In my opinion, men are open books that women can choose whether or not they wish to read. We’re nowhere near as complicated and multifaceted as they are; we need food, water, sports, and a little human contact--so basically, sex. Is that difficult? Of course not. Women need all kinds of crap aside from these basics, like friends, chocolate, gossipy chats, compliments, and tampons. I honestly have a lot of respect for any woman that manages to pull through life without having a mental breakdown; all the stuff they have to worry about is just phenomenal.
These little requirements bounce off each other nicely; women can serve men’s minimal needs, and we men can use our spare time to try and help women through their intricate, problematic lives. It’s the way the world works--tit for tat. A woman can give a man a nice cold beer as he watches a basketball game, and he’ll be happy. In return, he can buy her a wide selection of calorific chocolates when she’s going through the whole weird cycle and still tell her she looks like Michelle Pfeiffer. Straightforward, yes?
No. Not at all. Never. If things always worked out like that, Jerry Springer would have nothing to work with.
Cat and I seem to have grasped this mutual respect that should exist between men and women. She cooks for me and lets me watch mindless sports, and I change light bulbs for her and calm her down when she says she has a problem. Of course, this all seems very 1950s and stereotypically sexist, but we accept that her sensitivity and my attraction to Friday night games are small allowances in an otherwise liberal and modern relationship (I mean, how many couples in the 50s had a woman that insisted on being financially independent, and a man that actually cried at the end of Moulin Rouge?). We provide each other with the basic necessities with no hesitation; perhaps that’s the reason why our relationship has been as strong as it has.
So in a balanced and democratic relationship such as ours, if somebody in the partnership starts to slack off in their customarily generous and kind ways, it does not go unnoticed. When Cat decides to close up like a clam and deny me of any kind of contact, be that physical or emotional, I begin to speculate. There’s an expressive girl past those bastard walls protecting her, and once she trusts you, she’ll talk a mile a minute about her problems and opinions; she holds nothing back, and that’s wonderful.
Something is wrong with Cat, but I’m not going to dramatize things (for once), and say that I’m scared for the demise of our relationship, because that’s just stupid. I’ve learnt that, in relationships, things go wrong: simple as that. Love is meaning you can overcome to obstacles, not dodge them. The longer I'm with Cat, the more I accept that I have to get used to things hitting us along the way and putting a momentary rift between us; it's part of maturing to accept that your relationship isn't perfect. Love isn't perfect; lust is sure a blast, but love is hard work.
But Cat’s worth fighting for; that’s why I’m in no doubt that what we have is nothing short of true love, because I’m willing to do anything to keep this going. And I have the utmost confidence that whatever is wrong is something utterly…fixable, if there’s such a word. It would be easier to “fix”, as such, if I actually knew what the problem was, but that’s a mistake on both our parts.
For a week, there’s been an undeniable distance between us; she won’t talk to me, and I’ve been too immersed in recording and working out and being stubborn to push her. Without Cat talking to me and roping me into political discussions and philosophical ponderings, I have a lot more time to think and concentrate on work. There’s no doubt that she distracts me when I’m trying to record or get back into the business mindset. It’s not her fault in the slightest--she does nothing to entice me, but I find myself fascinated by her regardless. In the past, there was nothing that could pull me from my work; there was never anything better than pouring my emotions into music. Until Cat, of course. I'll toss off those headphones without a second thought when she comes into the room, because making music pales in comparison to her. She’s almost too much better, if that makes sense.
So naturally, as a result of this...‘silent argument’ between us and the lack of time spent together, my album has been progressing just beautifully. I even reluctantly agreed to start heading back to the gym to tone up a bit. It hit me suddenly, when I was watching Usher accept some award for Best Solo Male, that in a few months the whole treadmill of being a “pop star” will start again, and I’ll have to don the Justin Timberlake persona that I haven’t used in a long, long time. This includes killer music, a great body, a sparkling personality…everything. Preparation has to begin months before I even go back, and it’s essential if I don’t want my career to fall flat on its face. But these preparations take a huge bite out of my spare time, so unfortunately my moments with Cat have been and will be limited.
I don’t exactly know what she’s been doing with herself this past week. She drifts off into her own thoughts, doesn’t really integrate with myself or Trace, and has just generally been detached. She doesn’t come to the studio with me, so I assume she just hangs around New York and the apartment all day; and I’m not even going to attempt asking her to come to the gym…the phrase ‘wishful thinking’ pretty much sums up the chances of her saying yes.
I was tempted to drag whatever it is out of her, but as I’ve said before…why should I? She’ll come to me when she’s good and ready, and it’s not my job to run after her, begging to be allowed a window into her confusing mind. I’ve tried to do that for months, and it’s just not going to happen.
In the “real world”, the fact of the matter is; shit happens. The longer something goes well for, the bigger you can expect the problem that will eventually arise to be. It’s almost a relief when Cat and I occasionally have thunderous altercations, because it just proves that we’re real enough to be able to disagree, and that there’s something there that makes us want to always come back to each other. If we had a smooth and carefree relationship, something would inevitably come and knock us off our feet, and who knows whether we would want to pick it up again?
I'm positive that whatever is going on is...it's just a minor glitch, right? Ultimately, it will just make us stronger; I'm positive of that. I'll admit that it's not fun to watch a problem bubbling away between us, but I have to accept that relationships are hard work--there's no such thing as effortless love. But it is definitely, definitely not fun.
Not only is Cat emotionally shut off, she is also depriving me of bodily connection. Her kisses are quick and emotionless; she tends to lay in bed, huddled in the corner, rather than snuggling with me like we usually do, and as for sex…it’s just not happening. At all. For a whole week. This may seem like an irrelevant tidbit of too much information for some, but for a couple in their twenties to have a dwindling sex life…it’s not good. Cat may be a little prudish and shy, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like having as much sex as I do. The girl can be a rampant little tiger when she wants to be, but that probably is too much information…
I could potentially explode over the situation. My girlfriend isn’t talking to me, she doesn’t seem remotely interested in anything going on around her, least of all me, and she has abruptly brought an end to a perfectly healthy sexual relationship. Things don’t exactly look good for me, do they?
But no, I refuse to be “Psycho Justin”; I will instead remain an island of cool, just taking each thing as it comes. This is a new Justin, a 'I am positive and confident my girlfriend is not cheating on me' Justin, a 'I will not fall prey to the title of Drama Queen that Cat gives me after every argument' Justin. A more laid back Justin. A better Justin.
Okay, Cat doesn’t want me to touch her; what am I going to do? Not panic, of course. Stomp out ideas that she's sleeping with someone else (because I admit I thought something was going on between her and they seventy year old doorman, but Trace hit me on the back of the head with a book, so that eliminated that thought fairly quickly), and try my hardest to be as blasé and unaffected by the news. I will slowly lure her back towards me with my irresistible charm and sexuality, and everything will fall into back place, and Cat will start smiling again. No prob.
“Cat?”
“Yeah?” a weak reply from the living room whispers.
I briskly stride into the room, seeing Cat’s slumped form sitting on the window sill, swinging her leg back and forth. “Oh, there you are.”
She turns her head to me and offers a weak smile. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I grin, walking over to her and holding my arms out. She awkwardly accepts my hug for a moment, before gently pushing me away and shuffling further towards the open window.
“How come you’re not in the studio today?”
I shrug and roll my eyes. “Didn’t wanna go. It’s far too hot to be cooped up in a studio today,” I remark, squinting my eyes and peering out of the window at the dazzling sun. The streets are filled with a humid smog, promising rain later on that day. But for the moment, the sun couldn’t be brighter, and people couldn’t be more desperate for a tan.
“It is hot,” she agrees quietly, returning her gaze back down to the sea of surrounding buildings, each of their peaks scraping at the clear canvas of blue.
“Why don’t we go onto the roof?” I suggest, tugging on her arm slightly. “I don’t know what’s up with the AC, but it’s like slowly burning in hell in here.”
She turns to me and frowns in doubt; the most emotion she’s shown all week. “I don’t think that’s very safe.”
“Oh, come on,” I urge, pulling at her elbow a little more urgently. “Me and Trace once hosted a whole party up there, and only like…one person fell to their death.”
Her head snaps around and she stares at me, wide eyed with disbelief. “What?”
“I’m just kidding,” I smile, poking her in the ribcage. At my touch, she visibly tenses, but calmly shakes her head.
“No thanks.”
“It’ll be fun; we can work on our tans,” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively, as if to say ‘now there’s an offer you can’t refuse’.
She sighs and looks at me, as if contemplating whether she should just give up and say yes or tell me to fuck off, before succumbing and slowly nodding. “Okay,” she says, and immediately pastes on a fake smile as she puts on her sunglasses.
I help her down from the ledge and place a kiss on her cheek, before wrapping my arm around her waist and leading her upstairs. The fire escape leads to the summit of the building, and Cat’s grip on my hand tightens as she peers cautiously over the edge.
“Jesus Christ, I hate heights,” she murmurs, stepping away from the perimeter of the roof and shaking her head.
“I won’t let you fall,” I smile, pulling her towards me and wrapping protective arms around her.
She sends me a small smile, before stretching out in one of the recliners laid haphazardly on the roof. Trace and I really did used to have parties up here, until we realized letting drunken people cavort on the top of a twenty story apartment building probably wasn’t the best idea. So, we just converted it to a general lounging about area with a few chairs thrown in, and occasionally we’ll bring up a stereo or something. It’s sort of like having a backyard, only twenty floors up.
“So,” I begin, sitting myself down and immediately shuffling my recliner next to hers, “How you been lately, baby?”
She sends me a dubious look, doubting my sudden chirpiness. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“I’m sorry I’ve not been around much this week,” I murmur distractedly, leaning back into my seat casually, trying my hardest to project an offhand manner.
“That’s okay,” she replies, scratching at the abrasive surface of her chair. “I’ve been a little preoccupied too.”
“With what?” I ask quickly, my head snapping around to face her.
She raises her eyebrow at the sudden transformation from laidback cool dude to obsessive interrogator. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”
That means it must be something girly, right? What do women always worry about… “Your weight?” I suggest.
She slowly turns to look at me, and I don’t doubt that, behind those dark shades, is a very unimpressed look. “No, not my weight.”
I thought it was a fair guess. “So what is it? You’ve been a little…weird all week.”
She sighs deeply and extends her arms, stretching her muscles. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But I’m your boyfriend, it’s my job to worry,” I reply, sliding a hand onto her lap and resisting the urge to tug up her skirt cheekily. I’m guessing she’s not in the mood to be flirtatious at the moment.
“The only person who you should have to worry about is yourself, and the same goes for me,” she says clearly, reaching down to pat my hand, before gently putting it back on my own territory.
A somewhat awkward silence settles between us as I try to mask my hurt. “Why won’t you talk to me?” I ask quietly, feeling a sting at her refusing my touch.
She remains mute, slowly pulling off her shades and carefully folding them in her lap. “I…I can’t run to you every time I have a problem, Justin.”
“Why not?” I ask stubbornly; I know Cat’s big on all that feminist stuff, but it’s not as though I don’t go to her if there’s something wrong with me. When I thought I saw Trace smoking again, who did I go to for advice? Cat, who consequently told me to slap any cigarette out of his mouth. Who did I go to when I thought one of my songs sounded like a captivated werewolf? Cat, who reassured me it was a great song, I should just stop wailing in the background. It’s just how we work; we help each other.
No, it’s how humans work. We’re not supposed to be able to get through life entirely by ourselves; why would we have friends, family, loved ones, if we couldn’t count on them for support?
“Because I have to learn how to do things on my own.”
“Learn to do what on your own?”
She shrugs. “Support myself. Be alone. Not having to worry about two sets of feelings; yours and my own.”
“I didn’t realize I was a burden,” I huff.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she sighs tiredly, rubbing her eyes and throwing her sunglasses down into her lap; it suddenly strikes me how exhausted she looks, the dark bags etched underneath her bloodshot eyes and her somewhat diminished appearance are clear as day in the bright sunshine.
“Have you been eating right?” I interrupt, before she can continue. Her usually ever so cutely chubby face looks slightly gaunt and pale; it’s the slightly unhealthy, worn out look I get when I’ve been under a lot of stress and ignore the essentials, like food and sleep. It’s not the normal Cat, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. It even looks as though she’s lost a little weight.
She pauses and frowns. “Well, I suppose I haven’t been all that hungry these last few days, but I’ve been okay…”
“Have you got an eating disorder?” I whisper in a shocked tone.
She lets out a short burst of laughter. “I wish.” She chuckles darkly too herself as she looks down at the ruffles in her gypsy skirt. “No, I’m fine.”
“Will you just stop bullshitting me? I know something’s wrong, and I’ve gone long enough pretending to ignore it. It’s not fair to keep me in the dark like this, Cat. Whatever this is, it’s causing a separation between us, and I deserve to know what it--”
In a split second, before I can even finish my aggravated speech, Cat quickly jumps from her seat and swings a leg on either side of me, straddling my lap. Her mouth hungrily seeks out mine, greedily biting at my lips as she kisses me heatedly. Before I can budge her off my crotch, the male inside of me places hands on her hips to steady her, and begins to kiss her back.
Somewhere in my mind, my brain was slapping me and calling me a weak man who fell too easily a victim to female touch; however the other, stronger side, was saying, ‘hell yeah, we haven’t seen anything like this in a while!’. In fact, we’ve never seen anything like this from Cat ever; she’s no dominatrix in the bedroom, so her sudden feistiness is a like an alluring poison. I know I shouldn’t be doing it, but it’s just too damn tempting to dismiss.
Her long hair tickles my shoulders as she swishes it to one side, still eagerly kissing me with a ferocity I didn’t know she possessed. It’s not even a ferocity that screams ‘I want you’, it’s more the feeling of…she’s angry, and it’s coming through in her so called ‘affection’. When Cat wants to take charge, she’ll do so, but there’s always something gentle in her touch; always something that maintains that this is no hot one night stand, but rather two lovers needing each other…and okay, a little bit of nastiness thrown in.
But this…this is rough, and demanding, and so un-Cat. “Sweetie,” I muffle, trying to pry her away from me. “Cat!” I say strongly, wrapping my fingers around her arms and roughly jerking her away from me. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What?” she says innocently, her lips red from our violent kiss.
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like kissing me is just going to make me forget that you’re keeping something from me.”
She sighs and slumps in my lap, bowing her head. She shakes her head, as though telling herself off, and rubs her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“I won’t deny that I haven’t noticed you won’t let me touch you lately, but getting some isn’t always my number one concern.”
She smiles slightly. “It usually works.”
I laugh. “I’m just waiting for you to talk to me, and then don’t worry, I’ll be taking full advantage of that.”
She giggles and wraps her arms around my neck, kissing the top of my forehead as I envelop her waist. “I’ve missed you,” she admits quietly.
“What do you mean?” I chuckle, pulling back slightly. “I’ve been here all along.”
She shrugs. “I know; I mean, I’ve just been so bogged down, it’s as though I can’t remember what being with you is like.”
“Never realized how essential sex with me is, huh?” I grin, winking at her.
She taps the side of my head lightly, trying to appear disapproving. “Shut up.”
“So come on, what’s been wrong?” I ask gently, squeezing her waist reassuringly. With the sudden injection of fun into the atmosphere, it suddenly doesn’t seem like such a pressing issue anymore; Cat’s acting as she usually does, nothing really serious could be wrong.
Her smile falters. “I…um…” She groans and looks off to her right, snatching her eyes contact away from me. After a break, she starts slowly, “Justin, things are…they’re complicated.”
“Okay.”
“The problem is…fuck, it’s hot out here,” she moans, pressing a hand to her forehead and letting out a breath of annoyed air.
“Take off your top,” I propose carelessly, more fixated with what she’s trying to tell me than the weather as I throw a fleeting glance at her shirt.
“But I’ve not got anything on underneath it,” she says, her expression suggesting my idea is too preposterous to make sense.
“And?” I shrug casually.
“What…you mean to-topless?”
I roll my eyes. “I think I’ve seen your breasts before, Cat. Why are you wearing such a thick top anyway?” I ask, plucking at the dark shirt religiously covering too much skin.
“What do you mean?” she snaps, pulling away from me and pulling her shirt closer to her body defensively. “I can wear what I want.”
“I know,” I reply, surprised at the sudden self-protective walls she put up. “I’m just saying, why don’t you throw on a cami or something? Something a little cooler.”
“Because I don’t want to, okay?” she retorts viciously, staring angrily at me, as though I had just cruelly insulted her. “And I am not going topless!”
“Okay, it was just a suggestion!” I say defensively, putting my hands up in apology. “Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she shouts, clambering off my lap and standing on the hot surface of the roof, her eyes little slits as she stares at me angrily.
“Cat, what the hell?” I chuckle slightly, her sudden fury seeming momentarily amusing. “Are you joking with me?”
“No, I’m not fucking joking with you!” she barks, wiping the smile off of my face pretty sharpish. “Jesus Justin, you’re so fucking insensitive!”
“What? Insensitive how?! I just said you could take off your top!”
She shakes her head at me, glaring at me disapprovingly. “And you have the audacity to ask me why I don’t talk to you.”
“Back the fuck off Cat, this isn’t fair!” I shout, feeling the resentment boil up inside of me as I get off the lounger so that I can argue my case in a less vulnerable position. “You just freak out on me for no fucking reason! It’s like your crazy or something!”
“I’m not crazy,” she responds tartly. “You’re being an asshole!”
“And how the hell is that?!” I ask, stepping closer and casting a shadow over her.
“Oh, so you’re trying to intimidate me now?” she scoffs as my tall frame towers over her short one threateningly. “You know what, Justin? This is just pointless.”
She begins to walk away, a slight wind picking at her brown hair and sending it fluttering; it makes her look beautiful. “No,” I refuse, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me again. “You’re not walking away from this!”
“You’re hurting me!” she says, trying to pull her arm from my stern grip.
I sigh and let her go, trying to calm my flaring emotions. “I’m sorry, but all this hot and cold you’re blowing all over me is just making me…a little angry,” I reply in a level voice, breathing deeply.
“Hot and cold?”
“Yeah, hot and fucking cold,” I bite. “You don’t talk to me all week, you don’t let me touch you all week, and you shut off any form of communication all fucking week,” I count off spitefully on my fingers, before throwing my hands back in surrender. “So fine, I give you your space and don’t force you to tell me whatever the hell it is that is bothering you, but after a while, you’re all over me!” I sigh heatedly at her, coming down off the high of my argument. “So…decide whether you’re pissed off or not, Cat.”
She shakes her head at me, her gaze full of hatred. “Fine, Justin. I’m very, very pissed off.”
And with that, she spins on her heel and walks as quickly as she can without falling to the steps of the fire escape, before rushing down them. A second later, the bang of the window being shut echoes in my ears, and I stare blankly at the spot where she had just stood.
What on earth just happened? In the blink of an eye, we had gone from awkward, to sexy, to funny, to furious. Wasn’t she supposed to be telling me what was upsetting her? I must’ve said something…but what did I say? Tracing back our conversation, I can’t think of one offensive thing that would have detracted her telling me. And why in hell did I give her that stupid ultimatum of being pissed off or not? It’s Cat, of course she’s going to be pissed.
This could be a bigger problem than I originally suspected.
-----------------------------------------
“Fuckin’ hate him, such a bastard…” I mutter to myself as I storm through the apartment, almost falling down the stairs in my rush to get to the bottom of them. “Inconsiderate species men, all of them.”
On my way to the kitchen to retrieve a soothing glass of water, the front door opens to reveal a struggling Trace, carrying too many bags for his poor little hands. I unenthusiastically help him carry the brown paper bags to the kitchen, before unceremoniously dumping them on the island and turning to leave.
“Thanks Cat,” he breathes heavily as I pause in the doorway, “I had to climb all the stairs because there’s something wrong with the elevator, and it’s just got me puffed.”
“No problem,” I murmur in response, preparing to stomp upstairs.
“Hey,” he continues, breathlessly, steadying himself with one hand on the island and one on his hips. “What’s up?”
“Nothing; I’m fine,” I reply, lowering my gaze to the floor.
He frowns. “You sure? You look a little pissed.” His face suddenly falls. “Oh no…Justin didn’t accuse you of sleeping with the doorman, did he?” He shakes his head. “I told him that was a stupid idea!”
A smile creeps onto my face. “No, but we did have an argument.”
“Oh?” he says, straightening and beginning to unload the groceries from the bags. “About what?”
“Um…” I trail off, almost unsure. “Well, we went onto the roof to talk because…well…I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but things have been pretty strained between us lately.”
“I’d noticed,” he smirks, putting a jar of mayonnaise into the refrigerator.
I blush, but continue. “Well, anyway, things were going pretty well.”
“Had you told him why you had suddenly slipped into depression yet? Or did that come after?” he asks from the depths of the refrigerator.
“Excuse me?”
He sighs, leaning on the refrigerator door and looking at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. You’ve been acting so weird these past few days…it’s as though you’re a different person. We’ve been kinda worried about you.”
“You never said anything,” I shrug.
“That’s because we’re giving you space, but honestly Cutie, what’s going on?”
“Trace, nothing is going wrong,” I insist, biting my conscience, which almost let me down earlier on with Justin. “Everyone’s just been busy this week; we haven’t had the time to see each other, that’s all.”
He rolls his eyes and slams the refrigerator door shut. “Look, even I know something’s going on, and you know I’m not one to dramatize a situation.” He shakes his head and scrunches up one of the bags. “You’ve been walking around like you watched someone brutally rip up your favorite childhood toy and then feed its remains to a bloodhound.”
I laugh to myself but surprisingly, the second the laughter rises in my throat, the sobs follow suit. It’s odd how laughter and tears can be such opposite emotions, and yet I seem to be doing both at the same time. Trace’s joke is the first thing that has made me laugh all week, and just by him telling it I can see he has no idea what a crisis I’m in. If he did, I’m sure jokes would be the last thing on his mind.
“Cat, what’s wrong?” he asks with a note of surprise in his voice, as he drops the crackers he was holding and rushes to my side to wrap an arm around my shoulders.
“Justin must be so angry with me right now,” I mumble, burying my head into the crevice of my hands.
“Don’t worry about him. You guys will be fine, it was just an argument, everyone has them…”
“Oh God Trace, I’m so scared,” I whisper, my voice shaking slightly.
“Of what? What happened between you and Justin?"
“No, not that,” I shake my head, as though I’m shaking my negative answer to the suggestion of another thing to worry about. For the first time, me and Justin’s relationship comes second place; my health has to come first.
“Has this got something to do with what’s been bothering you all week?”
I nod and sniff, wiping my eyes. “Yes.”
“Have you spoken to Justin about it?”
“No. I just…I just don’t want to see how he’s going to react.”
“Do you want to talk to me about it?” he asks gently, and even though he sounds like he’s speaking to a five year old, it somehow comforts me.
“Trace, I think I have breast cancer,” I say as quickly as I can, as though the words are too venomous to keep in my mouth.
He gasps and stands back from me in disbelief, frowning at me, waiting for me to take back my words. “What?”
“I found a lump at the club a little over a week ago,” I say helplessly, feeling another tear stain my cheek. “I’ve been to the doctor, but I have to wait for another appointment with this…specialist guy, and I don’t know when it’s going to happen. I could have to wait another month until I get one,” I continue quickly, each bit of information I kept so firmly locked up tumbling out of my mouth in one continuous stream of worries. “There’s nothing I can do until then but wait.”
Trace stares at me blankly as I clamp a hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to tell him any of that; that was strictly classified information that I was supposed to keep to myself. But it just felt like the second I opened my mouth, every poisonous little secret I’ve been keeping just fell from my mouth before I could stop it.
“Please don’t tell Justin,” I beg, gazing at him with pleading eyes.
“You haven’t told him?” he gasps in a cracked voice. “You could fucking die, and you don’t think this is something he needs to know?!”
“Trace!” I stand back in shock, tears stabbing my eyes. “Please don’t say that.”
He runs a hand through his hair and looks around him confusedly. “I’m sorry Cat, I just…I just don’t know how to take this.”
“I might not,” I offer weakly. “I mean, it’s unlikely for someone my age and all.”
“I know, I know,” he replies, leaning heavily on the island for support. “Shit, I’m sorry Cat. I--I was just expecting something less…heavy. I thought you were pissed about finding a job, or at worst you were pregnant.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That would be kids’ stuff compared to this.” I shrug. “I didn’t want to get you and Justin involved, that’s why I didn’t tell you guys.”
“And why you’ve not been talking to us all week,” he completes quietly.
“Yeah,” I whisper, tugging at my shirt.
“But,” he frowns, “what did you and Justin argue about if you didn’t tell him?”
I cock my head in thought. “He said something about breasts and it just made me angry. I can’t even remember what it was,” I chuckle. “I just felt as though he was somehow trying to make me feel guilty, and that he was being inconsiderate.”
“How could he do that if he doesn’t even know?”
I bend my head and shrug. “I don’t know.” I hate it when you realize you’ve done something completely wrong.
He rubs his temple with the palms of his hands. “I don’t understand why you’re not telling him. He has a right to know.”
“I can do this on my own,” I snap.
“But why should you do it on your own when Justin would be more than happy to help you through this? Accepting support doesn’t make you any less of a person, Cat.”
“But he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment anyway, with his album and whatnot.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t bullshit. You know that stuff doesn’t mean shit compared to you.”
“I don’t want him fussing over me, okay? This isn’t about him; it’s about me.”
“Of course it is, but he’s your boyfriend. Keeping him in the dark like this is just gonna blow up in your face in a big way, Cat, and you know it.”
“Look Trace, I’m not telling him, and neither are you,” I say sternly, wiping any remnants of tears from my face. “This is my secret to tell, not yours.”
He shakes his head in surrender. “Fine Cat, I’m not going to tell him; but I hope you realize the magnitude of what your asking me. Justin’s my best friend, and I have to keep this colossal, gigantic thing from him, which he really ought to know. How to you think that’s going to make me feel?”
“Well sorry for being so selfish,” I retort with a bite. “It’s not as though I relish in keeping things from someone I love.”
“Then why are you?!” he says exasperatedly.
“Because it’s too hard, okay?” I shout suddenly, my voice strained. “It’s too hard to admit that there might be something wrong with me. It’s too hard to accept I might die and never live the fantastic life I’ve dreamt up. It’s too hard to think about giving up things like marriage and kids with someone who actually loves me, because I’m too sick to deal with them. It’s just too fucking hard, okay?”
The room falls into silence. Trace stares at me, his emotion hidden from me as I try to hide my rapidly falling tears. There’s certainly no mistaking how I feel as I melt into the clutches of sobbing, trying desperately to stifle my cries as Trace remains stationary. Slowly, he walks over to me and wraps me in a hug, letting me sob into his shoulder and leave watery tear marks over his baggy basketball shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he says, comfortingly rubbing my back. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He sighs and holds me tighter as we hear the footsteps of Justin above us, angrily stomping around and heading into the shower. He’s probably furious with me, wondering why on earth he picked the girl with the most psychotic tendencies. I sympathize with him in a way.
“You’re gonna be okay, Cat. I’m sure. You’re gonna go for this appointment, get whatever tests you need done, and then we’ll just wait for the results, okay?”
“And what if they’re positive? What if I die, Trace?” I cry, muffling my words into his neck.
“Then we’ll do whatever we can to fight it, and you’ll beat it.” He rubs my back a few times, before pushing me out to face him. “But let’s not worry about that unless we have to, okay?”
“Okay,” I nod miserably.
“You just keep your head tall, okay Cat? And you tell Justin when you’re ready.”
“Are you going to say anything to him?”
He shrugs. “I might suggest he should back off and that you’re going through some women’s problems. That should get him off your case for a while.”
I laugh and wipe underneath my eyes. “Thanks Trace. I really need someone on my side at the moment.”
“Just remember you can make it two people on your side anytime you want.”
I roll my eyes. “If he doesn’t dump me for not sleeping, touching or talking to him.”
“What?”
I shrug. “I just can’t bear him touching me; it’s as though I’m afraid he’ll find out.”
“You do realize this is probably making him more suspicious, yes?”
I bow my head. “I know.”
Trace sighs, rubbing my back reassuringly. “You’ll be okay Cat, I promise.”
I don’t reply, instead forcing my sunglasses over my eyes and heading towards the door. “I’m going to go for a walk; just to clear my head, you know.”
“Sure,” he nods. “I’ll tell Justin where you went.”
“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” I say to him, opening the door. “Try and cheer Justin up for me, would you? He doesn’t deserve to feel like crap just because his girlfriend is crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, you’re just under a lot of stress.”
As I’m heading out of the door, I pause in the doorframe and look back to him. “Trace…if I did tell Justin, how do you think he would react?”
Trace shrugs, exhaling loudly. “He’d probably march you over to the most prestigious, expensive clinic there is and demand that they make you all better.” He laughs. “You know Justin; he’d stomp his foot until he got his way.”
I roll my eyes affectionately and nod. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t have to come to that.”
Trace looks at my sympathetically. “Yeah, let’s hope so.”
--------------------------------------------
I can see her, even if she can’t see me.
She tosses her house keys onto the table in the hall and pulls off her sunglasses, running a hand through her wavy hair. She stands still for a moment, with her head bent into her hands, and takes a few steady breaths, as though she’s preparing herself for something. Giving herself a shake, she lifts her head up and starts to walk towards the kitchen, her gaze fixed to the floor. Unbeknownst to her, I sit quite comfortably on the island, swinging my legs leisurely.
“You’re back,” I say simply, causing her to jump and look up.
She holds a hand to her chest in surprise. “Justin! I didn’t know you were in here.”
“You didn’t look.”
Her eyes nervously flit around guiltily. “Um…yeah.”
“So,” I begin, hopping off the wooden counter. “How was your walk?”
“Fine,” she mumbles, her fingers interlocking as she anxiously twiddles her thumbs. “I just needed to clear my head.”
“Where did you go?”
She looks at me warily, as though she’s searching for some kind of trap in my words. “Just around, you know…went to Central Park, had a coffee; stuff like that.”
“You were out kind of late,” I reply, lifting a toned arm to check my watch. “It’s seven already.”
“Is it?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Didn’t Trace tell you where I went?”
“Yeah, he did.”
She nods slowly. “Well…there’s no problem then, is there?”
When my mouth stays in a firm line and I deny her of a response, she timidly starts to ravel her hair around her index finger and suddenly finds her shoes fascinating.
“I’m--”
“Sorry about earlier?” I finish for her, with an element of impatience.
She glances up at me, eyeing me cautiously. “Uh…yeah.”
“I thought you would be.”
The chunky brown belt she hung over her hips suddenly finds itself being toyed with. “Well, I am. I think it was the heat, you know…just made me a little crazy.”
“A little?”
She bites her lip. “A lot.”
“You’re right,” I reply firmly, crossing my arms. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and you completely lashed out for absolutely no reason.”
“I know, I know…and you have every right to be mad.”
“I know I do, that’s why I am,” I reply in a no nonsense tone.
She slowly shuffles her feet and places her hands behind her back, like a schoolchild being told off for not doing their homework. “I am sorry, I think--”
“What, Cat? You think you’ve almost run out of bullshit excuses for me? Yeah, I couldn’t agree more.”
She looks up at me, her eyes hurt. “I’ve not been bullshitting you,” she says timidly.
“Oh?” I respond disbelievingly. “So why haven’t you been talking to me all week? Why have you suddenly become frigid? Why do you fly off the handle at me at the smallest, most insignificant thing?”
Once again, her top row of teeth attack her pink bottom lip. “It’s…it’s nothing, really…”
“Bullshit!” I shout, cutting her off. “There is something going on, and I don’t know why you suddenly want secrets between us!”
“I don’t want secrets,” she replies weakly.
“Neither do I.”
She twists the cloth of her shirt around her middle finger and looks out of the corner of her eyes at the row of cabinets, avoiding eye contact. “Stop fidgetting!” I demand, clasping a hand over hers. “Just talk to me.”
She shrugs. “I have nothing to say.”
“Yes you do; don’t lie to me.”
“Justin, I don’t know what I can say that will--”
“Baby, all I want is the truth,” I interrupt softly, approaching her cautiously. “You know I’ll be able to help you with whatever this is.”
“Nothing’s wrong…”
“Jesus Christ Cat!” I shout suddenly, slamming my hand on the polished wood of the counter. “Do I look stupid?”
She jumps back at the sudden show of aggressiveness. “Don’t be angry,” she says quietly, twisting her hands again.
I lean against the island, breathing heavily. “I’m not angry, I’m just…upset.”
“Justin…” A hand smoothes over my back gently, rubbing me in between my shoulder blades. “We’re fighting about nothing. I swear, I’m fine. I don’t know why I’ve been so temperamental these past few days.”
At my snort of disbelief, she hurriedly continues. “I think…maybe it’s because I’ve just been feeling so useless lately.”
“What?” I frown, turning to her slowly.
“Well, I don’t have a job, and up until now I’ve always had something to worry about, be it my dad or you and Trace, or whatever…” she takes a deep breath. “With nothing to do, I just feel…like a big waste of space.”
“How can you feel like a waste of space?” I ask gently, nudging towards her slightly. “You know me and Trace depend on you far more than we should.”
She laughs slightly. “I guess just seeing you recording and seeing Trace on the phone to all these magazine guys and stuff…it just makes me realize that I’m not doing anything with myself.”
“Cat, you do lots of stuff. You talk to me and Trace, calming us down when we’re crazy; you religiously check back with your family to make sure that things are okay over there; you keep the house in good shape…and I know cleaning isn’t your priority and you’re not a housewife, so I appreciate it,” I finish, after glimpsing an appalled feminist expression. “You’re taking a break Cat, because you deserve one. You said yourself you’ve been working every weekend since you were nineteen; you need to just slouch around, doing nothing.”
She shrugs noncommittally, not looking me in the eye.
“Is that it? Is that why you’ve been acting like this all week?” It makes perfect sense; I know how frustrating it is watching someone carry on with their life smoothly when yours has reached a crashing standstill. Did Cat think it was easy watching her spin out article after article as I made bread houses with my toast?
She nods quickly; a little too quickly. “Yeah…yeah, that’s it.”
I frown slightly, part of my not believing her. “Because you know if it was anything else, you can always come to me…”
“Yup, I know,” she replies firmly, raveling a strand of hair around her finger.
I gently unlatch it, smiling at her. “You could have just told me.”
“I know, but I just…” she looks up, her eyes crashing on mine. “Sometimes I feel like all I am is a worry to you.”
“I’ve told you before,” I smirk, cupping her face with my hands. “I like worrying about you. You’re like my very own little doll that I get to take care of.”
She giggles, timidly wrapping her arms around my waist. “I thought you were the bitch in this relationship?”
“Nah, I just let you believe that. Really, I wear the pants here.” I gently kiss the tip of her nose and smile at her, as she rests her head on my shoulder. “You seem really tired,” I murmur, stroking her back.
“I am,” she replies softly.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” I ask gently, not masking the suggestiveness in my voice.
She pulls back, her face faltering nervously. “Um…what?”
“You know,” I smile, interlocking our fingers and rubbing my nose against hers, “upstairs. To the bed we share, to do the nasty things we ought to.”
She lets out a hesitant smile. “Well, I don’t know about that…”
“Oh come on, baby,” I whine, dropping my hands to her hips and skimming my fingers just underneath her shirt. “I want you nooow.”
She pulls back slightly, her gaze shifting nervously. “It’s far too early to go to bed.”
I groan and step away from her, hearing Trace’s footsteps pound the stairs as he runs down them. “Okay, but tonight; you owe me,” I grin cheekily, stealing a quick kiss.
“Sure,” she replies weakly.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask, wrapping my long fingers around her delicate wrist before she can run away. “You don’t seem to like the idea as much as I do,” I laugh.
She quickly stands on her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek and gives me a reassuring smile. “Of course I am. I was just, um, you know…trying to be a tease.”
“Oh,” I laugh, releasing her wrist and placing a kiss on the top of her hand. “Nice try honey, but you know you can never resist me for too long.”
She rolls her eyes and slips her hand away from mine, mumbling something about a shower, before rushing upstairs hastily. Raising an eyebrow at her schizophrenic nature, I shrug and start picking at grapes as Trace enters the kitchen, asking whether me and Cat have made up.
I’m so glad Cat decided to tell me the truth; not that it was that big of a deal anyway. I was stupid not to have realized it before. Cat’s too independent to be sitting at the side all the time, of course it was going to bother her. I’ll just have to get her mind fixed on a project or something, because honestly, I don’t think she should go back to work for a while. She needs a break.
Her behavior is still a little off, especially with how she reacted when I started suggesting we go upstairs. But I suppose I’m just forgetting that she’s a little shy and timid like that; she can’t seriously not want to sleep with me. I mean come on, I’ve been working out tons lately, I look great.
Who wants to bet God will smite me for being such a smartass by turning Cat into a lesbian?
Nevertheless, I’m so happy me and Cat are back on track. All it took was a little communication, and perhaps a little persuading tonight, and we’ll be on fire. We love each other and, better yet, we’re honest with each other. All of her secrets are mine, and all mine hers. No matter what, we can come to each other with whatever is wrong, and we’ll help each other through it; I love that about us.
Honestly, what was I worrying myself about?
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