Haunt Me

  That’s the last thought I have before I see them.

  In the distance at first. Just two blobs, far down the coast path. They’re moving in this direction.

  I rub my eyes again.

  They’re coming closer.

  It can’t be —

  I stumble across the rocks. I need to get to them. Need to be sure. There’s a steep trail leading up to the coast path from here. I reach the edge of the rocky plinth — but I can’t climb it. Something’s stopping me. I don’t even know what. It’s just like when I was in my bedroom and couldn’t get out. Held back by an invisible force.

  So that’s it? I’m here now, a new prison, only stuck all alone this time?

  They’re coming closer. It’s them. It’s really them! Together!

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’m staring so hard, my eyes are watering. Is it spray from the waves? Wind in my eyes? Tears? I don’t even know.

  “Erin!”

  I call out as they come closer. They’re talking, their heads close together.

  I can’t bear it.

  “Erin! Olly!”

  They’re looking this way.

  “Over here!” I’m waving my arms madly — but I’m out of their line of sight.

  I scramble over the rocks, try to get as high as I can. They have to see me. She has to see me.

  “Erin!” I call again and again. Nothing.

  They’re moving away. No!

  Frustration turns to a disappointment so harsh it’s like a knife slicing right through me, through my heart, through my flesh, tearing me apart.

  The rocks. I’m slipping and sliding all over them. The waves are getting bigger.

  The disappointment is turning into something else. I recognize this feeling. I remember it.

  Rage.

  And then — as if nature is on my side — the waves increase, the sky darkens. I’m in the middle of a storm. I am the middle of a storm. It’s right here, inside me, with me. Swirling wind, crashing waves — rocks coming loose.

  The cliff path — I see it before they do. Below Erin — she’s about to take a step. The edge of the cliff is coming away.

  I’m screaming a silent warning to her — but she can’t hear me. It’s my impotent anger that’s causing the problem; there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  No. Please, no!

  “Erin!”

  She can’t hear me. Can’t see me. I’m too far away.

  The rocks are coming down like an avalanche now. And then it happens.

  She takes the step.

  The edge of the cliff comes away.

  She slips.

  The wind is whipping waves into white rollers, crashing onto the rocks in the distance. I’m trying to act as though I’m really listening to Olly chatter away about nothing, trying to give him the correct responses, while all I’m really doing is wondering if by some crazy miracle, I might see Joe any minute now. My head down, shielded from the wind, I’m barely looking where I’m going. Barely listening, barely seeing.

  I’m so lost in my thoughts, my loss, that I don’t realize what’s happening until it’s almost too late.

  “Watch out here; the path’s quite close to the edge,” Olly is saying, somewhere on the other side of the dark fog of my thoughts.

  I hardly have time to register what he’s said when —

  “Careful!”

  I take a step — the wrong step — slightly off the path, and the rocks below my foot give way. Slipping down the edge of the cliff in an avalanche, they roll away from me and I have a split second to take in what’s happening.

  I’m going to tumble over the side. My heart is halfway over the edge before the rest of me, and then — “I’ve got you!”

  Olly grabs my hand. He nearly tumbles with me. The pair of us are teetering on the edge.

  Then he pulls me — back from the brink, back to the safety of the path. Into his arms. So close I can smell him. A faint scent of aftershave. Soap. A human smell.

  For a moment, I let myself give in to the warmth of his contact. My head tilts forward. I close my eyes. It would be so easy to lean against him, stand here with his arms wrapped around me, ask him to keep me safe. The thought takes my breath away even more than the wind snapping around us.

  And then I think of Joe, and I know I can’t betray him. I can’t give up on him. Not yet.

  Until I know for sure that he’s gone, there’s no room for anyone else.

  I pull away, awkwardly brushing myself off.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  I can feel Olly’s eyes on me, forcing me to look back at him. I resist for as long as I can, while I push the twisted mess of thoughts and confused feelings back down. Finally, I raise my eyes to his.

  “Are you OK?” he asks.

  No. I’m not OK at all. Nothing about me is OK.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” I say as brightly as I can manage. “Let’s go back to town.”

  We turn back the way we came, walking along the path in silence.

  It’s only when we’re approaching the edge of the harbor that I realize we’re still holding hands.

  And I know I should — but I don’t let go.

  I don’t know what it is about this girl. Have I ever felt this way before? I mean, there have been girls. Lots of girls. Too many for a seventeen-year-old, some would say. But if I think about them, this weird thing happens: they kind of melt into one.

  And I know that sounds a bit awful. But Erin, she’s — she’s different from them all. She doesn’t want to drag me around the shops, or take constant selfies of us kissing so she can post them on Facebook and Instagram and show off to all her mates.

  I mean, she’s the one who suggested we go for a walk — where no one would see us.

  That means she’s interested in being with me, not just interested in being seen with me. Right?

  We get to the end of the coast path, where steps take us down to the harbor. There’s a woman with a young toddler coming up the steps, and I have to let go of Erin’s hand so they can pass.

  When we’re back on the road, Erin’s put her hands in her pockets.

  “So, d’you want to meet up again?” I ask as we make our way around the harbor front.

  Erin looks at me as if I’d suggested we go down to the beach and eat worms.

  “I’ll see you at school,” she says.

  I laugh. “Well, yeah. Obvs. But I meant — like, other than that. Like, you know. Maybe a proper date? Or something?” I have never realized until this moment how easy I’ve found talking to girls in the past. I think I just took it for granted. I’ve never held my breath while I wait for an answer.

  Until now.

  Erin bites the edge of a fingernail, in that way she does that I’m already starting to find adorable. “I . . . I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure.” She’s moving away, as though I’m some kind of stalker and she needs to get rid of me. “I’ll see you at school,” she mumbles. “Thanks for the walk.”

  And before I have a chance to reply, she’s turned the opposite way from the harbor and is walking away from me so fast I find myself wondering whether I actually did accidentally ask her to sit on the beach and eat worms.

  I’ve clearly done something wrong, and I have absolutely zero idea what it was.

  I’ve had bad nights before now. Lots of them. Way more than I’d like to remember, in fact.

  But I can’t remember one as bad as this.

  It starts with an hour of lying awake, tossing and turning, too hot, my brain too full, and then too cold and the night too dark and too empty. Eventually I drift into an unsettled sleep, only to wake less than twenty minutes later, drenched in sweat, with half-memories of dreams that leave me feeling desolate and desperate.

  The pattern continues in a similar way through the night, repeating and relapsing on a loop of despair and grief. Every time I wake, the thoughts tumble around and around in my head.

  I have to let him go.

  I ca
n’t. I’m not ready.

  He’s gone.

  But what if he hasn’t gone? What if he’s waiting for me?

  I looked. He wasn’t there.

  I have to let him go.

  Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I wake for the fifth or sixth time from a dream where I’m falling from a cliff into a dark abyss. Olly is reaching down to me, trying to stop me from falling, but our hands keep missing. Joe is below me, trying to catch me, but he’s wearing a blindfold and can’t judge where I’m going to fall.

  Eventually, I throw the covers off me, sit up in bed, and check the clock. Five a.m. Has a night ever dragged like this?

  I get up and grab my notebook and a pen from my nightstand. Pulling a blanket off my bed, I go over to the window seat and draw the curtain aside. It’s still dark out. The streetlights are on. There’s a shade of lighter gray in the sky, a hint that morning might come, the sun might rise — but the sky isn’t making any promises.

  I wrap myself up in the blanket and open my notebook.

  It’s too much — my mind boiling over,

  spilling into damp, breathless — awake

  and your face —

  your faces — him and you and

  falling —

  caught between you both and something

  deep inside my chest that hurts . . .

  Why?

  I was looking for you in him —

  wasn’t I?

  Those cliffs, the rush of water

  beneath

  I swear I almost felt you again . . .

  But that touch, his touch —

  hand in hand replayed over and over —

  that wasn’t you.

  The heat of the day gets hotter

  with each broken sleep, each dream . . .

  OK,

  I like him,

  OK,

  that smile, the warmth of an arm

  that’s here — really here —

  but you . . . with you

  I don’t know —

  What if I never see you again?

  Joe, I think I could die

  and even my bones would miss you.

  Writing my feelings down into a poem usually helps. Not this time, though. How can admitting I’m in such pain help anything?

  In the past, I needed an outlet, needed to get my feelings out of me, deal with them so I could face the people in my life. This time, I don’t need to get the people in my life out of my system; I need the opposite. I need Joe. The need is so strong, it is like a pain deep inside me.

  I close my notebook. I have to get out of here.

  Padding around my room as quietly as I can, I quickly get dressed and sneak out of my bedroom, softly shutting the door behind me. I creep downstairs, avoiding the creaky floorboards on the landing.

  Then I head to the cliffs.

  What did I do to deserve this? Banished to a rocky ledge with nothing but a cave and endless waves for company. Seeing her in the distance, missing the moment when she might have seen me. Torturing myself with thoughts, memories, regrets.

  When will it end?

  I am losing myself in my pity. It’s drowning me more surely than the waves that are creeping over the point, running into deep pools and filling the crevices between the rocks on a tide that is climbing higher and higher. I wish it could wash me away — but it can’t even do that. And I can’t even leave this piece of headland.

  I turn around in a slow circle, taking in the dark murmuring of the ocean, the rustle of the wind through reeds above me. The utter loneliness of this existence.

  I don’t know how long I can bear it before I go crazy.

  In fact . . .

  Maybe it’s already happening. I’m seeing things — I must be. My brain is torturing me with pictures that can’t be real. It can’t be real.

  I rub my eyes and peer into the murky darkness.

  It’s her.

  It’s really her. She’s coming toward me.

  I’ve got another chance. I know without a doubt that it will be my last one, and I can’t let it pass me by.

  I scramble at the cliff side, trying to climb it, my clothes tearing on the jagged rocks. Slipping down, again and again. Can’t grip the rock, can’t climb up, can’t reach her. It’s like trying to open my bedroom door. I can’t do it. I’ll never be able to do it. I’m confined to this rocky outcrop, the stage where I get to play out the tragedy of this nightmare I can’t call life or death.

  I fall back, hunched over on the long gray rock that is the only flat part of this place.

  I need to think of something. I refuse to let her slip through my fingers again. I have to get to her. I have to. I’m not even going to worry about what happens next, how impossible any of this is. All I know is that I need her to see me, just one more time.

  I don’t even know what I’m doing. Now that I’m out here, on an unstable cliff path in almost pitch-darkness with the sea roaring somewhere below me, I have my first flicker of fear.

  I didn’t realize this was where I was heading till now. Something brought me here. A feeling, an instinct, I don’t know — but I owe it to the feeling to give it one last shot, give Joe one last shot, before I give up.

  There’s a pale-pink line separating the sea and the sky out on the horizon. The world will be waking up soon.

  Picking my way along the rough ground, I try to speed up.

  I’m coming to the point where I slipped yesterday. I need to be careful. I stop and get my bearings. Behind me, a faint twinkle of lights from the town and the harbor; ahead and to the left of me lies the darkness of the cliffs. To my right, the pink line is growing thicker and deeper, almost maroon now, stretching out as the world wakes from its sleep. A mist is coming up with it, slinking over the water and toward the town, swirling like a genie released from his lamp.

  The mist comes in fast from the sea — I’ve seen it a few times since we’ve been here.

  That’s all I need. I don’t have a coat, it’s dark and cold, and any minute now, I’ll probably be standing in the middle of a thick fog.

  It’s not here yet, though.

  I look down to my right. There’s an outcrop of rocks, below the path, almost down at sea level. It looks dangerous down there. Waves breaking over them.

  I tiptoe closer to the edge of the cliff and look down. There’s a straggly path down to the rocks. It’s calling to me. I don’t know why. It looks steep and tough, and the rocky plinth looks craggy and dark and dangerous. Why would I want to go down there?

  I don’t know the answer. But something is pulling me, and I need to investigate.

  Carefully and slowly, I scramble down the slippery path, feeling for footholds and gripping on to any protruding edge I can find.

  I jump the last bit. I’m on the rocks. Wiping salt from my eyes, I pull my hair from my face and look around.

  At first, I think I must be imagining it. I’m sure the brain does that kind of thing, kids you that something is in front of you if you’ve been imagining it and wishing for it so hard. Like a mirage. That’s what it is: a mirage.

  And then he says my name.

  I can’t move. I feel as if the world has stopped.

  I have to find my voice. I force myself to swallow, dry gravel swirling through my throat. Then I give it a go.

  “Erin,” I say. My voice is hoarse.

  She takes a step toward me, slips on a rock. I leap forward and reach for her. I grab her arm.

  “You OK?” I ask.

  She looks at my hand on her arm. It’s only then that I realize — we are touching. Whatever it is that has banished me here hasn’t broken our tie. Whatever it is that brings us together isn’t letting us go.

  She turns slightly so she’s facing me. Our eyes are locked — joining us like a bridge across our worlds. I can’t turn away. Without shifting my gaze, I run my hand down her arm, feeling for her hand. She grips my hand in hers. Her touch is like a spark inside me. It ignites me. I never thought I would see
her again, let alone feel her hand in mine.

  Erin lifts her other hand. Slowly, so slowly, she raises it to my face, places her palm against my cheek. I close my eyes — I can’t help myself — and press my cheek against her hand. I feel as if I am experiencing human contact for the first time ever. I feel like a prisoner leaving his jail behind after serving a long sentence. I feel like a condemned man who has been offered one last chance at life.

  A gasp turns into a sob in my chest.

  Erin inches forward. There’s a question in her eyes. I let go of her hand, draw my arm around her waist, pull her closer. Her face is close to mine. So close I can see tiny beads of moisture on her cheek. The salt air has tangled her hair; a strand has come loose in that way it does.

  I lift my other hand, touch her face. I can feel her breath on my cheek. As I fold the loose strand back, I gently pull her face closer to mine.

  I watch her eyes, watch them till the last moment, the last millisecond, when her eyelids softly close. And then I close mine, too.

  As the waves wash gently over the rocks, as the seagulls circle, as the day dawns, as the wind whistles and the mist lifts, our lips finally meet.

  I am lost in the moment, in Erin, in this place, in the electricity that feels as if it is crackling around us like a lightning storm.

  And I know one thing.

  If this is how it feels to be lost, I would be happy never to be found again.

  I have never been kissed before.

  Or at least, that is how it feels. I have been kissed. But I don’t know if two snogs behind the gym and one in the back row of the cinema with Timothy Bolton counts. Or that time I thought Dean Smith meant it, and it turned out he was doing it on a dare. I had to feign illness for a week after that, till I hoped everyone had stopped laughing at me.

  Not that they ever really stopped laughing at me.

  Anyway, if those kisses ever did count, they certainly don’t now. Nothing counts now. Nothing even exists, except Joe’s lips on mine, his arms tightening around my waist, pulling me closer — so close I am starting to wonder where I end and he begins.