’t. Get off me.
I couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘Just say it. And quickly.’

He stopped. Ran both his hands through his hair. ‘Don’t know what to say…’

‘How about “you’re repulsive, Charlie”? Oh, too late. You already covered that. No words required.’

He reached over somewhere beside the bed then. I watched his hand.

Oh, no. No!

The light turned on.

As if it wasn’t bad enough just to hear what he was going to say, I had to hear it in the light. Where every expression could be read. Where he’d be able to see each word stab right through my heart. And it was so bright, that light. Worse even than the lights in dressing rooms when you’re trying on swimsuits after a sucking-coffee-through-double-choc-coated-Tim-Tams/triple-helping-of-sticky-date-pudding Winter.

‘How can you say that? That you’re repulsive?’ He looked at me as if I was crazy.

‘You obviously think so.’

He stretched his hand out to touch me on the arm.

‘Don’t.’ I pulled away.

‘You know that’s not what I meant. It’s not you. Not you at all. It’s me.’

I laughed then. Really laughed. ‘That’s original. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve never heard that one before.’

He swung his legs over the side of the bed so that his back was to me. ‘No, I mean it. It
is
me.’ There was a lengthy pause. ‘I just can’t.’

‘Yeah. Right. With me, you mean. What you mean is, it’s me. Not you. Me.
Me
!’ The fact that he couldn’t just admit the truth drove me past crazy.

‘I…’ He ran his hands through his hair again. Hard. I flinched, wondering how much hair he’d just pulled out. ‘Just can’t. Not now. Not with you.’

I sat there, winded by those final three words. Final in every sense.
Not with you.
So it was me. And there it was, out in the open. Strangely enough, it didn’t make me feel any better. ‘But all those girls…’ I thought to myself, then realised the words had actually come out of my mouth. I shut it tight, but couldn’t shut out my remembering their oh-so-similar morning smiles. Their different faces. Names. Amanda. Rachel. Kirsty. Sophie. Rebecca. Theresa. What was so different about them? I became acutely aware of the bed beneath me. The bed in which, not so long ago, they’d all…

Ugh.

Something inside me started to bubble after this. I sat there for a bit longer as it churned away in my stomach. And then I worked out what it was. It was anger. It was easier to be angry than to feel embarrassed—less painful. Soon enough, it worked its way out. ‘Well, I’m sorry I’m not good enough,’ I spat, hitting the mattress with one hand.

He turned again. ‘Charlie, don’t be stupid.’

‘Stupid? What’s so stupid about it? One minute you’re sleeping with every girl in sight and the next minute you’re throwing me off. What am I supposed to think?’