Ed lives on one of those New York streets that you never see in the movies. It’s not the expensive, ritzy area of the Upper East Side of Manhattan that Justin inhabits, nor the rough, course area of the Bronx. It was just some sort of middle ground in between, comfortable, but still the sort of place that has potholes in the road and a cheap mock-Italian diner on the corner.
It’s not the gloriously shiny, perfected penthouse that Justin lives in, but it’s the only place I can go.
Thankfully, in this quieter section of Brooklyn, I don’t have to battle to cross the road in the midst of hundreds of cars. Keeping my head down to hide my clearly tearstained face from the couples walking down the dull gray sidewalk hand in hand and the confident New York individuals that you just know wouldn’t give you the time of day even if you were on the ground bleeding to death, I quickly run across the street, the few bags I managed to hurriedly pack banging against my leg irritatingly.
I push the button of the intercom to buzz Ed impatiently, feeling suppressed tears welling up behind the huge pair of dark sunglasses I had donned to disguise the redness of my pupils. Thank goodness it’s sunny today.
“Y’ello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” I mumble, chewing my bottom lip to calm myself; no matter how distraught I am, I think I can spare the guy sweeping the street a dramatic outburst.
“Cat? That you?”
Clearly my voice has suffered from the tears. “Yeah,” my voice cracks, and I quickly wipe beneath my eyes under the glasses. “Can I stay with you for a while?”
“What?”
I spare a glance for the man sweeping the sidewalk, who had stopped and was staring at me with his head rested on the top of his broom. “Can I just come up?”
“Oh yeah, sure.”
The buzz lets me in, and the steps leading to the top floor apartment, which is more a loft than anything, pass quickly. Ed stands at his doorway, his skinny, somewhat lanky frame dressed in a stripy shirt and black pants, his entire demeanor so different from Justin’s super cool, hip manner. His dark brown hair is curly like Justin’s is, only a little more “poofy” as Justin might term it. And his eyes, confused and brown, are like Justin’s were, confused but blue, as he told me he didn’t love me anymore.
Without saying a word, Ed takes my bags from me, wraps an arm around my shoulder, and leads me into the apartment.
I sink into his old brown couch, one that literally swallows you up at the slightest weight in an oddly comforting way. Surrounding me are his numerous plaques of achievement, celebrating his intelligence. The furniture is relatively minimal, with a simple couch and armchair around a small television, miniscule compared to Justin’s goodness-knows-how-many-inches-wide Plasma. The kitchen is nothing more than a box, with a stove and a few cupboards and the tiniest refrigerator known to man, Ed’s bedroom has one double bed crammed into it, along with a bedside table and a rather intimidating bookcase…but that’s just about it, that‘s the whole apartment. No spacious cooking space, no television emerging from the ceiling, no designer paint (yes, there is such a thing) coating the tall walls and rich wood surfaces.
No Justin.
“So,” Ed’s voice breaks my thoughts and a glass of water is waved in front of my face.
“Thanks,” I murmur, taking it with a shaky grip and unsteadily bringing the glass to my lips. After taking a sip, I place it on the coffee table covered with newspapers and books with interesting pages turned down at the corner, as well as peeling off my sunglasses and tiredly throwing them on the surface as Ed sits on the armchair to my left.
“God,” Ed mutters upon seeing my pale, completely un-made up face. I can only imagine how terrible I look; without even a flick of mascara and red-rimmed eyes, it’s no secret something is terribly wrong.
“It didn’t work.”
He frowns. “What didn’t work?”
I raise my gaze to meet his. “The plan. The plan to ingeniously change myself to enhance my broken relationship. It didn’t work.”
“I see,” he says, resting his elbows on his knees and nodding thoughtfully. “What happened?”
My lower lips shakes, and I can already feel the tears rising in my throat. A silence draws out as Ed waits patiently, never motioning to interrupt me or hurry up an answer, before I finally reply. “He just…doesn’t love me anymore.”
I collapse into the burrow of my hands, unstoppable tears wetting my hands as Ed moves to sit next to me, rubbing my back comfortingly.
“Last night was amazing,” I cry, the pitch of my voice going haywire because of the lack of control that comes with crying. “And this morning, things seemed perfect, just perfect, but then…God, it just happened so quickly, you know?”
Ed remains silent, not rushing me or inserting a comment, but just sitting, rubbing my back, without complaint. I don’t even stop to think this doesn’t make an inkling of sense to him, but nevertheless he doesn’t say a word.
“I mean, I just…I just can’t believe that this morning I was with someone I love more than, well, anything,” I splutter helplessly, trying to wipe at the never-ending stream of tears. “And now…I’m not. I’m…not.”
No matter how stupid or obvious it may sound to verbally state that as a fact, giving actual recognition like this is just…painful.
“If only I hadn’t pushed him to talk with me and act normal, or…or if only he had just fucking talked instead of giving me some stupid silent treatment!” The anger fails as soon as it starts. “How could this happen?”
Ed pulls me towards him, and my face instinctively buries itself into the crook of his neck, letting out a muffled wail that comes from the pit of my very shattered heart.
I don’t stop crying for hours.
----------------------------------------------
“Okay, so you don’t know where your belt is, what about your shoes?”
Why have I never noticed that Trace’s hair goes sorta…kinda, like…lopsided on one side. Some gel would really just spruce that right up…
“I’duno.”
“What?” he leans forward, straining to understand me.
“I do not knooow,” I repeat slowly, the words feeling like mush in my mouth as Trace goes slightly out of focus in my vision.
Through the haze, I just barely make out a puzzled expression. “How much have you had to drink?”
I wave my arms about haphazardly, trying to tell him to back off. “I dunno…like, like, like, a few…dozen.”
“Oh Jesus,” he mutters, placing his hands under my arms and roughly pulling me off the couch onto my feet. “This is just like the old days.”
“What? No, no, no, no…no!” I shout out, although the words sounds far less crisp than I wish they did. “I’m mush-more grown up and mature and adult and grown up.”
“Of course you are…shit Justin, did you lose your shirt too!” Trace exclaims, frowning at the bare chest beneath my jacket in bewilderment.
“I gave it all to that gay,” I mumble, hooking my arm around his neck as we slowly stumble towards the staircase.
“That what?”
“Guy, I meant guy…”
“What guy?”
“The guy lying down on the er, on the er, on the…” I stop walking and rub my eye in confusion, trying to swathe through the befuddled information in my head to find the right word. “Sidewalk! The guy on the sidewalk.”
“So let me guess,” Trace grunts as my legs give way and I suddenly tightened my desperate grip on his neck. “There’s one well dressed hobo walking around the streets of New York as we speak, right?”
Is that right? It sounds about right. But I’m not sure, I just, I just can’t figure it out, my brain won‘t work… “Mmm.”
“Okay Justin, that’s it,” says Trace sternly, suddenly unhooking my arm from his neck and letting me stagger unsteadily for a moment, before finding the safety of a wall to lean against. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I think…I think…I’m a little drunk.”
“A little?” he snaps. “I’ve not seen you this bad since that Grammy party four years ago. And I don’t need to remind you how that ended…”
My eyes squint in bewilderment at him.
He rolls his eyes, making a move to aid my walking again. “In short, you tried to hit on Joey. Now, let’s get you to bed.”
“Ishnot my fault!”
“Yes it is your fault, Justin,” Trace quips, shaking his head as he reluctantly throws my arm over his shoulder. “Please don’t tell me you’ve left Cat stranded on her own in some sleazy nightclub.”
Cat.
Cat.
Cat.
The name echoes in my clouded mind. I’d very almost forgotten about her. Her, Cat, my ex girlfriend. Another discard on the ever-growing pile of old girlfriends who confused me until the point of total anguish.
If someone had told me say, three months ago, that I would be breaking up with Cat, I would have first told them to stop being ridiculous, and then imagined the heart wrenching agony that would ensue from separating myself from her. This is a woman that I could easily see myself marrying, I’d never met anyone like her, we were meant to be, bla, bla, bla.
So why did I feel such an overwhelming feeling of relief when I told her I didn’t love her anymore? I watched her walk out of that door with my own two eyes, and I honestly didn’t think to stop her. It was hard, but it was the best thing for both of us.
I know it’s an overused analogy, but if a person is bitten by a snake, they suck the poison out. Surely it’s the same in life: if someone has become a surplus of negativity on you and your life, you cut them out of it, right? That’s what I was trying to do with Cat. Instead of being a ray of sunshine, if you’ll excuse the overt cheesiness of that term, she had become a dark, sordid corner of my life that inevitably caused me strain. She’s my poison, so I had to suck her out.
It made sense at the time, I swear.
As Trace hauls me up the fourth step, my cracked lips try to form the words. “She’s gone.”
“Gone…” he grunts, pulling me up to the fifth, “where?”
“Away.”
Trace groans and hauls my limp body up another stair, letting out an exasperated breath through his gritted teeth. “That’s lots of help, thanks.”
Just when it seems Trace will finally buckle under my weight, we reach the top of the staircase and he drags me towards my bedroom. Collapsing on the bed and never moving seems the best bet, so I do so, a pounding pain erupting between my eyes.
“Seriously Justin, where’s Cat?” Trace asks distractedly as he wrestles my jacket off me; a task much hindered by my reluctance to move any of my heavy limbs. “It’s not safe for her to be out there on her own.”
For a moment, my impending hangover ceases and I muster the strength to raise my hands to cover my stinging eyes shamefully. The realization of what I’ve just done comes falling down on me painfully; my stomach knots up, tears beg to be released from my eyes, and the hangover returns with full force.
“Justin…” Vaguely, Trace’s voice makes it’s way through my clogged mind. “Justin, what’s wrong? Are you crying, man?”
“No,” I try to force out, but the thickness of my voice is an easy sign of an impending meltdown.
He pulls my hands from my face and his concerned brown eyes float into my vision.
“Do you feel sick? You’ll be alright, dude, we got some Advil in the cabinet--”
“No, it’s not that…” I mutter, pulling myself to a sitting position despite the agonies that it causes me to do so. “It’s me and Cat.”
The bed sinks beside me as Trace sits down on the soft downy blankets of the bed and awkwardly places a hand on my back. He’s never been good at comforting, but bless his little socks for trying.
“We’re over.” I sober up instantly, the reality developing instantly before my very eyes at the harsh sound of the words out loud.
He makes an odd choking noise of disbelief. “But-but…what?” he splutters.
I almost smile at his reaction, but no sooner have the corners of my mouth lifted then my eyes release a few tears, salty reminders of the burning misery in the pit of my chest.
“Things were weird, we fell into an argument and then…it just sort of happened, I can’t explain it.”
“When?” Trace says in an aghast voice barely above a whisper, still shocked at the news. Will everyone be this surprised? Probably; me and Cat were impenetrable, the golden couple that everyone wanted to be. Now, we’re just…two separate people with no connection to link us together at all.
“This morning.” I rub my moist eyes and try to sit up straight, still trying to disconnect myself from the liquor pooling around in my stomach. “Because you see, well, er…”
“Come on man, you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”
I send him a smile sideways, wondering where on earth I’d be without him. “Last night, we sort of, well, we had a pretty passionate night.” Trace nods wordlessly. “And that’s been the first time in ages, because you know, I just haven’t wanted to touch her since everything that happened.”
“Then what made last night different?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, my shoulders slumped. “I think it was just that I hadn’t seen her in ages, I haven’t been with anyone in even longer, and, oh man, she looks great. She’s lost a ton of weight, by the way.”
“Really?” he says in surprise, his eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah, and all of those things combined…I just couldn’t help myself.” My eyes travel over the rather bland beige color of the wallpaper, perked up by photos proudly put in frames of me and the guys, me and Trace, and of course, me and Cat.
“But then this morning…you know how the morning light just makes things seem so much different?”
“You’re talking to the King of one-night-stands here,” he smirks, nudging me in the side.
I smile weakly. “It was kind of like that. Suddenly, it was like Cat’s weight loss and her happiness just seemed so…wrong. As though she had morphed from my Cat, the sadistically funny one, into this carbon copy of all the other girls I’ve dated.”
I massage my forehead. “I can’t really call it wrong, because there wasn’t anything ‘wrong’ about the way she is now, but…she just went against everything that I loved about her so much.” I fall back, reacquainting my spine with the blue covers on my bed. “So I told her that I didn’t love her any more.”
“And don’t you?”
Don’t I? Can I honestly look at Ms Catherine Saunders and say with faith that I don’t feel any of the violent love that I have for a year?
No. But I can look at the Cat I met last night and that has existed for the past few months and say confidently, no, I don’t love her.
“I--” My voice falters. “I don’t know.”
“Shit Justin, this is really…” he trails off and runs a hand through his short brown curls.
“Fucked up?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, so was me and Cat’s relationship.” A tiny drop of confidence dribbles into my bloodstream. “Yeah…yeah, you know what? I was right in breaking things off with her. That’s what I had to do to move on. Cut the bad out of my life. Make things…not messy again.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
My head snaps to the side in surprise, my brain sloshing around painfully. “What?”
Gone is the sympathetic tone he rarely adopts, and back is Trace’s customary aggressive manner. “I’m sorry, but you’re really kidding yourself if you think for one second that Cat is some sort of blemish on your otherwise perfect life.”
“What?” I try to erect my back defiantly to face the challenge of Trace’s menacing face, but find it harder than usual. Of course, the dizziness is back.
“Look at yourself, Justin. Why did you go out and get shitfaced if this was such a good idea?”
“Because it was a difficult thing to do, as the right thing often is! Sure, it would have been easier to stay with her, but come on man, you saw how screwed things were between us.”
“So? Things have always been screwy between you two. It’s your fucking quirk. How could you give up so easily?”
“You’re being stupid,” I reply, standing up on my jelly-like legs that could give way any second. “And anyway, you don’t know how things really were.”
“I had a pretty good idea,” he says, following me as I approach the bathroom, one hand firmly glued on the wall to guide me. “And yeah, things were bad, but you two love each other like crazy. Don’t pretend that’s not true.”
“We used to,” I correct, trying to spin around but ultimately stumbling pathetically. “But I know for sure that I don’t feel for her the way I used to. What was I supposed to do, jerk her around until I got bored and broke her heart even more?”
“You’re a mess,” he says scornfully, eyeing me up and down. “I don’t suppose you spared a thought for Cat, did you? Where did she go?”
“I don’t know!” That sinking feeling that you only get after you realized you’ve done something wrong descends on me, but I roughly push it away. “She just packed some shit and left.”
“And you didn’t stop her?”
“She wanted to leave!”
“Did she really?” says Trace sarcastically. “I know for a fact that girl will be crying her eyes out right this second over you, Justin. She really, really loved you. Why else would she change the way she’s been for her entire life? It was all for you!”
I stagger through the door into the white tiled haven of the bathroom, firmly shutting and bolting the door behind me to block out Trace and his glaringly real words.
“Just get away from me Trace, you don’t understand anything!” I shout drunkenly through the white wooden barrier of the door. But by God, he does. He seems to understand things better than I do.
“Fine, then you can deal with your fucking hangover yourself. I’m going to call Cat and find out if she’s okay, because you clearly don’t give a shit.”
Sitting down on the rim of the bathtub, my nails cling onto the edge unsteadily as tears helplessly fall down my cheeks.
I did what was best for both of us, I’m sure of it.
---------------------------------------------------------
“Cat.”
Ed softly nudges me, waking me from my semi-slumberous state. “What? Yeah?” His face hovers above me from my position sprawled across the couch, half awake and half asleep, vaguely hearing the faint notes of an episode of Friends playing in the background.
“Your purse is vibrating,” he replies, handing me my bag and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
I smile at him and sit up, rummaging through my purse until I finally find my ringing blue cell phone. Ed slyly sits on the armchair and pretends to be interested in “The One With The Ick Factor”, trying to hide the fact he’s secretly hoping that Justin has decided to call to say he didn’t mean a word he said and realizes he made a terrible mistake and wants me back and will love me forever.
You and me both, kid.
I flip the phone open whilst rubbing my eye and yawning, feeling a slight headache coming on, no doubt from my relentless crying earlier.
The second I see Trace’s name flash on the screen, the phone’s lid is shut with a quick snap and I throw it back in my purse, losing it amongst the sea of crap in there.
“Trace,” I reply, before Ed’s mouth can form the words to ask. “I’m not answering it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, putting my purse on the floor and standing up. I pull up my jeans and pause, my fingers hooked in the belt loops. “I just…no, I can’t speak to him.”
“Okay,” nods Ed, in a way that makes me feel that it really is okay for me to feel this way.
I stumble towards the bathroom, still slightly lethargic from my sort of sleep. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I almost gag at the horribly pale, tired looking face staring back at me. My newly-cut hair has lost its bounce, and hangs rather limply past my shoulders, looking as dejected as I feel.
I snort as I rinse my hands, eyeing the brown locks that I was just so happy with yesterday. It was all a waste, wasn’t it? Even if I had looked like the exotic lovechild of Brad Pitt and Halle Berry, Justin still would have broken up with me.
God, when will saying that feel normal?
“How are you feeling?” Ed asks as I return to the living room, having tied up my hair with the elastic band on my wrist.
I shrug. “Shell-shocked?”
He smiles as I collapse back onto the sofa, my eyes glazing over as I watch the Friends episode, before his voice floats through my hearing.
“Maybe this is a good thing?”
I slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”
“Bear with me before you exude the rushes of incredulity,” he says, and a tiny smile twigs at the corners of my mouth. “I know right now, things couldn’t seem worse.”
“Correct.”
“And you physically feel as thought someone is gashing your heart in two.”
“Correct.”
“But trust me Cat, you’re going to be fine,” he says in a light tone, as though it’s wonderfully clear.
“Ed, I don’t think you quite understand,” I reply shakily. “Justin was involved in every aspect of my life. He was like…glue. He kept everything together.”
“Honey, that’s not true. You can survive perfectly well without him.”
“How?” I ask frantically. “It’s like having three quarters of my life suddenly lopped off. There’s a big…gap in the shape of Justin.”
“Look, I understand that he was an integral part of your life,” his voice rises to overbear my interruptions, “but surely you can see that that was a fatal misjudgment on your behalf?”
I fall silent, frowning in confusion.
“You’ve said it yourself; that you’d become too dependent on your boyfriend, that you needed to separate yourself a little from him.”
“Yes, a little, not entirely.”
“But you managed without him for what, twenty years before he came along? You can do it again.”
I shuffle uncomfortably. “I guess.”
“You will. ” He moves off the armchair and kneels before me, putting his hands on my knees affectionately. “You’ve got everything going for you; you’re young, smart, beautiful, and you live in one the best cities in the world to use these things to your advantage. Why not take this as an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with all the things that you’ve perhaps ignored since you’ve been with Justin? Like your career, or just growing up as a person.”
I sigh and shake my head. “I mean, I know you’re right, of course you’re right, but…it’s just so, so hard to imagine myself without him. He’s not going to be there when I wake up in the morning, he’s not going to be there when I got to bed at night…”
“Cat sweetheart, how old are you?”
“Twenty two.”
“Exactly,” he says firmly, patting my knees before shifting onto the couch beside me. “You’re so young.”
“So?”
“So you can bounce back after this. It’s not as though you’re this forty five year old woman who had her last shot at love. You’ve got years of meeting new guys, falling for them, and then breaking up with them, and then starting all over again.” He sighs, and glances at the floor. “I know we’ve not known each other long Cat, but I really do think you’re an amazing woman.”
“Then why did Justin break up with me?” I ask desperately.
“Something went wrong with your relationship, and you guys couldn’t fix it. That’s just the way it is.”
“But I tried so hard!” My voice shows signs of my slipping into hysteria again, and Ed quickly interrupts with his smooth rationality.
“I know you did, and I commend you, but you’re just going to have to come to terms with the fact that…well…maybe you and Justin just weren’t meant to be.”
His words hit a nerve, and I quickly stand up, eager to get away from him. “No, no, you never saw us together, we were perfect!”
He stands up also. “Cat, don’t get upset, I’m just trying to make you see that you can’t let this drag you down. You should use this as a chance to just focus on yourself for now.”
I sigh deeply again, feeling the tiredness ease its way into my bones. “Maybe.”
“Cat, you’ve been through a hell of a lot lately; more than most people deal with in a whole decade. But you’re single now, you’ve cut all the strings. Time to start afresh.”
“That’s what I was doing by going to the gym and making myself ‘hot’.”
“Yes, but this time it’s not for someone else, it’s for you.”
------
“Really, I’ll just sleep on the couch,” I insist, holding the folded clothes I had worn during the day in my hands, as I had changed into my pajamas right after refusing dinner because I just couldn’t bear the thought of food. Odd, because it used to be such a comfort.
“Of course not, it’s either my bed or I’ll book you into a hotel.”
“You’re a good guy, Ed,” I smile, squeezing his hand gratefully. “At least sleep in the bed with me.”
“One day and you’re already in bed with another man? Tut, tut, Missy.”
I laugh for the first time since I left Justin’s apartment, a real shock to my throat, which had spent all day being congested with tears. I place my pile of clothes on the desk chair and start preparing Ed's bed.
“Did you call Trace back?”
“You think I should?” I ask, fluffing a pillow between my hands.
Ed nods as he pulls back the covers. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not really fair on him to be shut out. He probably just wants to know that you’re okay.”
“I suppose,” I shrug, dropping the pillow and heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
It never occurred to me before, but breaking up with Justin is effectively breaking up with Trace. No matter how close we are, and goodness knows how close me and Trace have become, there’s no way in hell Trace could ever pass the loyalty he has for Justin over to me. And I don’t blame him. I’ll miss the little guy, though.
It’s surprising how quickly one can come to terms with something. Humans are more resilient than we give ourselves credit for. I only broke up with Justin what, fifteen hours ago? And already I’m accepting the fact that I may never even see him again. The pain is still there, I’m not going to guess how long it’s going to be there for, but at least I don’t have any hope that we’ll get back together. How can we? After all the things we’ve said, and after everything that’s happened between us in the past few months…no, it’s almost impossible.
But I think I’ve always been like this. I’ve always accepted things rather than spending too long pining for them to be different. That’s what I was doing this past month in my relationship with Justin, wasn’t it? And it proved to be a waste of time. I’m sick of wishing things would go back to the way they were, when they so clearly never will.
After putting my toothbrush back on the rack, I splash a little water on my face, take a painkiller for the horrific headache pounding in my temple, and go back to the bedroom where Ed lies in the bed, reading some French book.
I crawl in beside him and pull the blankets up to my chin, eager to just drift away in to dream world to ignore the problems in my current one.
“Thanks for letting me stay with you, Ed,” I say, my eyes fixed on the ceiling.
He glances sideways, folding down his page before putting his book down on the floor. “That’s okay Cat. You know you’re welcome here for as long as you want.” He reaches over to switch off the lamp, dropping the room into darkness.
My eyes are still transfixed to the ceiling, as though I’m expecting it to open and just pour out a magic solution to make everything better. Noises from the street outside waft through the open window; a car or two passes below, there’s even the shouts of a drunken idiot stumbling down the street. I can’t help but wonder where Justin is, what he’s doing, how he’s feeling. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again without thinking those things.
“Ed?”
“Yeah?” he shifts slightly beside me, turning over to face me.
“I really loved him.”
The sobs begin to invade my body, and even Ed’s comforting arm around can’t console the horrible dying feeling inside of me.
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