In Between

[part two]

[015, calm]

I think my favourite part of relationships are the bits in between. The moments in between words, in between kisses. Those moments of calm, short but perfect, where the love gets caught in between the two of you and you can almost taste it. You were brilliant at in betweens. Your face, right before you kissed me, was soft, your eyes creased. There is often nothing more hilarious then thinking back to old lover's "kissing" faces, lips pursed, eyes squeezed tight, but thinking back to yours makes me clench my teeth.

I was less good at in betweens. I had no time for them with you. I wanted sex, lust, passion. Less kissing, more tearing. I wanted less words, less calm, less silence. I wanted pulling, ripping, shouting. I wanted to run from you, I wanted you to chase me, I wanted to play. It was late summer, when real life gets put on hold and a new world is created where the only things that matter are parties, vodka, dresses and what boy is holding what girl on the trampoline. When you texted me, I would wait hours to reply. Keep him on his toes, I'd tell my friends and they would sigh and laugh. You'll push him away, they told me. Won't! I replied, crinkling my nose.

I left without telling you. Like I said, keep him on his toes, I explained to the girls. You'll Push. Him. Away! they said, like they were reprimanding a small child. Like any small child, I didn't listen. I left for one of those girls-on-tour holidays all girls are supposed to go on at one point. We went to Spain, to do what we were doing at home, only it was more expensive and too hot and full of English guys sweating and swearing and grabbing our arses. And I found myself thinking of you. Of your smile. Of sliding my tongue in the gap between your teeth. Of sliding my hands in the gap in between your trousers and the gold of your skin. Of the long, thin, knife scars that scattered your cheeks.

When I got back, I couldn't wait to see you and I was furious at myself for it. Furious for wanting you. Furious, furious, furious at missing you. Furious at being furious. I couldn't stand my diary, which had suddenly, against my will, filled itself with poems about your hands, your lips, the way your eyes narrowed when I teased you.

I didn't tell you I had come back but I went straight to the club, because I knew you would be there, because you were always there. I wore a dress I had bought in Spain at one of the busy, colourful markets they held on the cobbled dusty streets. It was white and floaty and the prettiest thing I had ever owned. When I bought it, I imagined your eyes watching me across the beer garden, I imagined how I would look to you. All day, I felt nervous and shakey, as if I was sea-sick. I arrived at the club in a group of people who at first obscured my sight. They thought I had forgotten about you, thought I had moved on and I let them think so. If other people thought I didn't care, it was easier for me to delude myself I didn't care.

When I freed myself from the circle, the first person I saw was you. The second person I saw was her. She was attached to your back, as if she had grown from you. She was tiny, tiny, tiny, like a fairy. She was wearing leather, she had blonde and pink hair, her skin was that perfect kind of pale. She was the type of girl who fit your perfectly, the type of girl who's hair matched your shoes. You laughed at something a friend said, then turned to her, leaned down and kissed her. Her hands fluttered around you, your neck, your back, she looked at you like you held all the secrets of the universe. Like she needed you.

I felt my heart experience a jolt I was unfamiliar with, the intensified version of being at playschool and finding out your best friend just got the puppy you always wanted. I hadn't gotten what I wanted and the shock made me feel sick. Irrational, jealous anger filled up my throat and my eyes burned with tears. But you left for two weeks with no word, said the squeaky voice in the back of my head. Shut the fuck up, I screamed back silently. I watched you half-pick her up and over her shoulder you caught my eye.

Your gaze trapped me like a fly in the amber of the moment. I tried to move, tried to look away. Your moved your fingers slightly, in what could have been a wave, in what could have been dismissal. I flexed mine back, a sign that could have meant hello, that could have meant goodbye.

Coming for a drink? asked one of my friends, from somewhere far away. I blinked, fast, bit my lip. If you're buying! I said, and followed him inside.