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I rub my arms, glancing around the apartment. It suddenly feels empty, too silent. As I refill the kettle and set it back to boil, it seems loud in the heaviness of the space. I don’t notice when the kettle clicks off.
I already feel like this is it. That it’s over between us. That he’s going to do something we can never come back from.
And maybe—just maybe—if I let myself fall apart now, it will hurt a little less when he gets back.
???
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I just sit around all day, but it's Sunday, so I guess it's okay. I’ve been looking forward to putting together this Quorn chicken casserole, but I can’t taste it. All day my heart has raced, even if Archer’s brief ‘I’m here and safe. I’ll text later’ call made my chest ease a bit. But that night, I toss and turn, until I go beyond sleep into full panic overdrive.
I curl up on the sofa and breathe in the smell of his shirt. It still smells like the sex we had last night, bent over—
This sofa.
My toes curl. And suddenly he’s squeezing my breasts again, flicking his tongue over my full, perked nipples, and his fingers plunge into me with every stroke of his tongue, and I cum as he removes his fingers, flips me over the rolled arm of the couch, and fucks me.
And as I lay back on the sofa, flicking through movies, all of our problems melt into nothing. It doesn’t matter if he watches porn or shouts at me or grabs me or doesn’t listen when I ask him to help around the house; all that matters is that I want him here beside me, idly playing with my hair.
It’s funny how you don’t realise the worth of a moment until you can’t get it back.
???
The next day at work, I can’t think beyond the fact Arch didn’t text last night, even though he promised he would. I stayed up most of the night to watch his Snapchat stories, and then Olly’s, and Sean’s, and Isaac’s. No strip clubs or brothels, but it looked like they indulged in a house party—a house with a glass balcony and a pool.
As long as he’s okay. That’s all that matters right now.
I checked his messenger before leaving for work to see when he was last online, which was forty minutes ago. And I check it again at lunch break: nine hours ago. But then I get angry at my own insanity because all that tossing and turning, all that worrying, and he’s okay.
Of course he’s okay.
And now I’m exhausted, and my feet burn with every step, and I just want to go home but Idon’twant to go home, because I know only emptiness and silence awaits me there.
Em seems to note my haggard face, the purple bags beneath my eyes that even concealer can’t hide, and she offers to come round tonight with Jess.
It helps, having her here. Having the distraction of her company. But as we settle into a film, I can’t help but watch Em and Jess together, Jess sprawled across her lap, Em’s arms around her. They entwine their hands, and a pang goes through me.
Archer’s never held my hand like that. Never touched me without even realising he’s doing it.
As the knot in my stomach tightens each day, it becomes habit to remind myselfJust one more day.One more cycle of the sun rising and falling. One more sleep. One more shift. One more one more one more. One more sleepless night until he comes home.
His texts are few and far apart:Going outandtalk laterandgoing bed now. Sometimes I wake on the sofa or I’ll be doing a shop or taking a shower and it’ll hit me.
I miss him.
How vast and sprawling the world seems without that one person to anchor you to the ground.
Amelia and Jess keep me company during the week. Em babbles away at work, about nothing and everything, and sometimes Jess pops in to hand me a croissant, and I smile warmly at her. They stop by every evening, and we watch movies or play board games or do each other’s makeup with our eyes closed or grab dinner at our favourite American-style restaurant. They even accompany me as I visit my dad, and we order takeout and Jan shows up and we all watchThe Officetogether, and it’s easier to breathe when they’re around, but as soon as they leave and I’m alone, the world stretches out before me like a bottomless, never-ending ocean, and—
‘I hate the person he makes me become,’ I say that Saturday evening.
Em and Jess, seated on either side of the coffee table, exchange a look. Jess clears her throat and takes her move on the Draught board as she says, ‘That’s something you can control, though. Even if Archer gives you every reason to be angry at him, it’s what you do with that anger that counts.’
‘She doesn’t need us to be reasonable, sweet,’ Em tells her girlfriend. Em meets my gaze. ‘How so?’
I wring my hands, trying to piece my thoughts together. ‘I don’t know, I just… I feel like this shell of a person. I don’t know who I am anymore. Since he left, all I’ve been doing is worrying about him, about what he’s doing over there, who he’s talking to. I feel like I’m turning into a crazy psycho girlfriend, checking when he’s been online—‘ They both grimace at that. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m the problem—‘
‘No.’ Emmy’s voice is firm. ‘You’re like this because he’s taught you that this is normal, but I promise, with the right person, you will flourish.’
I bite my lip and look over at Jess. ‘It isn’t the same for you?’
