Crawling Back Ch 01

Chapter One: The Shackles Of The Past

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Despondently, I watch the bus depart, wondering if I really should have gotten off. I stare at it with longing, like the bus is taking away my one opportunity to abort this insane plan of mine.

Of course, that's ridiculous. The bus stop is right here. If I truly want to abort, all I need to do is wait for the next bus to come around.

That's the problem though, isn't it? I don't really want to abort, even though I absolutely, unquestionably know that it would be the best thing for me to do.

The only sensible thing for me to do.

Ugh, I can't believe I'm literally living out one of those cringy "I should call her" memes right now. How many times have I laughed at those? It turns out, I'm one of those desperate losers, too.

There's a knot in my throat. I can barely look at the bus stop. It's the one where I always used to get off to see Lucy, since her apartment is nearby. Most memories I have about our relationship are tied to this bus stop in some way, both the good and the bad.

But really, mostly the bad.

I should just turn around. Go back to my flat. Pretend I never even thought of this.

That I haven't psyched myself up for the last week, so I could walk up to Lucy' door and ring the doorbell, like I'm some kind of lost puppy.

Which is insane. I've been pretty bad at keeping in touch with my friends over the last year or so, but if they were here, I know exactly what they would say.

She's bad for you, Marina. Have you taken leave of your senses, Marina? She's an emotional vampire, Marina! Wake up!

And they'd be right: she's no good for me. She never was. In fact, she's not a good person - period. Lucy... she has issues. That's putting it mildly. If only I'd realised that sooner...

No, I did realise it. It's why I broke up with her. I knew it was the right thing, and I still do know that. And yet, here I am.

Because I lost the breakup.

What a stupid way of putting it. It makes no sense. A breakup isn't some kind of bizarre zero-sum game. It's not a contest, to see who deals with it better than the other party. To see who lost out with the end of the relationship, and who's the one that's shedded some dead weight.

I pump a fist against my thigh, because I hate that line of reasoning. It's childish, immature, jealous, and fucking impossible to ignore.

I've been living in hell, for months. I thought I was the one shedding dead weight, but it's just not how things have turned out. As far as I can tell, Lucy seems to be doing perfectly fine without me.

I suppose that shouldn't really surprise me. She was a shut-off loner before we got together, and she's a shut-off loner now. She has her books, her videogames, plenty of TV shows to binge. Patently, that's enough for her.

I mean, even though she hasn't read the reconciliatory message I sent her last week, she hasn't even blocked me or anything. As if it didn't even matter...

That hurts like a bitch.

Life without Lucy has been... lonely. In part, because of her. She was the one who progressively cut me off from all my friends. She was the one slowly turning me from the confident, outgoing girl I used to be, into an emotional wreck kept together with tape and glue.

I'm almost happy that there's a bit of resentment inside me still. It's the emotion that allowed me to break up with her in the first place. I should use that, and walk away now, before I make an irreparable mistake.

And yet, I find myself walking away from the bus stop. Because I'm a stupid, stupid girl who feels so incomplete without her. Like it's not fair that she's gone from my life, even though I'm the one who stepped away.

I feel a lump rising in my throat as I round the corner onto her street. The closer I get to her place, the more the memories come flooding back. I spent so much time, did so much emotional labour, trying to help her break out of her shell. To hang out with my friends, and make new ones of her own.

I was so smitten with her. I still am.

Every single time I tried, her face would scrunch up in discomfort. She would equivocate, delay, avoid the topic without outwardly saying no... until the very last minute.

It became a pattern. Every time I'd invite Lucy to go out with me and my friends - to the movies, the mall, out dancing - she'd make an excuse. Too many people. Too loud. Too overwhelming. She much preferred quiet nights in - just the two of us watching TV, reading side by side, or playing video games.

Mostly me watching her play videogames.

It happened so gradually, so insidiously - like the frog in slowly boiling water. At first, it seemed sweet how Lucy wanted to spend all her free time with me, just the two of us. I took it as a sign of her devotion, her desire to be close to me.

But of course, it isolated me.

Lucy said she needed me. She made that abundantly, achingly clear. Without me, she'd fall apart - or so she claimed. If that was ever true, it's certainly not now, in fact I'm the one who's fallen apart.

But at the time, the co-dependence she was fostering made me feel so fucking rewarded. No one else understood her like I did. No one else could soothe her anxieties, weather her mercurial moods, understand her hidden depths.

I felt privileged that I got to listen to her rambles about her niche interests, because she felt safe enough to share them with me. Like she'd chosen me.

It made me feel special. Like I was the only one who could see past her prickly exterior to the true, wounded, intelligent self within.

Until the weight became too much to bear. It was exhausting, emotionally draining, and it sent me away.

So what the fuck am I doing, back here, in front of this building?

Because I love her.

At the end of the day, there really isn't much else to say. It's a simple question, with a simple answer. She made me a worse person, and I love her. She used to give me headscratches that made me feel so calm whenever life seemed to hard, and I love her. She was emotionally abusive to me, and I love her. Sex with her was fantastic, and I love her.

Maybe that's a good enough reason to act stupid.

Before I can stop myself, before I can talk myself out of it, I press the button.

The intercom crackles to life almost immediately, and I hear her voice. "Hello?"

Just hearing that voice again makes my guts twist and my hands clench. I desperately miss her, but that's never been more painfully clear than it is right now. I miss her like oxygen.

I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. "Hey, uh, it's... it's me. Marina."

There's a long pause. Seconds tick by, each one an eternity.

Then, the door buzzes open.

This is really happening, then, I think to myself, as I numbly head inside and start slowly climbing the stairs. I really am back here. I haven't been in months. This is surreal.

When I get to the fourth floor, the door to her apartment is already open. She's standing at the threshold, waiting for me.

Lucy.

She's wearing an oversized t-shirt and stained sweatpants, her dark hair pulled back in a bun. She looks surprised to see me.

"Hi," she says when I approach her. "What do you want?"

I swallow hard, struggling to keep my emotions in check. "I... I needed to see you. Can I come in?"

She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she steps aside, letting me into the apartment.

It's just as I remember it - cluttered and chaotic, with empty takeout containers scattered across the coffee table. The air is stale, tinged with the faint scent of unwashed laundry.

Guess some things never change.

We got together in our first year of uni. She was a mess, even back then. Her room was so untidy, and she only ever ate junk food. She was apparently oblivious to the idea that wearing the same clothes for a couple days straight, and being lax with laundry, made her look like a slob.

Still, she was always so sweet and adoring. She looked up to me with those wide, innocent eyes, and I fell for her so fucking hard. I heard more opposites attract jokes in my first year as her girlfriend than I have in the entire rest of my life.

When we started dating, she was still so insecure. I remember the way she would look at me, like she couldn't believe I was real. Like I was some kind of goddess, and she was unworthy.

That didn't last long.

Lucy sits down on the sofa, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest. She leans back, her posture radiating a cool indifference that makes my stomach twist. I stand there awkwardly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

She doesn't invite me to sit down, and the message is clear - I'm not welcome here anymore. That's... very hard, when my brain is currently busy bombarding me with all the memories of the movie nights we spent cuddling on that very sofa. The conversations, way into the small hours of the morning.

Is it really all unsalvageable?

I gulp, my mouth suddenly dry. I knew this would be difficult, but the reality of it is hitting me like a punch to the gut. Lucy's eyes bore into me with what I can only interpret as a mixture of curiosity and vague disdain.

For some reason, the idea that she might think ill of me, that she might no longer respect me or think of me as a positive person, makes me feel so anxious. I deliberately avoid focusing on it, or I'll start hyperventilating.

"So," she says, her voice flat. "You said you wanted... no, needed to see me. What for? I thought we were done."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I... I miss you," I say with a sigh. God, it feels good to be able to just say it out loud, to get it off my chest. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately... all the time, really, and I just... I needed to see you."

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "Action, meet consequence," she says. "Maybe you should have thought twice before breaking up with me, then."

"I know," I say softly, my voice trembling slightly. "I know I hurt you, Lucy. And I'm sorry for that. But... but I've been miserable without you. I thought I could move on, but I can't. I can't stop thinking about you."

Lucy stares at me, her expression unreadable. I search her face for any hint of emotion, any sign that my words are having an impact, but there's nothing. Just a blank, impassive mask.

"You're miserable without me?" she asks, her voice flat. "That's funny, because I seem to remember you being pretty miserable with me, too."

I'm struggling to stay on top of the anxiety. I'm wringing my hands together, fidgeting in place. Why won't she see? I saw it with such clarity earlier, when I was outside: yes, all of that is true, as are my grievances, but the part that matters is that I love her.

So, that's what I'm going to tell her.

"It wasn't healthy, Lucy. But I love you so, so much, and that's more important. It's the only thing that matters to me now-"

I take a step towards her, my hands trembling at my sides. She watches me warily, her body tensing as I approach.

Fuck. That's a no, then. I lower my hand, taking a step back, and breathe in, trying to regroup, to collect my thoughts.

"Look," I say, "We tried to be together, and it didn't work out the first time. It happens. Now I want to make things right. I want to be with you again. Can't we just... can't we just try?"

A flicker of something dark and cruel flashes in Lucy's eyes. She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and fixes me with a calculating stare.

"Here's the fundamental problem you keep ignoring," she says. "We completely disagree that the relationship wasn't working out. That's literally the reason you left me. The way things were suited me perfectly. You're the one who was miserable. Now you're miserable again. Maybe I'm not the problem, am I, Marina?"

My heart beats faster.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Lucy says with a roll of her eyes, "that you're the one who called it quits. Now, you want back in, you say that loving me is the only thing that matters. Very well, put your money where your mouth is. Love me for who I am. All the things you said you left me for, they should not bother you anymore... if you're serious about this. And if not, well, why are we even having this conversation?"

I blink, stupefied. This is an ultimatum. She's literally telling me it's her way or the highway.

"I..." I say, fishing for things to say, trying to tell her that she's being harsh and unreasonable without completely scuppering my chances at making this conversation go where I want it to go. "I thought maybe we'd... meet each other halfway? You know, compromise..."

"Why would I meet you halfway?" She asks, cutting me off. "I was fine with our relationship as it was. And I'm fine with being single now. You're the one who's desperate. I don't need you anymore. I've moved on. I'm doing just fine without you."

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. I reel back, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. "You... you don't need me?" I repeat, my voice small and broken.

Lucy leans back, a smug smile playing at the corners of her lips. "No, Marina, I don't. Simple as that."

I feel like I can't breathe. The room is spinning around me, and I grip the back of the sofa for support. That incredible feeling that came with the codependence, unhealthy as it was... the feeling of being special... I'll never get to feel it again, is that what she's saying?

"But... but I love you," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I still love you."

Lucy makes a show of rolling her eyes again. "Wow," she mutters, half to herself, "you've got it worse than I thought."

"W-what do you mean?"

She shrugs. "I knew you were needy, but this is just sad. It's embarrassing. No... not embarrassing. What's the word I'm looking for? Ah, yes. Pathetic."

The word "pathetic" slices into me like a knife. I flinch from the near-physical sting of humiliation.

Seeing me at a complete loss for words, Lucy clearly sees it as her duty to single-handedly continue the conversation. "You do realise it, right? How this looks? Imagine if any of your friends could see you now," she says.

Then, she makes air quotes, throwing my words back at me in a mocking voice. "I thought maybe we'd meet each other halfway." She shakes her head. "There's nothing about your behaviour that says halfway. You've literally come crawling back to me."

It hurts. Why is she being hurtful?

I swallow hard, my cheeks burning with shame. "I... I don't care," I say, my voice shaking. "I don't care if it's pathetic. I just... I need you, Lucy. I need you like I need air to breathe."

Lucy shows no outward response to my desperate plea. She just sits there, her expression unreadable, apparently lost in thought. The silence stretches between us, thick and oppressive, broken only by the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I stand there, trembling, my heart pounding in my chest as I wait for her to say something, anything. But she remains silent, her eyes distant and unfocused, as if she's not even seeing me at all.

The seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my gut. I want to scream, to shout, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she acknowledges me. But I don't. I can't. I'm frozen, waiting, as if she's sitting in judgement of me.

Maybe she is.

Finally, after what feels like an age, Lucy speaks. But it's not the response I'm expecting, not the acknowledgement of my feelings or the reciprocation of my need. Instead, she says, as if a complete non sequitur:

"I'm thirsty."

Just that. Nothing else. No reaction to my outpouring of emotion, no indication that she's even heard me at all. Just a simple statement of fact, delivered in a flat, disinterested tone.

I blink, taken aback by the abruptness of her words. "W-what?"

"I said, I'm thirsty," Lucy repeats, her tone slightly impatient now, as if she's annoyed at having to repeat herself.

Dazed and disoriented, I find myself moving towards the kitchen as if in a trance. It's like I'm on autopilot.

With trembling hands, I reach for a glass from the cabinet and turn on the faucet, fill the glass, and stop for a moment to contemplate it, as if it holds some deeper significance, some answer about how lost I feel in my life right now.

I guess she's right. I do have it bad.

I bring the glass back to her, my steps heavy and leaden. She takes it from me without a word of thanks, bringing it to her lips and taking a long, slow sip. She's making a point, I realize. She's showing me that she's still in control, that she can still make me dance to her tune.

She sets the glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. She leans back, crossing her legs again, the right over the left, and fixes me with a look of smug satisfaction.

Her right foot bobs gently up and down in the air as she contemplates me.

This isn't going how I hoped at all. I'm not making any progress, not getting through to her. The last time I tried to touch her, to bridge the chasm between us, she tensed up, her body language screaming rejection.

Desperate to reduce the distance, to create some sense of intimacy, I slowly lower myself to the floor. I sit cross-legged on the carpet, looking up at her on the couch.

"I... I don't know what you want from me," I say. "Even if I say yes to everything, even if I... accept... I mean, don't you love me back? Don't you want to see me happy? I'm begging you right now, I swear."

Lucy looks down at me, pointedly. I'm confused for a moment, but then, I start to realise the implication of what I'm done.

I'm literally sitting at her feet now, pleading with her from a place of physical subordination.

Lucy remains silent, her expression inscrutable as she gazes down at me. The seconds stretch into an eternity, marked only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

I can see the gears turning behind her eyes.

As the silence drags on, I begin to fidget, my hands twisting nervously in my lap. I can't bear the tension, the uncertainty. I need her to say something, to do something. Anything to break this suffocating stillness.

And then, almost imperceptibly, she moves.

It's just a small shift at first, a subtle extension of her right foot. Her sock-clad toes flex, then point, the fabric stretching taut. The movement is nonchalant, almost lazy, as if she's simply adjusting her position on the couch.

Instinctively, without even thinking, I reach out and take her foot in my hands. My fingers begin to knead the soft fabric of her sock, rubbing and massaging in the way I know she likes. It's a familiar motion, one I've done countless times before, back when things were different between us.

But this isn't like before. Not really.

We... did do some foot stuff, occasionally. Sometimes we liked to play with the idea that I was her footstool or something - she'd rest her feet on my back while she gamed. That sort of thing. But it was... kinky.

This doesn't feel kinky, or at least not just kinky. It certainly doesn't feel loving, or intimate. It just feels...

Demeaning.

I chance a glance up at her face and see that her expression has shifted. The distant, thoughtful look is gone, replaced by something else entirely.

She's surprised, I can tell. But as I continue working my fingers, her expression shifts, morphing from puzzled surprise to a glimmer of intrigue.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth begin to twitch upwards. It's a subtle movement at first, just the barest hint of a smile. But as I continue my ministrations, as my fingers knead and caress the soft fabric of her sock, the smile grows wider, more pronounced.