And I loved her... sooo much... although it had grown stale... and sort of fucked up... maybe even abusive (those on the outside, who never understood us, might have said.) And so I made the call... after that last fight... to give it a break... just for a while... just to catch our breath... and get it back on track... get our shit together, separately, and see what it was we wanted, without the constant fucking and recriminations... and then right back into bed again.
Yeah I made the call, from that easy place within the sickness, and in the aftermath of another day we’d fucked away together; that we needed to take a break, just for a while... because we’d talked about it so long... I’d talked about it so long. During those long nights we’d sat alone... speculating on what might be out there.... out there beyond what we had together... here in the warm... with the doors locked. Undefined and unexplored. And in the back of my head, but never said out loud.... what if we did find it... and it wasn’t built for two? What treachery... after all those times she’d helped me see it... at least at the start... when it was good... and before the awful shattered mornings... when all the dreams had shimmered out ... back into the mists that hung outside.
And I never went outside... into the loud lights and the cold... never was much good at that... all that doing shit... when we could just stay inside and fuck... close our eyes and dream again.... of all that waited for us down the road, of all the good stuff, that we would get around to doing one day; but just not today...because today was cold again... and we were fucking in the warm.
All nice and safe... until the mornings... and then the insults and recriminations of another day pissed away again... never to return. Another day of staring out towards the mist.... and fighting the knowing that it was hiding out there, whatever IT might be... tormenting me in dreams, gnawing at me again... writhing in my sweats... in that stale aftermath of fucking.
Always too cold to go outside... into the mist... against the soft, ‘Come back to beds...’ and, ‘let’s throw this day away.’ And every time I did... ever knowing that the sand was sliding out; another fear that needed drowning. And even further down inside, in that part she could never see... still knowing that this day would come. And perhaps she counted too? Inside her own small, hidden heart... counted down towards her own constructions. And god knows what shapes they were... and what it was that she imagined... waiting for us out there in the mist.
And so I left her... still inside the sickness of our latest fight I slunk away. And she was fine... like I’d always known she would be. No pleading and no threats. No melodrama or, ‘You’ll be backs!” Just lay there and watched me leave... and then turned again to sleep... the way she always did... after every time we fucked.
And I don’t know if she ever thought of me... or if there were others during those hundred days... all I know is there were none for me, beyond poor imitations in coffee shops, that simply made me think of her... and of what we’d had. And all of that was fine... because I was never looking for another... because that was us... and always would be. And of course I knew, hidden inside... that she was still back there... waiting for me.
I always knew that... during those days... that she would still be there.... in our room... waiting. Waiting while I performed the penance... for when my days were done... for when I came back in from the cold and wandering. From edging down that road trying to see how far it went. I knew she’d still be there... at the end... on my return... and that we’d fuck again. And that this time it would be great, like it had been at the start... before those empty, wasted days.
And so I wandered... towards the time for my return... and my hundred days were done. And I never found it hard.... beyond those first few weeks... when her scent still hung upon me. And the weeks bled into others, which in turn bled into months, until all her scent was gone. And there was just a memory... of what we used to be. And sure outside it was cold... just like she’d said it would be... but I learnt to wrap up warm, and watch what others did... all those who’d never had her in their lives, or maybe had, but never said... and which I’d never speculated on.
And then I returned. And she was waiting... and never once asked where I’d been.
And it felt good to see her... and tell her of my travels... and what lay out beyond the mist. And that yes it had been loud at times, just sooo fucking loud at times, just like she’d said it would be... but I’d found the hidden places...where it was quiet and made sense. And that inside them was a tone... that when you really listened hard... simply whispered, ‘Don’t be scared...’ And that it made me think of us... and how all we ever did was fuck.
And she just smiled... and pulled back the covers... and pointed out towards the mist... and it was rolling in again... and finally I realised… that it was driven by her hand.
And she said that she was pleased I’d been outside... to get it all out of my system... and that all the good things I’d talked about would still be there... for us... and that we could take that trip together... for sure... one day...like we’d always talked about... just not today... because surely I could see the mist.