Come Back to Me

  ‘Kit, it’s none of your business,’ I stammer, feeling the weight of Todd’s gaze on me.

  ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘It’s none of my business. I have no right to ask you – I get that – but you need to speak to me. If you send me away, I’m just going to keep coming back until you do.’

  I look at Todd. He’s glaring at me. I look at Kit. His jaw is pulsing.

  ‘Fine,’ I say angrily, seeing that otherwise there’s going to be a scene. ‘I’ll talk to you.’

  A look of disappointment crosses Todd’s face, but he buries it quickly. I hand him Riley with a shrug of apology. Once he’s gone upstairs, I step out onto the front porch, pulling the door shut behind me. I have a feeling Todd’s going to want to eavesdrop, and I have no idea what Kit wants to say but I’m sure it’s not going to be something I want Todd to hear. I’m not sure I want to hear it. I’ve moved on. I’ve made a new life for myself. Kit can’t just waltz back in because he’s finally managed to deal with his issues.

  I cross my arms over my chest, partly because my heart is rattling around like a rogue ball bearing inside me, and partly because I’m scared of what I might do if I don’t control my hands.

  ‘What do you want?’ I hiss.

  ‘I want you,’ he answers.

  I reel backwards.

  ‘Fuck,’ he murmurs, looking away and running his hands through his hair. ‘This is not how I planned to do this. I didn’t mean to say that.’

  ‘You mean you actually had a plan for this?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, can’t you tell?’ he answers wryly.

  I try not to smile. Goddamn him. I refuse to smile.

  ‘The plan was to come here and say sorry and beg your forgiveness. That’s all. I didn’t come here to be an asshole. I didn’t come here to try to get you back. I know it’s too late for that. But then I saw him,’ he continues, frowning. ‘That guy Todd.’ He looks at me now with an expression of disbelief, shaking his head. ‘And fuck it . . . I can’t just walk away. I can’t do it. I tried. I got as far as my bike.’

  I stare at him, unsure what the hell he’s trying to say.

  He takes a deep breath. ‘Oh man, I’m screwing this up.’ He shakes his head. ‘Let me do this like I planned.’ He takes another deep breath, as though gathering his thoughts, and holds my gaze. ‘OK,’ he begins. ‘I’m so sorry, Jessa. I’m sorry for everything. I can’t tell you how much I regret everything I did. I wrote to you so many times and then I’d hit delete because how do you tell the girl you love that you killed her brother?’

  His words hit me like shrapnel. I draw in a staggeringly painful breath.

  ‘How do you make up for not being there for her when she needed you most? I can’t. All I can tell you is I was a total fuck-up. It’s not an excuse, but for a really long time I was a total mess and it’s taken me all this time to sort myself out.’

  I close my eyes. He doesn’t know how long I’ve waited to hear these words.

  ‘That’s all I planned to say to you. I was going to say it and then walk away. That’s what I had planned out in my head. Because I knew I had – have – no right to expect anything, or forgiveness, after everything I’ve done.’

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. My brain is still struggling to process the fact he’s here, let alone the words he’s just said.

  ‘But then I see you,’ he says, ‘and I realize that I was an idiot to think it would ever be that easy.’ He stops and frowns hard for a moment down at his feet before looking up suddenly.

  ‘Do you love him?’ he asks, startling me all over again. ‘If you honestly love him, I’ll walk away. I won’t ever bother you again,’ he says.

  I’m so furious that I could spit. How dare he? It’s too goddamn late for any of this. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, I love him.’

  Kit’s face crumples with disbelief, his lips parting, but then he steadies himself and straightens up.

  I’m breathing hard, trying not to cry. I can feel my face burning. Why did I just say that? I don’t love Todd – I just want to hurt Kit. I want to hurt him the way he hurt me. I want him to feel for just a moment a fraction of the pain he’s caused me. I know it’s not fair, I know he’s had his own fair share of suffering to deal with too, but now it’s too late to take it back. I remember him saying to me once that he didn’t ever want there to be any kind of untruth between us, that he wanted to know everything I was thinking and feeling, but how can I put any of what I feel into words? How can I tell him the truth when I’m not even sure what that is any more?

  Kit looks away over his shoulder, chewing his lip as though pondering his next move. Is he going to leave? My stomach tenses. Finally he looks back at me. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he says. He takes a step towards me, flustering me with his nearness, with his smell, which shouldn’t be so damn familiar after so much time and which shouldn’t still affect me the way it does.

  ‘I think you still love me,’ he says, ‘even though you don’t want to.’

  I glare at him, fury battling my instincts.

  ‘Because that kind of love, Jessa,’ Kit continues, ‘doesn’t just disappear. It doesn’t just fade. I still love you. I’ll always love you. And I think you feel the same way about me. And hell, I know I don’t deserve it. I know all I deserve is your hatred. But if there’s a chance, a single chance that you might still love me, then I’m not going to throw it away. Because I’ve been through hell and you’re the only reason I’m still standing.’ He pauses. ‘So tell me the truth. Do you love him?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Does he know you like I do? Does he know exactly how you like your eggs in the morning – just a little bit runny?’ he asks. ‘Does he know that you’re allergic to roses? Does he know that when your nostrils flare like that it’s because you’re trying to stop from crying and that when you say “yeah, sure” it usually means “no”?’ He takes a step nearer. ‘Does he make you see stars?’ he asks in a low voice. ‘Does he call you his north star? Because that’s what you are to me. You’re the reason I made it home.’

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  ‘Does he know exactly where to kiss you?’ Kit murmurs and startles me by brushing his hand just beneath my ear. ‘Just here?’

  My eyes flash open as I suppress a shudder.

  ‘Does he know exactly how to touch you?’ he asks, his gaze falling to my mouth. ‘Does he tell you that you’re all he thinks about? Does he tell you that he lives for you? That he breathes for you? That he dreams of you every damn moment, awake and asleep? Does he tell you any of that?’ He pauses to look at me and I try to keep a blank face. ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he says quietly.

  I narrow my eyes at him, taking a small step backwards to put some distance between us, because his nearness is muddling me almost as much as his words.

  ‘He might not say or do any of those things, Kit, but he does keep his promises. He wouldn’t walk away and not come back.’

  ‘I did come back,’ Kit says under his breath.

  I shrug. For a few moments we stand there watching each other. My fingers hurt from gripping my sides so much. I’m trying not to cry, but with each breath it feels as if the sob is going to come tearing out of me. ‘It’s too late,’ I finally say.

  ‘OK,’ Kit says after a beat. I watch him struggle to compose his face. ‘I’d better be going then,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry.’

  And after all those words, with me watching him half in disbelief and half in horror, words rising mute up my throat and bursting silent on my tongue, I watch him walk away. Does he not see? I want to scream and call him back. I was just testing him. I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay – to fight for me, to prove to me that he really means it, that he isn’t ever going to walk away again. But he’s failed the test.

  ‘That’s right,’ I whisper as he walks towards his bike. ‘Walk away. That’s what you’re good at.’

  50

  Kit

  I’m standing in exactly the same pla
ce I stood almost a year ago on the day of Jessa’s birthday party. This is where I came when I was trying to decide whether to go after her or walk away. I stood here staring at the waves slamming into the pier, trying to weigh up the pros and cons. It wasn’t possible to stay away from her then. And now?, I think to myself. If I’d stayed away then, would things be different now? Would Riley still be alive? It’s those kinds of thoughts I have to stop myself from thinking or else I end up following them down rabbit holes and getting lost for hours, sometimes spinning out completely and having a full-on panic attack.

  Part of my therapy was learning how to cut the thoughts off as soon as they arise. There’s no point in thinking what if. What is is, and there’s no changing it. The only thing to do is move forwards.

  Does the same philosophy apply to this situation, I wonder? Should I just accept it, cut Jessa off and move on? For the last three months, ever since my dad found me in that bar in Guam, I’ve been working so hard to edge back from the precipice, the whole time keeping Jessa in my sights like a lighthouse in the dark. My dad was the ballast that stopped me from sinking. Without the two of them I don’t think I’d be here today. I’d probably be passed out drunk somewhere, maybe dead.

  Though I try to push it away, the memory of Jessa’s face when she opened the door flashes into my mind. I know I saw for just a split second after the initial shock had passed and before she rearranged her face into blankness something resembling joy. I didn’t imagine it. I know she was happy to see me.

  She was thinner than I remember, and grief seems to have rubbed away the last traces of girlhood. Her face was more defined, her eyes bigger, though maybe it was just the short hair making them stand out more. But the biggest difference was the lack of spark in her eyes, as though she’d shrunk back in on herself. I shake my head, trying to jar the memory loose, but it doesn’t go anywhere. It won’t be going anywhere for a very long time. Man, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. And Riley . . . the thought that passed through my mind when I saw Jessa standing there holding the baby was that that could have been us. That could have been Jessa holding our baby. Stupid dream. That’s never going to happen now.

  My teeth clench hard enough to crack as Todd’s face superimposes Jessa’s. In my darkest times I’d sometimes imagine Jessa with another guy, but he was always faceless and nameless. Seeing Todd walk up behind her like that made my blood run cold. What was that with his fucking hand on her neck? I thought I might rip his arm clean off when I saw him do that. And calling her babe? I take a deep breath, reminding myself I have no right to get angry. She waited for me for months and I didn’t even have the decency to email her. Why am I surprised she’s found someone else and moved on?

  But did it have to be Todd? Is she having sex with him? I slam my fist into my hand and lean over the pier railing breathing deeply, trying to banish the images that start flooding through my head. Don’t go there, I warn myself, but even so I can’t stop myself from picturing Todd undressing her, kissing her, taking her to bed. Does she like it? Does she want him the same way she wanted me? Do they make love or just have sex?

  I don’t believe she loves him. Or is that me just not wanting to believe it? Did I imagine the look in her eye when I brushed my hand against her neck? Did I imagine the quiver in her voice when she told me it was too late? Did I imagine the slight flush in her cheeks? Isn’t that a telltale sign she’s lying?

  ‘Hey.’

  I spring upright and glance over my shoulder. A girl is standing there. She’s about Jessa’s age, with long brown hair, dark eyes and a copper tan that in twenty years is going to make her look like an old leather bag. She’s wearing Lycra shorts and a sports bra that don’t leave anything to the imagination.

  ‘You’re Jessa’s ex, right?’ she asks, out of breath. She’s clearly stopped mid-run.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I say. She looks familiar but I can’t place her. ‘Ex. Right.’ The word sticks in my throat like an axe blade. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud.

  She smiles widely, showing off perfect teeth the colour of polar ice caps. ‘I’m Serena? Remember me?’ And when she sees my frown, she adds, ‘From prom?’ Every sentence sounds like a question.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I say, suddenly recognizing her as the girl who was being pawed in the stairwell. ‘How you doing?’ I ask half-heartedly. I’m not in the mood for small talk.

  ‘I’m great,’ she says, wiping sweat from her brow. ‘How ’bout you?’

  I laugh under my breath and look away. ‘Yeah. You know . . .’

  ‘What you doing?’ she asks.

  What does it look like I’m doing?, I feel like asking. ‘Just hanging out,’ I say.

  ‘You’re a marine, aren’t you?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, before remembering that’s not true. ‘Well, not any more,’ I clarify. ‘My contract just ended.’ After four years I’m now out, just like I promised Jessa I would be. Out, with no idea what I’m going to do next.

  ‘Wow,’ Serena says, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that shows off her cleavage to better advantage. ‘So what are you going to do now?’ she asks, and I look at her sideways because it seems the question might have a secondary meaning. I’m right, it does. She’s licking her lips and staring at mine.

  ‘I don’t actually know,’ I say, choosing to ignore the suggestion.

  ‘You want to go get a coffee?’ she asks.

  ‘Um . . .’ I say, thrown by her directness.

  ‘Or maybe something else?’ she asks, seeing my hesitation.

  It’s clear from the way she’s staring at me exactly what the something else is. I muse with not a little incredulity at the timing. After a year of no women, of not even looking at another woman, and within half an hour of Jessa telling me it’s over, I’m being offered sex, what looks like no strings sex. But I hesitate.

  She’s now playing with her hair, twiddling it between her thumb and forefinger, still looking at me with a small smile playing on her lips. From the tilt of her chin and her posture, one hand resting on her hip, it’s obvious she thinks that there’s no way I’m going to say no, and for a few seconds I do think about it. I think about what it would be like. How it would feel. How it might help me forget for five minutes everything that’s going on in my head. It’s tempting. It’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone and I miss closeness. I miss affection. It might even help me get over Jessa. Isn’t that what’s recommended? Doesn’t it help you move on – screwing someone else?

  Serena raises an eyebrow as though wondering what’s taking me so long to decide, and just like that I come to my senses. What am I thinking? The thought of going there turns me cold. The only person I want to be close to, lose myself in, is Jessa.

  ‘Nah, I’m good,’ I tell her.

  She looks startled for a second before recovering and tossing her hair over her shoulder like an uptight stallion before a race.

  ‘Whatever,’ she says, before jogging off, her ponytail swinging angrily.

  I laugh under my breath and turn back to contemplating the waves.

  A couple of hours later when I get home, my dad’s where he can normally be found, doing the thing he can normally be found doing. He’s in the kitchen making coffee.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks.

  I wonder if he’s been here for the whole day, pacing the kitchen, waiting for me. He looks like he’s drunk about fifty cups of coffee in that time. The bags under his eyes have bags, and I know he’s worried that I might relapse. I think his own alcoholic past has made him nervous. But I’m not an addict. At least, not in the usual sense of the word. The only thing I’m addicted to is Jessa, and that drug is well and truly off the menu, unobtainable, so how can I possibly relapse?

  ‘I told her,’ I say.

  ‘You told her sorry?’ my dad asks, unable to disguise the nervousness in his voice.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, and then, shooting him a sheepish look, add, ‘and maybe a little bit mor
e than that.’

  My dad arches an eyebrow. ‘What she say?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘She said it’s too late. She’s moved on.’ Putting the words out there makes it seem more final.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ my dad asks, pouring out the coffee.

  ‘I’m going to sign up for another four years.’

  There’s a long silence. My dad has frozen with the kettle in his hand mid-pour. I don’t say anything. I’ve spent the last four hours down at the beach trying to get my head together and figure out the future, and this is what I’ve decided to do.

  ‘I thought you were out,’ my dad finally says.

  ‘Guess not,’ I answer.

  My dad’s mouth pulls down at the edges. I know he was looking forward to having me home for a while. ‘You sure?’ he says. ‘You’re not just reacting?’

  ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Well, OK, maybe. But I don’t want to stay around here. I can’t. Too many memories. Everywhere I go.’ I don’t add that I can’t stand the thought of running into Jessa and Todd.

  My dad frowns. ‘What about LA?’ he asks.

  I look away, out the window, feeling the sting. ‘That was our dream,’ I say quietly. ‘Mine and Jessa’s. I don’t want to do it on my own.’

  ‘But four more years?’ my dad asks, giving me a look.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I can make corporal again, maybe sergeant in a year or two.’

  ‘You want to go back into a war zone? You think you’re ready?’

  I turn back to him. ‘Yeah. I think I am.’

  My dad holds my gaze for a long beat and I have to fight not to look away. Is he right? Am I just reacting? The thing is, I can’t see another way. It’s what I decided down at the beach. The Marine Corps is all I know. Those dreams I had of opening a cafe, of moving to LA, seem stupid now, naive. Maybe with Jessa I could have done it, but now I don’t have the motivation. There’s no one to do it for.

  My dad sighs heavily and then hands me a mug of coffee. I take it.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say. ‘For everything. For getting me through the last few months. I couldn’t have done it without you.’