Page 77 of Yearning Difficulties

‘And Roxanne,’ I went on. ‘She knows she has to marry one of the predatory noblemen lurking about her. She knows what survival means. She’s not stupid. But she wants love. She wants poetry. She wants people’s words to actually mean something. For someone to tell the truth. And Cyrano can’t do that for her. Sorry, he can’t do that for her unless he’s pretending to be someone else. Maybe he doesn’t even know Roxanne. The way Erik may not even know Christine. They obsess and they fixate, perhaps never wondering about the souls of the women they pine for. Who cares about souls when they’re hidden behind pretty faces, right? Only men are allowed to be loved for who they really are.’

Logan Minola suddenly spoke. ‘Erik loves Christine for her voice. Not just her face.’

‘Shut up!’ Killian and I both shouted back at him, neither of us interested in a referee.

When I turned back to Killian, I spoke with all the disdain I could muster. ‘Cyrano’s afraid. He hides behind lots of masks, but ultimately, he’s not strong enough for love without deception or disguise. It takes guts to fall in love. Even more to be in love.’

Killian slammed his hands down on his desk. ‘Cyrano is different, Zella. A freak, remember? He can’t go a day without some obnoxious nobleman making problems for him. Maybe he doesn’t want to drag her into any of that. Both stories speak to the unlovable nature of people who are different.’

‘I don’t agree,’ I said, and I’d never felt more sure of anything in my life. ‘They just speak to two writers who believed, like so many, that disability is this strange and ugly thing. That doesn’t make it true. Did you ever think that these stories are just distorted reflections of an ugly society, not a factual account on disability? Non-disabled people fear disability because they don’t understand it. And they put it into their worldview. That doesn’t mean for a single second that anything they think is true.’

My words took a moment to land and while they did, no one spoke. No one breathed.

‘Fuck what the world says,’ I added, spitting the words. ‘Being different might mean something to everyone else around me but I’d never let anyone tell me I couldn’t love or be loved. I’d never give up like that. I’d never let someone write my story that way.’

For one brief moment, Killian’s face softened. ‘He lives it, Zella. It’s not in his head. It’s not invisible for him. He wears it every single day. So does the phantom. They’ve watched people recoil. They’ve been called every vicious name. They can’t unlearn all of that. They can’t be like other heroes. They were never allowed to be.’

I suddenly felt like crying. ‘Maybe they should try. But no. They’d rather die. Or burn down an opera house. Any number of tragic endings because they’re afraid of being vulnerable. They see vulnerability, the state we constantly demand of women, as something weak. And men would always rather be seen as a monster than be seen as weak.’

I shoved everything into my bag and made for the door, stopping only to leave one final conclusion.

‘Women aren’t allowed to be monsters. Not in stories. Not in real life.’

I slammed the door behind me.

Twenty-Seven

Noble

Today’s Track: ‘Perfect’ by Julia Murney

I cried on my bed like some useless maiden in a story. But I couldn’t stop. My whole body shook as I sobbed and sobbed, my eyes trying to expel all of the unwanted feelings and the hurt I couldn’t even put a name to. I lay on my coverlet for almost an hour, pulsing and shivering with the useless intensity of it all.

I eventually started to calm, which was when I realized my parents were whispering on the other side of the door.

‘Stop spying on me! You can come in!’ I called out. ‘I know you’re there.’

Instead, they sent Regine in. With key cookies. The kind my parents had made for each other when they were my age.

‘We have to give these to the one we like the most,’ Regine reminded me. She offered them to me. ‘I like you the most.’

I stared at her. I must have looked awful. Eyes red from crying and my face soaked with salty water. But I smiled easily, charmed by the simplicity of it. ‘Thank you, baby.’

When Ma finally came into my room, she sent Regine to help Dad with dinner. She took in my face and demeanour, and I could tell she ached with sympathy for me.

‘Don’t,’ I croaked. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘You mean him. You don’t want to talk about him.’

‘Don’t, Ma!’

‘Oh, Zella. This is what you’re supposed to be doing at eighteen. You’re supposed to be throwing yourself on your bed and crying! But it’s very unlike you. You never did anything close to this over Dave.’

‘I didn’t love Dave.’

She smiled knowingly. ‘But you love Killian.’

I felt heat on my face. ‘No! No, that’s not what I meant.’