Two Can Play (19 page)

Thinking all this through is not helping me. It just makes me cry all the more.

Through the blinding veil of tears coursing down my face I see a key placed on the table in front of me. I look up and watch him walk away. He doesn't look back. Not even once. This one small fact cuts me like a knife.

I don't even deserve one last look?

My whole world crumbles into pieces. I've just lost someone I really wanted and cared for. And it was completely my stupid, stupid fault. My timing is the worst in the world. I'm so useless and hopeless and don't think about things. The damage I accumulate so effortlessly stuns me.

I need to escape from this scene. I can still see him standing here saying all those painful things. I pick up the key and run home as fast as I can through the square. Luigi, from the bakery, is sweeping up outside, and he calls out and waves at me, but I ignore him and run past him sobbing like a lunatic. I don't care who sees the dreadful state I'm in. I fumble with the lock, desperate to get inside, and rush up to my room where I throw myself on my bed and sob myself to sleep.

It's almost dark when I wake. I get up and try and pull myself together. I take a deep breath as I stand under the shower. It wasn't a big love affair, I tell myself. He helped me through my problems. That's my silver lining in my dark hour. I can move on now. Find someone else when I've recovered from this. I harden my heart as best I can. I desperately want to call him, but I can't bear the thought of his cold voice on the other end. The fear of more rejection and heartache stops me doing it. I send a message. It’s a few short words. Civil and pleasant, with a hint of what I really feel.

So sorry. Keep the song. It's my gift to you. I hope it does well for her xxx

I wait for a reply and give up staring at my cell after an hour.

I sit in the dark, looking out of the window, hoping he'll come back and take me to Rome and everything will be wonderful again.

But he doesn't. He won't. And, it isn't.

I rearrange my flight to Las Vegas for the next day, let my mom know I'm coming, and then pack.

~ * ~

I'm up far too early and hang around until late morning. Finally the cab arrives and I get inside. I feel awful, absolutely shattered. Of course I wasn't tired after my long afternoon nap yesterday and spent a dreadful night tossing and turning with my mind and stomach churning over Aaron and the dreadful way it ended. I'm a bag of nerves and hovering on the edge of tears.

I sigh deeply and very sadly as I leave my Venice home.

So much has happened in the last few days. I can't believe it.

Aaron has swept in and out of my life like the wildest of storms.

Last time I came to Venice it all ended badly but this time it's so much worse. 

This time I'm leaving part of my heart behind.

HIM

I sit miserably, watching the clouds pass by beneath me.

I'm such a jerk.

How the hell could I have said all that? Fuck...And about the rape as well? And that she wasn't worth the effort. And it was crap? God help me and my fucker of a tongue.

My head reels with my prize bastard words.

I feel sick with myself.

I really need to sort this out.

I've been replaying the scene over and over.

Even though it kills me to do it, I'm trying to understand.

Marco and Kate.

What are they?

She's obviously got some feelings for him, but I never asked. In fact, I ignored it completely.

But she's known him for a while, so she told me.

So I expect she would have some feelings.

That doesn't mean deep ones.

Maybe it really was a goodbye. And just a very emotional episode.

I didn't give her the chance to explain or even listen properly to what she said.

But one thing I do know. She has much stronger feelings for me.

Really strong ones. I can see it in her eyes and feel it in her touch.

I have no right to demand it, but I can't let her see him again. 

Because I want her all to myself. No distractions in her mind.

I can't believe I'm actually thinking this.

It can't be me, can it? Contemplating having a real and “exclusive” relationship?

Fuck, how my world has changed over the past week.

My mindset has altered so much I'm starting to think I'm ill or suffering from stress-induced or emotional trauma of some kind.

I take a long, deep breath as I try to get my head in order. Back to how it was when I arrived in Venice.

I gather my old ways about me, those comforting only-me-to-worry-about ways where I felt safe and secure in my head.

I'll probably forget all about her in a few days. Out of sight, out of mind. I'm sure I won't miss her at all.

I recline my first-class lounger and shut my eyes resolutely, immersing myself in self-indulgent thoughts about what I'm gonna get up to when I get back. But I can't relax, sleep, or keep my mind in the
me
zone, and I'm not enjoying it for a second. Despite the very self indulgent thoughts that are running through my brain.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

Not myself obviously. I miss her with an acute pain already. It's like a sharp spear in my chest.

She's all I see and think about.

My head and heart are so full with her, she's about to spill over and run down me.

I'm soaked and saturated like I'm a sponge full of Kate.

And I can't squeeze her out and don't even want to.

And no, I'm damn sure she's not going anywhere, at all, anytime soon.

The plane lands with a heavy thump and it shocks me to my core. I can't stand plane landings. I'm a brave guy until I'm in the hands of a pilot approaching the runway. The two other first class passengers get up, and I eventually move my shocked ass, grabbing my carry-on and leave the plane.

I'm finally outside and I try to turn my iPhone on but the battery's dead.

There's a long line of yellow cabs waiting at JFK arrivals and I grab one and bark out my address. The cabbie wants to chat but I'm monosyllabic. I'm tired, overwrought, and so damn angry with myself. When he finally pulls up outside my place, I'm almost asleep. I pay him and give him a ten-dollar tip for my bad attitude. He smiles a gap-toothed smile and speeds away.

So here I am. I'm home.

On my own.

And for the first time ever, I really don't like being on my own. I wish I'd stayed and sorted things out with her.

It was so immature and idiotic of me. Storming off back to New York over a couple of hot kisses.

The place smells stale as I open the door to my apartment. I open the windows to air it out and plug my iPhone and laptop in to charge.

I'm thirsty and I open the fridge and get out a beer, sinking it fast.

The alcohol rushes to my head, and it's comforting, blurring my unsettled mood, and taking the edge of my acute loneliness.

My iPhone bleeps as a few messages come in.

I pick it up and scan them warily. I'm dreading what I might see.

My heart pounds and my stomach contracts as I see the one from her.

I can't bear to look at it for a few seconds, the heat of shock hits my head, and then I gather up my courage and make myself read it.

So sorry. Keep the song. It's my gift to you. I hope it does well for her  xxx

My eyes blur with tears at the thought of her typing it. Those eyes, that hair, that wonderful perfume she wears. The unbelievable taste of her. Her kindness and the way she’d made me feel.

If only I hadn't been such an...

I bring myself out of my thoughts abruptly. I'm really not helping myself here. I need to calm down and see how I feel in a few days. Maybe a week. I'm suffering from emotional overload.

I steel my inner misery and tap out a short reply.

- I'm sorry too. And thanks for the song x

My stomach squeezes so tightly as I hit send.

I know it doesn't say much.

She won't get much joy from it, other than the fact I'm prepared to answer her pleasantly.

But I don't trust myself at the moment. I don't know what to say.

There's so much more I want to add.

But I can't. Not yet. I need to get my head around things. And that's what I'm gonna do.

What I need to say should be done face to face, not on a call or in a text.

Because what I want to tell her goes way beyond the word “sorry.” 

I want to tell her everything.

HER

I read his message as I sit in departures. It's so ambiguous.

He's sorry? 

Sorry for what?

Sorry for what he said? Sorry he stormed off, sorry he hurt me, sorry he ever met me?

I'm hoping he's sorry about all those things, except the last one. My stomach rolls over yet again with a sickening sensation. My heart squeezes tightly with hurt. If only I hadn't opened myself up so soon. I wouldn't feel this bad. But how could I possibly hold back what I felt for him after what he did for me?

I've never had such a wonderful experience in my life.

My mind whirs away, replaying the horrible parting scene over and over.

For God's sake. Stop this crap right now. It's over. I'll probably never see him again. It was a quick fling, and that's all.

I desperately try and forget about him yet again, for what must be the hundredth time today, and text my mom.

Leaving on time, arriving this afternoon 5pm LV airport flight VH1445, can you meet?

I wander around buying some extravagant gifts for Mom and my friends. Dior perfumes, Clinique and Elizabeth Arden make up, and a large bottle of cologne for Harry. God knows what Harry likes, but I've decided he's a Hugo Boss kind of guy. Who doesn't like Hugo Boss? I know Mom does and she's the one appreciating it. I'm really looking forward to seeing her. I've not been to Vegas for a year.

Bambi's not my mom's real name. She's called Denise. But she never liked Denise Denton as a name. It was so “not her” she said. She rechristened herself Bambi, mainly based on her long slim legs and big eyes. It's kinda cute, I guess, and it sure gets her noticed. That and other more physical attributes.

I sit down and put my ear buds in and find something to listen to. I need some rousing fun music. Something to take me out of myself and break my bad mood. I scroll down to The Saturdays. The girl group I nearly got to see in Rome.

Fucking typical!

I can now add loss of a great concert experience to my growing list of failures. I can't stop myself imagining how it could have been. It's something we both shared a great love of. Music and songs. I can just picture how it would have gone down as well...driving to Rome together, having a trip round the hot spots in the blazing sunshine. Throwing our coins in the fountain and wishing our dreams would come true.

What an ironic thought that is...

My dreams certainly died a quick death, didn't they?

In more ways than one. I tap play and slouch down in my seat listening to Disco Love for a while, tormenting myself until my gate is called. Even the lyrics remind me of him...
Mr. Love -Loveable, and Mr. Got It All.
I can't imagine I'll find another man I want to dance with as much as him. Ever.