So Much to Learn (3 page)

Despite the
occasional waft of male musk, I love our flat. It’s kind of pokey,
my room is the smallest one and there is pretty much only room for
my bed, my bedside table, a small bookshelf and my stereo, but it
seems like just the right size for us. The whole place is a simple
rectangle with the dining room/living room and kitchen all merged
into one large room and then the four other rooms lining the far
wall. The bathroom is furthest on the left, then comes Jack's room,
Matt's room and finally my little box is tucked into the corner on
the furthest right as you entered the flat. Furniture and
decoration are pretty sparse, but we've done our best and the
random mess scattered about ensures that it always has a 'lived in'
feel to it.

Anyway, back to
the bit where I burst into Jack's room. He was sitting on his bed,
his back propped against the wall, a book open in his lap. A slight
lifting of an eyebrow and then a slow glance up, his expression,
when it was revealed to me, one of extreme bemusement, rewarded my
announcement that I needed him. The look on his face abruptly
changed when he caught sight of me, however, and he dropped his
book and got to his feet in a way that could only be described as
alarmed.

"Tally? What's
wrong? What's happened? Are you alright?"

Jack has always
called me Tally. I asked him why once and his answer has always
stuck with me. 'It's because,' he'd said, 'your family call you
Natalia and your friends call you Talia, but I'm stuck somewhere in
the middle of those two groups.' He'd created, I guess a whole new
group to put himself in when it came to me and a nickname to go
with it.

"Wow, you're
good," I said in surprise, impressed with his ability to see
something was wrong. "I haven't even told you-"

He interrupted
me, gesturing towards my face. "You look awful. Why've you been
crying?"

Then I got it.
OK, so I'm no movie actress. If I cry then I cry properly. None of
that tears dripping off the dead centre of my eye and then falling
prettily down my cheek nonsense. No, like any other normal person
on Earth my tears come out from the sides and the middle and every
which way and dribble down merging with my nose and sometimes
drifting off into my ears depending on the angle. My nose runs like
crazy and the skin beneath my eyes blows up like a puffer fish and
turns a nice bright pink to match my nose and bloodshot eyes. Get
the picture yet? I'm not a pretty crier.

Plopping down
onto Jack’s bed I began to tell him the whole story. Beginning with
my horrible day at uni, I let the whole thing just roll out, no
holding back. He sat beside me, listening intently, his face
getting steadily angrier and angrier as I went on. When I told him
about what had happened at Rory's party he swore softly under his
breath and when I began to cry again (we'd reached the 'what's
wrong with you?' stage of the story) he wordlessly passed me a box
of tissues, but didn't take his eyes from my face.

In short, he
was the most attentive, kind listener and I felt so vindicated by
his anger on my behalf that I gave him a quick hug when I'd
finished my story. His arms tightened around me ever so briefly and
then he let me go. Knowing me for so long means, of course, that
he's aware of my touching phobia and he's always been careful to
give me a light pat on the back or a quick hug, but nothing more,
whenever the situation warranted a touchy, feely moment.

I stared down
at the used tissues in my hand and wondered how I was going to
break it to him that his kind consideration of my need for space
needed to be turned on its head. Obviously misinterpreting my
silent contemplation as despair, he ran a hand through his hair in
frustration and said,

"Look, Tally, I
know you're miserable now and everything, but, honestly, you're
better off out of it. He's a complete jerk and doesn't deserve
anyone, least of all you. You get that right?"

I nodded
mutely, but didn't lift my eyes and he sighed uncomfortably. I
thought I heard him mutter, "This is Matt's job," but, in the next
second, he gave me a soft bump with his shoulder which made me look
up him. "Come on solider. Buck up," he said kindly. "Tomorrow is
another day, everything will look better in the morning, and all
those other upbeat clichés.

Seizing upon
the moment, I grabbed his arm and looked at him with wide eyes
which, fortunately for my performance, still had tears swimming
about in them.

"Jack," I
croaked out, "I need you to do me a favour."

He looked a bit
taken aback, but, to his credit, he wasn't fooled into promising
he'd do whatever I asked which is what I'd been hoping for. Instead
he said cautiously, "I'll do what I can."

This was it,
the moment I threw my dignity to the wind. I took a deep breath and
looked down at the floor, not because I was trying to act sweet and
innocent, but because I honestly couldn't bear to see the look on
his face when I told him my idea.

"I need to
learn," I said in a very small, quiet voice. "You have to teach
me…" I faltered here as the whole thing was really just too sordid
to put into words. I thought I had a good grasp of the English
language, but I had no clue how to put my dilemma to him.

"Teach you…?"
He prompted.

"Teach me
it
!" I finally choked out. "What happens when you actually like
the…touching and the….the…fondling and the…
it
, you know." I had never been so
embarrassed in my life. The age old 'you could have fried on egg on
my face' adage actually seemed kind of plausible I felt that hot
and flustered. But - would you believe it? - Jack still hadn't
cottoned on to what I was on about. He looked at me completely
blankly and I could almost see his mind whirring as he tried to
connect the bits.

"I can't put
out!" I finally screeched. "You have to teach me how to put out.
Sex, Jack, sex and all that comes before and after, do you get
me?"

And, finally,
he did get me.

"Jesus Christ,
Tally!" He leapt off the bed and stood in the furthest corner of
the room, his expression verging on horrified. "You can't be
serious!"

I stood up as
well, but didn't go towards him, considering his reaction to my
idea he might have panicked and jumped out the window if I got too
close.

"Just listen to me, please," I begged. "It's not as awful as
it sounds." A damn lie by the way, it was
exactly
as bad as it sounded. "Being
so scared of physical contact all the time is holding me back. I
want to enjoy being with guys, but I can't at the moment. The only
way I can see round it is to be taught what it's like by someone I
trust."

"When you're
with the right guy I'm sure it will happen anyway. You can’t force
it," Jack, rather predictably, stated. Poor guy looked as
uncomfortable as I felt; spewing talk-show-quality chick advice
couldn't have been doing much for his masculine ego. However, I
couldn't spare any sympathy for him at that moment, I had to focus
all my energy on convincing him

"I don't want to wait that long," I said petulantly. "And what
if I never find the right guy
because
I’m too chicken to get close
to him? I could drive my perfect man away through being such a
prude."

I could see
that I wasn't convincing him. It was time to up the ante.

"Fine!" I
stormed, grabbing my mobile out of my pocket and scrolling through
the address book until I found Brad's number. "I'll just call my ex
then and tell him I've changed my mind and he can have his nasty
way with me after all."

Jack's face
darkened and he took a hesitant step towards me. "You have more
self-respect than that, Tally," he said seriously.

"Do I?" I asked
shrilly, my finger still hovering over the call button. "Because I
don't know anymore. I'm so desperate, Jack, I'll go out to a pub
and latch onto a random guy. I'm sure someone out there is prepared
to teach me what I want to know."

"Give me your
phone." He held out his hand and, after a moment, added, "And your
car keys. You're not going to call Brad and you're not going to
pick a bloke up at a bar."

I clutched my
phone more tightly, glaring at him defiantly. "You're not grasping
the situation here. It's you or the next guy I see. I'm anyone's
tonight, but I had just enough sense to come to you first."

Jack stepped
back into his corner looking as if the world as he knew it had come
crashing down around his ears. He searched my face intently,
looking, I suppose, for any sign that I was joking. 'You wish
buddy,' I thought grimly bringing my finger closer still to the
call button.

"You're
serious, aren't you?” He asked as our stand-off dragged out another
few seconds. “This is surreal! What about Matt?"

"Yes, I'm serious, and what
about
Matt? This isn’t anything to do
with him. Please Jack."

It was perhaps
the little wobble in my voice as I resorted to begging that made
him heave a deep sigh then, and close his eyes briefly.

"Give me your
mobile and your keys," he repeated. When I hesitated he continued,
"Go wash your face and calm down. If, in the morning, you still
feel this way then…" he stopped and the moment dragged on, the air
crackling with tension. "…then I'll consider it."

I felt like
leaping into the air and punching my fist in celebration, but I
restrained myself and, instead, meekly handed over my phone and
keys. As I dropped them into his open palm I pressed my fingers
against his briefly and whispered, "Thank you."

"I haven't said
I definitely will yet," he cautioned, but we both knew that he had
all but lost the battle.

Feeling suddenly exhausted I followed his advice and went into
the bathroom to give my face a good scrub down. Catching sight of
myself in the mirror I saw that I really
did
look awful; pale, but with red
blotches here and there on my face and with watery, bloodshot eyes.
How could he have resisted me for as long as he did?

Staggering into
my bedroom, I pulled my pjs out from under my pillow and quickly
immersed myself in their fuzzy warmth. Pulling my hair out of its
ponytail, I crawled between the covers and snuggled into the
softness of the mattress.

I was wiped.
Exhausted physically and emotionally.

As I lay there,
I heard the front door slam and my brother's heavy footsteps walk
into the kitchen. A moment later the tap in the kitchen started
running and I smiled, picturing Matt cupping his hands under the
tap just like I had done at Brad's not so long ago.

Thinking about
Brad made a big bubble of unhappiness rise up through my chest and
constrict my throat. Turning my face into the pillow I whimpered in
pain against the smooth material.

Dimly, I heard
Jack's door open and the boys greet each other. Matt asked whether
I was home and, when Jack answered in the affirmative, the familiar
footsteps came towards the door. They halted abruptly, however, as
Jack called out that I was asleep.

"Asleep?" Matt
asked disbelievingly. "It's not even 9 yet."

"Yeah, I know,
but she looked pretty wiped when she came in, she said she was just
going to go straight to bed."

Oh how I loved
Jack at that moment, what a mate. I knew it would have taken a huge
amount of effort to lie to his best friend like that. I hadn't
strictly told him not to tell Matt about my break up with Brad, but
he obviously knew to leave it to me to deal with.

Yep, I'd
definitely picked the right guy to be my teacher.

Chapter
3

When I emerged
from my room the next morning, Matt and Jack were moving around in
the kitchen, staggering slightly in the way that all of us in the
early morning are prone to do. I paused for a moment in my doorway,
unseen by the boys, and happily surveyed the little scene of
domesticity as they moved with the practised precision only those
who are truly comfortable with each other can achieve.

As I watched,
Matt got the orange juice and milk out of the fridge and, without
even looking up from his task of filling two bowls with cereal,
Jack slid two glasses across the counter to my brother. Matt filled
the cups with OJ whilst simultaneously sliding the milk down to
Jack who poured the milk over the cereals and sent the milk
whizzing back down the line. Matt caught it just in time, put both
cartons back in the fridge and then picked up the glasses to wander
over to our little round kitchen table. Jack followed him with
their breakfasts and they sat down and tucked in at almost exactly
the same time, all without exchanging a single word.

I'd had a
rotten night, waking up every hour or so and having to deal with
the horrible swooping feeling of anger and embarrassment in my
stomach when I realised why I felt so bloody awful. Watching two of
my favourite people in the world go about this simple little
routine, however, made me smile fondly.

I didn’t know
what they would do without each other, I really didn’t. Matt needed
Jack's steadying influence to stop him from being a real wild child
and Jack needed Matt's crazy antics to stop him becoming submerged
in his fondness for the serious. He hadn’t always been so grave,
our Jack, but a tragedy when he was fourteen had made him grow up
awfully quickly and he'd never been as happy-go-lucky since. In the
way that everybody does in times of crisis, but especially teenage
boys, he withdrew into his shell to protect himself from the pain
and he still only rarely emerges. Still, with the support of our
family, which had already pretty much adopted him anyway, he got
through it and, much as I wish he'd never had to have gone through
that hurt, the experience made us into the close little bunch that
we are. Shaking off thoughts of the past, I allowed myself to
actually get past the doorway.