Roses for Erin

"Nonsense! Tell me what's going on?"

I levered myself upright on my bed, crossing my bare legs and tucking my feet up against myself as I waited.

A soft sigh.

"It's been a horrid evening," she said, after a moment.

"I gathered something was wrong. So... want to tell me about it?"

"It's a... long story. Someone I used to... be with, I guess is the best way to describe it. They were there with their date. I wasn't expecting it. And..."

She paused.

"It... hurt much more than I thought it would. I guess. Much more than I was prepared for. Even after as long as it's been."

"Oh, Hannah. I'm sorry, babe. Are you okay?" I commiserated.

"I had to have a bit of a cry. Well. A bit more than a bit of a cry, I suppose. Not sure if that counts. My throat hurts now and I reckon my makeup is Gothic horror rather than Gothic hot..."

"Oh, Hannah. You should have called me earlier!"

"I didn't want to intrude..."

"Hannah! That's daft! It's never an intrusion to need a friendly voice. Next time call me first, okay?"

"Okay," she answered, soft and sad.

She didn't sound okay at all.

"So... what happened? Do you want to tell me?"

She was silent for a moment. Then I heard her take a breath.

"I behaved abominably. I got drunk and started flirting in front of her with everyone under the sun..."

"Her?" I said, surprised.

"... oh," she said. A pause. Then a quiet little "Yes."

I mentally rearranged my internal model of my new friend.

"You've gone very quiet," she said.

"Sorry. Just... processing that fact a little bit. I'm very slow tonight."

"Is it a... problem... for you?"

"What? Oh! No. Not at all. Just... you took me by surprise is all. My one or two gay friends are very... different to you. They're... louder. About it, if that makes sense? I honestly just hadn't twigged."

"Oh. I guess I am generally pretty... quiet about me."

I paused, unpacking the weird intonation of that phrase.

"Hannah? Be honest with me. You're not okay, are you? "

"Not really, no," she answered softly. "Not really at all, really."

"Oh poppet. I'm so sorry. Do you still... love her?"

"... I miss her. I miss the us that we were. I miss... belonging."

"How long were you with her?"

"Nearly three years," she sighed.

"Oh. Fuck me. That is a while."

"Yeah. But I had to leave. We weren't right for one another. Too many fights, not enough laughter. But..."

"It still hurts," I added softly. "Doesn't it? Every day, am I right?"

"Yes. It never goes away. It's this constant weight, this constant dull ache. It sucks."

"It sucks balls. I agree. Where are you now? Still at the party?"

"I'm hiding," she answered. "Not really my thing, but... I needed to get away for a bit. So... I found a closet."

"A closet?"

"Yeah. I'm back in the closet. Har de har. It's not really a closet - it's a kitchenette, really, but the drama suits my mood. I wish you were here," she added, suddenly. "I'd give an awful lot for one of your hugs right now. To be in your arms. To be safe for... for just a moment."

A strange little pang ran through me; she sounded so... lost.

"I'd have embarrassed you," I babbled. "All those no doubt well-dressed people around you and you'd have been stuck with me..."

"Being with you isn't being stuck. You're fun. You're sweet. You're great to talk to. I like being around you. I'd far rather be around you now than... here."

"Did your costume at least turn some heads?" I asked, to cover the sudden shyness her praise had raised in me.

"Some. But nobody gave me the wonderful reaction you did.”

“I did have a private viewing. It's hard to top that.”

“I suppose that's true.”

And then a period of silence - but strangely, I didn't feel at all awkward as I listened to the faint sound of her breathing.

Then she sighed again.

“I guess I should go back out and be brave for a bit longer. Erin... thank you for answering. I'm sorry for spoiling...”

“Oi,” I interrupted her. “No. Stop that. It was so wonderful to hear your voice. And I will always answer your calls. Except if I'm sleeping and even then I'll eventually wake up. Now... go try to have some fun, Hannah. Will I see you tomorrow at the park? ”

“Yeah. I'm... looking forward to it.”

“Are you going to be alright?”

“I'll survive. Thanks... for caring and for being there. It... it helps a lot. To know that you're there.”

“You're welcome. Travel safe home when you do. Phone me again if you need me, okay? Even if you think it's silly. I'll be here. I'll always be here for you.”

“Thanks. I'll catch a cab. Okay. I'm going to go be brave now. Thank you. Sleep well, you,” she breathed.

And she broke the connection.

I put my phone down and stared at it for a moment. Then I slowly slumped backwards into my nest of pillows.

A sudden image came to me of Hannah, mascara like black tears on her cheeks and mask dangling from her nerveless hand - turning from me to run blindly away into the darkness.

I shivered.

“Absit, oh absit omen,” I whispered - one of my late Gran's strange old Latin sayings against intrusive thoughts.

I rubbed my eyes.

Then I got up, and went to have a wee, and pulled on my long-sleeved fluffy red top of utter floofiness to take the edge off the sudden sharp corners of the evening.

I got back into bed and pulled my covers up over my legs.

I picked up my phone and tried to get back into my movie.

But in the end I gave up and turned off the light lay there as I waited stoically for sleep to eventually find its way to me in my lonely, empty bed.

And tried not to be melancholy.

And tried not to think about James and the long list of ways in which I'd let him... hurt me.

And tried, very hard, not to worry about Hannah, all alone out there in the night.

Eventually the thoughts and regrets and stressors all began to fade and I sank into a shallow doze.

But it was only after she'd sent me a home safe and single little heart in the small hours that I finally sighed out the tension and relaxed enough to fall into the warm embrace of true sleep.

.:.

“So tell me about it,” I said, squinting against the mid-morning glare from the street outside.

She poked at her salad.

“Define “it”,” she said softly.

“Well... last night, I guess? The bit where you got hurt and decided that you needed a friendly voice.”

“It's stupid,” she sighed. “I was stupid. Forget about it...”

“No you weren't, and no I won't. I'm glad you called me. I also needed the friendly voice. Come on. Tell me. I'm here and I'll listen and I promise I won't judge.”

I watched as she impaled half a cherry tomato and raised it to her mouth. She chewed for a moment or two, clearly buying time. Then she swallowed.

“Have you ever met the right person at the wrong time?” she asked, as she glanced up at me again.

“I'm... not really all that experienced in that department.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've only had one long-term partner all in all.”

“Oh come on. You're pulling my leg,” she said, incredulous. “A gem like you?”

“Um...”

She seemed to realise what she'd said; she flushed pink and gave me a horrified look.

“Sorry,” she began to apologise.

“Don't. It's fine. Really.”

My face also felt like it was flaming.

“I'm going to blame the hangover. Sorry. I didn't mean to be weird...”

“Hannah, it's really fine. I don't mind. It's... it's a nice compliment. Thank you.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Right. Anyway. Um...”

“Right person, wrong time,” I nudged her.

“Oh. Yes. So. Zara was that. She's my... hah, I almost wanted to say that she's my white whale, but that would be untrue and rather catty. She's the... the worst of all my long list of fuck ups. She's... well. You'd realise if you met her. You'd understand why it... hurt me so badly.”

“What went wrong?”

Hannah sighed.

“Many things - all stemming from the fact that she works long hours and I'm an immature fucking child,” she said. She impaled another tomato and glared down at it. Then she sighed again.

“She's in the NHS. She's one of those terrible people who gives absolutely everything that she is to those who need it most. She works with... terminal kids and their families. It takes a huge toll on her. And... I was... oh. Oh fuck me. I was so incredibly immature about it. Too self-centred to be supportive - it was always about me, me, me, you see. I was far too selfish to appreciate that it's her calling and she didn't choose to be who she is. By the time I worked that out we'd... grown apart. I tried hard to fix it. But I couldn't. So now all I have are photos and... regrets piled as high and hard as the Alps.”

“Regrets suck,” I agreed softly, suddenly and very unwillingly struck by a memory of James and his once-all-important smile.

“So yes. Seeing her with her new partner really felt like a spear being rammed between my ribs. I behaved like a complete cunt. Again. I'm sure she wasn't surprised. It's all I ever seemed to do around her near the end, anyway. At least I was enough of a grown-up to leave and let her move on to someone better. She looked happy. Last night, I mean. She was smiling. Flushed. Laughing... until she saw me, at least. I'm... glad for her. Her new partner seems... lovely. And gorgeous. And very protective.”

“So you saw her and then... what... you got drunk? And emotional?”

“Drunker and more emotional is a fairer assessment. I was already buzzing before I saw her. I like... letting my hair down a bit when the mask is on, see. There's... less judgement, more... openness from people, I guess. It helps to be anonymous. It was... nice. To be flirted with again. It was nice to be... noticed a bit.”

“I'm sure it was more than a bit. You were absolutely beautiful. You took my breath away, I can't imagine what you did to the rest of those poor mortals.”

She blushed again and fiddled with her fork.

“Yes, well... I wish you'd been there. It would have been nice to have a reliable... partner... with me. When everything turned into a nightmare.”

I shrugged. “I have nothing to wear to anything like that.”

“I have lots. We'd have been able to find something that would had fitted you perfectly.”

“It's a moot point anyway, isn't it? It's not like fancy dress is a frequent thing.”

“Not frequent enough, that's for sure,” she grumbled. She sipped her water and fixed me with a level stare.

“So Erin... since we're sharing... tell me about what it is that you regret, then. I saw the way your expression changed a moment ago.”

I flinched as the air suddenly seemed to go cold.

I stared down at my hands.

“I...”

“Christ, Erin, are you okay? You've gone so pale. Don't worry, please, I didn't... shit... I don't want to dig up...”

“It's just...”

And I shuddered.

Maybe it would help to tell someone.

Maybe she'd listen.

Maybe she'd... care.

I was so tired of carrying all of it within myself.

I took a slow breath.

“You say you think you met the right person too soon. There's never a time that the person I met would have been... right.”

She frowned.

“Erin...”

The words started to pour out of me as my revetments failed.

“He was older than me. He was very... domineering. But he could be very sweet - when he wanted something. He was really good looking. He... he generally treated me fair to well. But he had things he... wanted. And... and I was so grateful to have him that I let him talk me into... things.”

“Things?” she said. She lowered her voice. “Sex... things?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Oh Erin,” she whispered in horror. “Oh God, no. Are you okay? What... happened?”

“Lots. Lots and lots and lots of things. I was... innocent before I met him. Now I've done... way more than I'd ever have thought I would. But... the worst, the thing that ended it was.... was...”

I took a gulp of wine from my shaking glass.

“Erin, wait, please, no, you don't...” she said as she desperately tried to head me off.

“I want to tell someone. I have to tell someone. It hurts so much. Please...” I whispered.

She closed her eyes, then reached out and took my left hand in hers.

“I'm here,” she said. She squeezed my hand gently in hers. “I'm here for you. I'm listening.”

I continued, soft and furtive so nobody else would hear.

“It's... less... than some other things. But it was what... finally... broke me. He wanted a threesome, see.”

“Oh... fuck. No.” she breathed, appalled.

“It was his favourite fantasy. We'd been fighting a lot. He kept finding... fault with me. And so I was desperate to please him because I was terrified of losing him. I thought he meant... you know, getting some random guy to... to do me while he watched. I really wasn't keen... but I'd have done it for him. I... I needed him that much, see? I'd have done that for him. I'd have done anything for his... approval. I... frequently did. But... but then it turned out that what he really wanted, see, was for me to watch him... have sex with someone else. I said no at first. Obviously. But then... then he nagged and sulked and and was cold and... and horrible... and he wore me down. In the end... I thought, well, what's the harm - it's not like I'll have to deal with much - no risk of anything if I'm just watching, right? And... maybe once it was done we could go back to... normal...”

“So you... agreed?”

“So I agreed. I agreed to a threesome with some girl he claimed he'd just met who was keen. And... at first it was fine. It was almost... nice. We had drinks to get warmed up. She sat with me. Pressed right up against me. She was... beautiful - green eyes, black hair, and this to-die-for accent. She was... funny. And really sweet. And... very keen,” I added, flushing.

She was watching me intently, food and drink long forgotten.

“What happened?” she breathed.

“She... she asked him if she could play with me. And he said yes. And... and the idea of... of her touching me... turned me on. So much. God, it was... it was so strange to feel wanted by someone other than him. By her. I was nervous as anything. Complete butterflies. But when she asked me if she could touch me I said yes immediately, even though I was... scared almost witless. She saw how freaked out I was. And so she just... held me and kissed me a bit and helped me strip and played with me and it was... oh God, it was so nice. Really nice. And so soft and gentle. She was careful in a way I hadn't ever had before. She... she gave me two or three really, really nice orgasms. And her kisses made me see stars. I... think I realised something about myself then, that I was maybe... you know. But then...”

“Then...”

“Well by then he'd got bored of watching me having fun... and he wanted in as well, see, and... while I'd likely have been fine if he'd wanted to be in me, I very quickly worked out that I wasn't at all okay with seeing or hearing him fuck her.”

She squeezed my hand hard.

“Oh God... I'm so sorry, Erin...”

“I don't blame her. It wasn't her fault. She was so concerned about me. She told him he had to pay attention to me too. She practically begged him. He ignored her. So she tried her best to help by holding me and kissing me. And... I tried. I tried so hard to distract myself... with her... while he was having her. But then she came hard in my arms while he was fucking her silly. And that hurt. And then while I was trying to deal with that he... he finished in her. And when he pulled out of her it all dribbled out onto me. And I just lay there feeling... cold. And sick. And filthy. And so I went to shower while he... pushed her down onto the bed and had her again. And I turned up the water pressure in the shower as high as I could but it couldn't block out the sounds she was making or the... the things he was saying. And... that was that. I moved out a week later. I couldn't look at him any more. He'd... finally done it, you see. He'd finally finished breaking what little of me he hadn't broken yet.”

“Shit,” she breathed. “Shit, that's... Oh God, honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't...”

I stared at my right hand; clenched so tightly around the stem of my wineglass.

I remembered the words he'd been saying to her.

And the wave of bitterness rose up like a inky-black flood and drowned me.

“So, see, what you did wasn't stupid. You just needed to hear a friendly voice and not feel alone. That's completely normal. At least you weren't an idiot like me. At least you didn't willingly allow yourself to be traded in for the new, hotter model. At least you didn't have to listen to the sounds he was making as he came in her, or feel him ooze out of her onto you, or hear the way he praised her body like he never did mine, or the way he said over and over that she was so much tighter than I was. So much sexier. Not skinny and bony like me. So much nicer and more comfortable to... to fuck. So much hotter. So much better...”

The thin glass stem snapped in my hand. Pain lanced through my palm. I cried out and dropped my wineglass, spilling my remaining wine all over the table and my lap as I grabbed my injured right hand.

“Erin? What... shit!”

I stared numbly at the scarlet droplets of blood that fell onto the faded French-washed wood.

Hannah lunged forward out of her chair.

She grabbed her serviette and my hand.

“Show me,” she demanded. “Show me. Now, Erin.”

“Fuck,” I hissed. “Oh fuck me that hurts so much.”

“Open your hand. Show me.”

I somehow managed to uncurl my fingers. A shard of bloody glass clinked to the tabletop. Hannah quickly brushed it aside and pressed the serviette to my palm.

“It's not bad,” she said, partly to calm me and partly to reassure the waitress who'd scurried over with a first aid kit when she seen the disaster unfold. “It's just a small one. It's not bad. I think there's just that one piece.The wine glass stem snapped and stabbed her,” she explained to the waitress. “It's fine. Can you open that kit? I need some gauze.”

“Here. Here's some...” the waitress answered, stammering slightly.

The unnatural silence around us slowly faded; interrupted conversations came back to life as people at the other tables resumed their briefly-neglected meals.

“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. That wast stupid,” I whispered.

“Hush, babe. Accidents happen. Some gauze and wound closure strips will plug you up. I've got this, Erin. I've got you. Don't fret. Here we go, these will fix it...”

Her fingers were so lovely and gentle and cool on my hand and wrist; her forehead so beautifully creased with concern. I stared up at her from a distance of at most a foot as she focussed on dealing with the aftermath of my injury.

A waft of her lovely dark hair had escaped and dangled down; she brushed it away in irritation.

Her cheeks were flushed on an otherwise pale face - she was stressed but coping and her obvious competence with the first aid kit calmed me in turn.

So I drifted off into some strange Elsewhere where all that existed was her and her touch and... and how kind and lovely and beautiful she was.

And how safe she made me feel.

“You're so very wonderful,” I whispered.

She glanced up abruptly from my hand, mouth open to speak... only to pause, staring down at me, for one wordless stretch of eternity...

She swallowed, hard.

My heart did something mushy and idiotic under my ribs; I shivered and looked away.

I heard her sigh.

She gently released my hand and moved back to her seat.

And I almost unconsciously brushed my fingers over the part of my wrist where I could still feel the all too brief bliss of her skin on mine.

“You win,” she murmured. She picked up her glass and took a sip of water. “I won't measure scars with you ever again.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I... I didn't mean to unload like that.”

She leaned forward, lowered her voice again.