post 9 : fool

“I’m a fool” he tells me, as I look at him from the other end of the couch, at his broken face, and suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to be sick. I’ve done it all over again. How did we get back here?

“You’re not” I tell him, and fight the urge to say the clichéd truth: it’s not you, it’s me. And because I can’t find the words to replace them, I say nothing. He grabs his computer from the floor and sits it on his lap, turns it on. He keeps his head down while it is loading. “Would you prefer I wasn’t here now, Jake because I can go.” To where, at 3am I have no idea, my car perhaps.

“No, I want to show you something.” He tells me, and I feel a rush of anxiety run up my spine and spread through my belly.

“What is…?” I start to ask but he cuts me off.

“Wait.” His face turns from vulnerable to angry as he starts clicking at the screen.

“Jake, what are you showing me?” I turn into panic mode because if there is one thing that makes me anxious, it’s having something that I’ve written, read back to me; it’s people bringing up something that I’ve said, the potential embarrassment, the exposure. It is the most confronting thing for me, and Jake knows this. I shift from my comfortable relaxed position and sit on my feet, ready to pounce should the need call for it.

“To Jake” he starts reading out loud an email that I’d sent him, though I don’t know which of the hundreds. It is from a phase when we’d used brackets immediately after what we said to contain what we really meant. “Jake, stop, please” I beg. He doesn’t.

I block my ears and close my eyes, try to disappear. He continues, and I know he’s doing it because he likes having this power over me. It’s the one thing he’s got. Sure, I’ve had the control all along but not like this. Never flaunting it or taking advantage. He’s suddenly become the villain and it is strange and unexpected. I find myself pulling away from him. I fly off the couch and into his room, slamming the door behind me and pushing against it. I struggle with the lock but manage to wiggle it into place just as he arrives on the other side, calling out my name. I grab for his desk and slide it awkwardly in front of the door, just in case he knows how to pick a lock. I am petrified and my breath is fast.

“Alice!” He calls out, but I ignore him. I am in the middle of his bed, on my knees, my head leaning against the mattress and rocking back and forth. My hands are blocking my ears and my eyes are closed tightly together. I scream into the mattress and grab a fistful of blanket in one fist, squeeze tight and wait for the anxiety to subside.

*******

I open my eyes when I feel his hand on my hair. I must have fallen asleep. My eyes feel sore and swollen. I don’t know how he’s managed to unlock the door or push the desk out of the way, but he is sitting beside me, rubbing my back and telling me that he is sorry. I push him away and turn on my side away from him. “I’m sorry” he repeats. If anyone knows how anxiety feels, it is Jake. I am rocking on my side and I feel my hands creep up to cover my ears again. “Alice” I hear through my fingers; his voice sounds hurt, broken.

“I shouldn’t have done it” he sounds as though he is talking to himself more than to me. “I just wanted to remind you what it used to be like; of a time when I thought that you loved me, too.” I feel his hand on my back again but this time I don’t move away.

“I don’t love you.” I don’t say it to be cruel.

“I couldn’t stand it, seeing you with him.”

“You don’t get to choose who I’m with, Jake. That’s not your right, and you certainly don’t get to take them away and have words about staying away from me. And now, you’re intentionally trying to make me feel out of control. I don’t even recognise you.” I feel his head hit the mattress, I suppose in self-disappointment more so than exhaustion. I get up and walk out.

“I’m going to sleep in my car. Don’t follow me.”

*******

I wake to find that 6 hours have passed and a note on my windscreen:

I didn’t mean to hurt you

I’m sorry that I made you cry

Oh no, I didn’t mean to hurt you

I’m just a jealous guy

Lennon lyrics, because really, how many times can you say the word ‘sorry’? My anger subsides and I find myself desperate to cling to whatever is left of our tattered friendship.

He answers the door mid-knock. “Are you ready to stop being a stupid asshole?”

“I’m sorry I was a stupid asshole.” He opens the door and I come inside. I sit on the couch that last night felt foreign but today feels like home, and shift through the seasons of The Big Bang Theory, trying to figure out where we are up to.

“Season 4” he calls from the kitchen. I put the DVD in and sit back down. He sits next to me, not too close and pushes a perfect latte into my hand.

“You just whip this up?”

“Mmhmm. It’s got vanilla.” I want to tell him how, when he’s not being a stupid asshole the extent to which I appreciate him. But appreciation is not love and so I say nothing.