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“Stop,” I said. I didn’t want to hear his wishes or regrets. Things were as they were. And they had to be dealt with. “I’m so angry.”
“Lay it all here,” he said, holding his arms wide. “I can take it. I want to.”
The anger was so intense that I could have shoved him, hit him, bit him, cut him. My body shook with rage, and it had to be released. But not onto him. Because: bad things. Bad things happening and being repeated, harms inflicted, passed on. Michelle. Me. The violence had to stop with me.
So I didn’t touch Aleks. I smashed up the office instead. It started with the computer and its slow internet. The large screen then lay on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling, as I flung every book, ornament, object and thing from every shelf, desk and windowsill. The pictures came off the wall. The comfy chairs were too heavy for me to upend with my hurt arm. So Aleks helped. I glared at him. I didn’t want his help.
And then Holly walked in. “Oh ma—”
I spun round. “If you don’t like what you see, learn to knock!”
She backed out, hands held up.
The energy in the room, in me, changed. The anger wasn’t gone, not completely, but it had receded somewhat. For now.
I touched Aleks’s arm. He covered my hand with his. But it was too soon to talk. I couldn’t talk. So I left him there, in the mess, and walked through to the kitchen and Holly.
It was too soon to talk there too. But there was cake. And hot chocolate. And Holly squeezed my shoulders as I sat at the big table.
Lunchtime soon came, and I went through to the great hall to join my friends. But I couldn’t settle, couldn’t eat. Anger might have calmed, but a feeling of disquiet sat with me at the dining table. It had to be addressed before it grew into something dark and distressing.
“Justin,” I said. “Would you teach Aleks’s class this afternoon for him?”
“Ballet?” he replied, looking doubtful. “Phi, it’s really not my thing. I certainly couldn’t teach it.”
“I’ll do it,” said Will.
That sorted, I returned to the scene of my earlier rage. Aleks stood at his desk, having restored the computer to its proper place, but not any of the chairs or other things. I stayed near the door, rather than picking my way through the detritus of the room.
“I’ve calmed down,” I told him, not that he’d looked worried. “And I have to speak to you.”
He almost smiled. “I would say ‘have a seat,’ but…” He glanced at the upended chairs.
I almost smiled too. It was time to put my natural blurtiness to good use.
“It’s about our relationship,” I said.
“Okay.” He looked less sure of himself. There was no smile now, almost or otherwise. He walked round to the front of the desk and sat against it, bracing himself for what was to come, perhaps.
“Sex,” I said, “or making love, as you would say, has always been a big thing for us.”
“Mmm,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “You find these words humorous? Making love?”
“Not when you say them. But I think I understand what’s happening with us, part of it anyway.” I paused, making sure to get it right. “You’re afraid that you might hurt me.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “And you are afraid that I will be repelled by the appearance of your body.”
“Yes.” It was a shock to hear him say it, but it was true.
“You have hurts,” he said. “Scars. But you are as beautiful as you ever were. And not only to me. It is just a fact. I am as attracted to you as ever. Have you not noticed the number of cold showers I have been taking?”
“No,” I said, almost laughing as I thought about it. “Or, I didn’t realise they were cold.”
We looked at one another across the mess of fury. “We could take a warm one now,” I suggested.
“Test the waters?” he said with a small smile.
Unfortunately the word ‘test’ travelled with us up the stairs, circling like the stairway itself, and making us both nervous.
