Love Hurts, Page 25

  What does this mean, then – I’m afraid? Scared of physical intimacy? No. I crave it, I dream about it. But for me there’s no one. No one. Any guy, even imaginary, would just feel like second best. Second best to what? I don’t even have an image of the perfect boyfriend. I just know he must exist. Because I have all these feelings – of love, longing, wanting to be touched, dreaming of being kissed – yet no one to focus them on. It makes me want to scream in frustration. It makes me feel like a freak. But worse than that, I feel so desperately disappointed. Because all evening I believed Nico was the one. And then, when he tried to kiss me in the car, I realized with total, earth-shattering certainty that it would never feel right.

  I trail back up to the house. This stupid dress is so short and skimpy, I’m beginning to freeze. I feel so empty, so let down. Yet I have only let myself down. Why couldn’t I have acted normal for a change? Why couldn’t I have forced myself to kiss him? Maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible. Maybe I could have borne it . . . The lights in the front room are still on. I check my watch: quarter to eleven. Oh please, not another argument between Kit and Lochan. I unlock the door and it sticks. I kick it with the stupid high heels I doubt I’ll ever wear again. The house, like a giant tomb, makes no sound. I slide off my shoes and pad in stockinged feet down the hallway to switch off the light in the front room. All I want to do is go to bed and forget about this whole lousy, self-deluded evening.

  A figure seated on the edge of the couch makes me jump. Lochan is hunched over, his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m back.’

  Not even a flicker of acknowledgement.

  ‘Is Kit still out?’ I ask with trepidation, fearing another scene.

  ‘He came in about twenty minutes ago.’ Lochan doesn’t even look up. Charming.

  ‘I had a great evening, by the way.’ My tone is caustic. But if he’s feeling sorry for himself just because he had to put the children to bed on his own for once, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that my evening was crap too.

  ‘You only went out for dinner?’ Abruptly he lifts his head and favours me with a penetrating gaze. Self-conscious under his sudden scrutiny, I become aware that my hair is coming down, stray strands hanging over my face, damp from standing out in the drizzle.

  ‘Yes,’ I answer slowly. ‘Why?’

  ‘You went out at seven. It’s nearly eleven.’

  I can’t believe this is Lochan talking. ‘You’re telling me I have to be home by a certain time?’ My voice rises in outrage.

  ‘Of course not,’ he snaps irritably. ‘I’m just surprised. Four hours is a hell of a long time to spend over dinner.’

  I close the front-room door behind me as I feel my blood pressure begin to rise. ‘It wasn’t four hours. By the time we’d driven halfway across town, found a place to park, waited for a table . . . We just talked – a lot. Turns out he’s a pretty interesting guy. He doesn’t exactly have it easy, either.’

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Lochan leaps up, strides over to the window, then swings back wildly. ‘I don’t give a damn about how poor little rich boy didn’t get the exact car he wanted for his eighteenth – I’ve heard all about that at Belmont. What I’m having trouble understanding is why the hell you pretend to have just been out for dinner when you’ve been gone four hours!’

  This can’t be happening. Lochan has gone mad. He’s never spoken to me like this in his life. I’ve never seen him so furious with me before.

  ‘Are you saying I have to account for my every move?’ I challenge him, my eyes widening in disbelief. ‘You’re actually asking me for a blow-by-blow account of what happened throughout the whole evening?’ My voice continues to rise.

  ‘No! I just don’t want to be lied to!’ Lochan starts to shout.

  ‘What I do or don’t do on a date is none of your damn business!’ I yell in return.

  ‘But why does it have to be secret? Can’t you just be honest?’

  ‘I am being honest! We went out for dinner, we talked, he drove me home. End of story!’

  ‘Do you really think I’m that gullible?’

  This is the last straw. A row with Lochan after a week of being ignored: the perfect end to an evening of bitter disappointment that, had I allowed it, could have been so great. All I wanted to do when I came in was crawl into bed and try to put this wasted opportunity out of my mind. And instead I find myself subjected to this.

  I start backing away towards the door, raising my hands in surrender. ‘Lochan, I don’t know what the hell your problem is but you’re being an absolute bastard. What’s happening to you? I come in expecting you to ask me if I had a nice time, and instead you give me the third degree and then accuse me of lying! Even if something had happened on this date, what on earth makes you think I’d want to tell you?’ I turn for the door.

  ‘So you did sleep with him,’ he says flatly. ‘Like mother, like daughter.’

  His words slice the air between us. My hand freezes around the cold metal knob. Slowly, painfully, I turn. ‘What?’ The word escapes from me in a small puff of air, barely more than a whisper.

  Time seems to be suspended. He is standing there in his green T-shirt and faded jeans, squeezing the knuckles of one hand with the palm of the other, his back to the giant slice of night. And I find myself facing a stranger. His face has a curious raw look, as if he’s been crying, but the fire in his eyes scorches my face. How foolish I was to kid myself I knew him so well. He is my brother and yet, for the very first time, appears before me as a stranger.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that.’ My voice, a quiver of disbelief, emanates from a being I barely recognize; one that is crushed, hurt beyond repair. ‘I always thought of you as the one person’ – a steadying breath – ‘the one person who would never, ever hurt me.’

  He looks stricken, his face mirroring the pain and disbelief I feel inside. ‘Maya, I’m not feeling well – that was unforgiveable. I don’t know what I’m saying any more.’ His voice is shaking, as appalled as my own. Pressing his hands to his face, he swings away from me, pacing the room, gasping for breath, his eyes filled with a wild, almost manic look.

  ‘I just need to know – please understand – I have to know, otherwise I’m going to lose my mind!’ He shuts his eyes tight and inhales raggedly.

  ‘Nothing happened!’ I shout, my anger abruptly replaced by fear. ‘Nothing happened. Why won’t you believe me?’ I grab him by the shoulders. ‘Nothing happened, Lochie! Nothing happened – nothing, nothing, nothing!’ I am practically screaming but I don’t care. I don’t understand what is happening to him. What is happening to me.

  ‘But he kissed you.’ His voice is hollow, devoid of all emotion. Pulling away from me, he crouches down on his heels. ‘He kissed you, Maya, he kissed you.’ His eyes are half closed, his face expressionless now, as if he is so depleted he no longer has the strength to react.

  ‘He didn’t kiss me!’ I yell, grabbing his arms and trying to shake him back to life. ‘He tried to, OK, but I didn’t let him! D’you know why? D’you want to know why? D’you really, really want to know why?’ Still gripping him with both hands, I lean forward, gasping, as tears, hot and heavy, fall down my cheeks. ‘This is why . . .’ Crying, I kiss Lochan’s cheek. ‘This is why . . .’ With a muffled sob, I kiss the corner of Lochan’s lips. ‘This is why . . .!’ Closing my eyes, I kiss Lochan’s mouth.

  I’m falling, but I know I’m OK, because it’s with him, it’s with Lochie. My hands are on his burning cheeks, my hands are in his damp hair, my hands are against his warm neck. He is kissing me back now, with strange little sounds that suggest he might be crying too, kissing me so hard that he is shuddering, gripping the tops of my arms tight and pulling me towards him. I taste his lips, his tongue, the sharp edges of his front teeth, the soft warmth inside his mouth. I slide up astride his lap, wanting to get even closer, wanting to disappear into him, blend my body with his. We come up briefly for air and I catch sight of his
face. His eyes brim with unfallen tears. He emits a ragged sound; we kiss some more, soft and tender, then fierce and hard again, his hands grasping at the straps of my dress, twisting them, clenching the material in his fists as if fighting back pain. And I know how he feels – it’s so good it hurts. I think I’m going to die from happiness. I think I’m going to die from pain. Time has stopped; time is racing. Lochie’s lips are rough yet smooth, hard yet gentle. His fingers are strong: I feel them in my hair and on my neck and down my arms and against my back. And I never want him to let me go.

  A sound explodes like a thunderclap above us; our bodies jolt in unison and suddenly we are not kissing any more, although I cling to the collar of his T-shirt, his arms strong and tight around me. There is the sound of the toilet flushing, then the familiar creak of Kit’s ladder. Neither of us seems able to move, even though the ensuing silence makes it clear Kit has gone back to bed. My head against Lochan’s chest, I hear the magnified sounds of his heart – very loud, very fast, very strong. I can hear his breathing too: sharp jagged spikes piercing the frozen air.

  He is the first to break the silence. ‘Maya, what the hell are we doing?’ Although his voice is barely more than a whisper, he sounds close to tears. ‘I don’t understand: why – why the hell is this happening to us?’

  I close my eyes and press against him, stroking his bare arm with my fingertips. ‘All I know right now is that I love you,’ I say in quiet desperation, the words spilling out of their own accord. ‘I love you far more than just as a brother. I . . . I love you in – in every kind of way.’

  ‘I feel like that too . . .’ His voice is shocked and raw. ‘It’s – it’s a feeling so big I sometimes think it’s going to swallow me. It’s so strong I feel it could kill me. It keeps growing and I can’t – I don’t know what to do to stop it. But – but we’re not supposed to do this – to love each other like this!’ His voice cracks.

  ‘I know that, OK? I’m not stupid!’ I’m angry suddenly because I don’t want to hear it. I close my eyes because I just can’t think about that now. I can’t let myself think about what it means. I won’t think about what it’s called. I refuse to let labels from the outside world spoil the happiest day of my life. The day I kissed the boy I had always held in my dreams but never allowed myself to see. The day I finally ceased lying to myself, ceased pretending it was just one kind of love I felt for him when in reality it was every kind of love possible. The day we finally broke free of our restraints and gave way to the feelings we had so long denied just because we happened to be brother and sister.

  ‘We’ve – oh God – we’ve done a terrible thing.’ Lochan’s voice is shaking, hoarse and breathless with horror. ‘I – I’ve done a terrible thing to you!’

  I wipe my cheeks and turn my head to look up at him. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong! How can love like this be called terrible when we’re not hurting anyone?’

  He gazes down at me, his eyes glistening in the weak light. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispers. ‘How can something so wrong feel so right?’

  Lochan

  I tell Maya that she needs to sleep but I know I can’t – I’m too afraid to go upstairs and sit on my bed and go crazy in that tiny room, alone with my terrifying thoughts. She says she wants to stay with me: she’s frightened that if she goes away, I’ll disappear. She doesn’t need to explain – I feel it too: the fear that if we part now, this incredible night will just vanish, evaporate like a dream, and we will wake in the morning back in our separate bodies, back in our ordinary lives.

  Yet here on the couch, my arms around her as she sits curled up against me, head resting against my chest, I still feel frightened – more frightened than I’ve ever been before. What just happened was unbelievable yet somehow completely natural, as if deep down I always knew this moment would come, even though I never once allowed myself to consciously think about it, to imagine it in any way. Now that it has arrived, I can only think of Maya, sitting right here against me, her breath warm against my bare arm.

  It’s as if there is a great wall preventing me from crossing to the other side, from casting my mind out into the external world, the world beyond the two of us. Nature’s security valve is at work, preventing me from even contemplating the implications of what just happened, keeping me, for the moment at least, safe from the horror of what I have done. It’s as if my mind knows it cannot go there yet, knows that right now I’m not strong enough to deal with the outcome of these overwhelming feelings, these momentous actions. But the fear remains – the fear that in the cold light of day we will be forced to come to terms with what was, quite simply, an awful mistake; the fear that we will have no choice but to bury this night as if it never took place, a shameful secret to be filed away for the rest of our lives until, brittle with age, it crumbles to dust – a faint, distant memory, like the powder of a moth’s wings on a windowpane, the spectre of something that perhaps never occurred, existing solely in our imagination.

  I cannot bear the thought of this being just one moment in time, over almost before it started, already retreating into the past. I must hold onto it with all my might. I cannot allow Maya to slip away because, for the first time in my life, my love for her feels whole, and everything that has led up to this point suddenly makes sense, as if all this was meant to be. But as I gaze down at her sleepy face, the freckled cheekbones, the white skin, the dark curl of her eyelashes, I feel an overwhelming ache, like acute homesickness – a longing for something I can never have. Sensing my eyes on her, she looks up and smiles, but it is a sad smile, as if she too knows how precarious our new love is, how dangerously threatened by the outside world. The ache inside me deepens, and all I can think of is what it felt like to kiss her, how brief that moment was and how desperately I want to live it once more.

  She keeps on looking at me with that little wistful smile, as if waiting, as if she knows. And the blood is hot in my face, my heart racing, my breath quickening, and she notices that too. Raising her head from my chest, she asks, ‘Do you want to kiss me again?’

  I nod, mute, heart pounding anew.

  She looks at me expectantly, hopefully. ‘Go on, then.’

  I close my eyes, my breathing laboured, my chest filling with a mounting sense of despair. ‘I don’t – I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m worried . . . Maya, what if we can’t stop?’

  ‘We don’t have to . . .’

  I breathe deeply and turn away, the air around me thrumming with heat. ‘Don’t even think like that!’

  Her expression sobers and she brushes her fingers up and down the inside of my arm, her eyes heavy with sadness. Yet her touch fills me with longing. I never thought that the mere touch of a hand could stir so much.

  ‘All right, Lochie, we’ll stop.’

  ‘You have to stop. Promise me.’

  ‘I promise.’ She touches my cheek, turning me back towards her. I take her face in my hands and start to kiss her, gently at first; and as I do so, all the pain and worry and loneliness and fear start to evaporate until all I can think of is the taste of her lips, the warmth of her tongue, the smell of her skin, her touch, her caresses. And then I’m struggling to keep calm and her hands are pressing against the sides of my face, her breath hot and rapid against my cheek, her mouth warm and wet. My hands want to touch her all over, but I can’t, I can’t, and we’re kissing so hard it hurts – it hurts that I can’t do more, it hurts that however hard I kiss her I can’t . . . I can’t—

  ‘Lochie . . .’

  I don’t care about the promise. I don’t remember why I even suggested it. I don’t care about anything – anything except for—

  ‘Easy, Lochie—’

  I press my lips back down over her mouth, holding her tight to stop her from moving away.

  ‘Lochie, stop.’ This time she pulls away and pushes me back, holding me at arm’s length, her fingers gripping my shoulders. Her lips are red – she looks flushed an
d wild and exquisite.

  I’m breathing too fast. Much too fast.

  ‘You made me promise.’ She looks upset.

  ‘I know, all right!’ Jumping up, I start pacing the room. I wish there was an icy pool of water for me to dive into.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  No, I’m not. I’ve never felt like this before and it scares me. My body seems to have taken over. I’m so aroused I can hardly think. I’ve got to calm down. I’ve got to stay in control. I can’t let this happen. I run my hands through my hair repeatedly and the air escapes from my lungs in a rush.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have said it sooner.’

  ‘No!’ I spin round. ‘It’s not your fault, for God’s sake!’

  ‘All right, all right! Why are you angry?’

  ‘I’m not! I’m just—’ I stop and lean my forehead against the wall, fighting the urge to head-butt it. ‘Oh, Jesus, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Nobody would have to find out,’ she says softly, chewing the tip of her thumb.

  ‘No!’ I shout.

  Storming into the kitchen, I rummage furiously through the freezer for ice cubes for a cold drink. Hot acid shoots through my veins and my heart is hammering so hard I can hear it. It’s not just the physical frustration, it’s the impossibility of our situation, the horror of what we’ve got ourselves into, the despair of knowing that I will never be able to love Maya the way I want to.

  ‘Lochie, for goodness’ sake, calm down.’ Her hand touches my arm as I wrestle with the freezer drawer.

  I knock it away. ‘Don’t!’

  She takes a step back.

  ‘D’you know what we’re doing here? Have you any idea at all? D’you know what they call this?’ I slam the freezer shut and move round to the other side of the table.