"Are you... okay? Have you been alright? I just..."
"Yeah, I've been... yeah. Do you want to come in?" I didn't want him inside but I really didn't want my neighbours listening. "Or actually, shall we go for a walk or something?"
Ed shrugged, and pawed his messy hair. "Sure, let's do that."
I got my coat and off we went, down the road and towards the town centre. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes, and then he asked if he had done something wrong. And inside of me there was so much anger, so much hurt, but also confusion, and desire. And I didn't know how to express any of it to him, how to make him understand. I didn't even want to put into words what he had done to me by taking those photos in secret, and then showing them to someone else. I've thought about that since -- why was it so hard to say the words, to tell him 'here, look -- this is what you did to me. And this is why it hurt me so much.' To be honest I think a lot of me was just afraid of letting go of him, even though he'd betrayed me. So all I did was say that I'd had a tough few days, and wasn't feeling too sociable.
"I get that, don't worry about it. I mean, bloody hell, I know what that feels like. I've had my fair share. He rubbed his face and glanced over at me, but I kept my gaze forward. "Is it anything... specific, going on? Anything I can help with?" I shook my head, no. "Really? Are you sure? Okay. Well just let me know, anytime. And whatever it is... I think you're wonderful. I really do. You're amazing."
That shouldn't have made me feel good but it did. It worked on me. I suppose that's how much I was craving affection, and acceptance. Ed must have seen my face clear a bit, or maybe I even smiled, because he visibly relaxed and launched into a story about a colleague of his making a huge scene with a customer, during a very unprofessional argument concerning the last general election. Normally it would be my kind of anecdote, but I struggled to concentrate. He babbled on while I bubbled up, inside. Everything was turning over and over, the wants and the hates, the pain and the love, all scrapping and wrestling like cats in a sack, and I with every passing minute it increased, making me feel like my sanity was at sudden and serious risk.
We stopped at a pedestrian crossing, traffic passing at the speed-limit of thirty, normal vehicle numbers for a usual steady Saturday afternoon in our town. Waiting for the lights to change, we stood side by side, and Ed put his arm around my waist as he continued to talk. His fingers felt like iron, felt like he had me trapped, encaged with the lightest of touches, helpless. I wanted to move, was desperate for the lights to change, felt that too long just standing there with him would destroy me, somehow. I wanted out. I wanted to get free, get free from everything. It was all welling up, it was all too much, high pressure, unsustainable intensity, something had to give -- and then without conscious thought I twisted my body and shoved myself into Ed, pushing him off the curb and into the road. I closed my eyes immediately and the sound of the car's brakes filled my head.
No, he didn't die -- you already know that. The driver did a good job, really slammed on those brakes, and swerved at the same time, ending up just brushing Ed's coat -- and they even managed to avoid crashing into the traffic island. There was fallout, obviously. I don't remember it very well -- just that a few onlookers rushed over to check on us, the driver got out, creating a traffic jam. Maybe that person was shaking, maybe they were calm. I can't even remember if it was a man or a woman. A woman, I think. Middle-aged? Probably a mother, probably someone with a very busy life who really didn't need this in her day. But I don't recall any harsh words -- only concern. The superfluous folk drifted off when they realised no one had been hurt, no further help was required. Off to their lives, whatever those lives were. I don't think I spoke. Ed and the driver talked, and a couple of minutes later we parted from her, she drove slowly away and the traffic resumed. The first few motorists who passed the lights looked over at us, cautiously, probably wondering what the incident to delay them had been, but everyone else just went by oblivious.
I'm still not sure if anyone saw me shove him. He knew, and I knew, and we both knew that the other knew. But we didn't talk about it. We just walked slowly back to my flat, in silence. Some of it must have been shock. I didn't know what I had really wanted to do, what I had really tried to make happen. I still don't, honestly. You don't have to believe me, but it's true. It's true. On the way back I didn't look at him, I counted the chewing gum patches on the pavement. At least I think I did. At the door to the flats we stopped, and it started to spit, the early warnings of real rain. It was cold, it was so cold. Ed took my hand and opened his mouth, about to say something, but I pulled away from him and in an instant I was inside, and I closed the door behind me and entered my flat, and threw myself down on the sofa. Romeo trotted over and miaowed for his lunch but I didn't move. That turmoil was gone, at least. That burning, swirling, aching mix of emotion that had climbed up before I pushed him, that was gone. Now I felt nothing.
Eventually I did feed Romeo. Then I turned off my phone, closed my curtains because darkness had fallen hard, and dug out my emergency bottle of wine. I found a film on the TV, not caring what it was, and returned to the sofa, and stayed there until the film was over and the bottle was empty. I couldn't tell you what that film was about, I've really no idea. As the credits slowly rolled I picked up my phone and turned it on again, and before I could think too much I sent Ed a message.
It read:
I'm sorry about today. It's over, we shouldn't see each other again. Bye
Then I tossed my phone across the room, left it where it landed on the carpet in the corner, and put myself to bed, blocking all the thoughts that I could, and, trying and failing to hold back my emotions, I pulled the duvet up over my head and shivered and shuddered with the English winter cold and my irrepressible tears.
**
