I was sick at the time, I had cystitis. For a while the persistent discomfort and mild fever felt psychologically appropriate and I did nothing about them, but eventually I went to see the college doctor and she gave me antibiotics and a painkiller that made me drowsy. I spent the evenings looking at my own hands or trying to focus on a laptop screen. I felt disgusting, like my body was full of evil bacteria. I knew that Nick was suffering no similar after-effects. There was nothing equivalent about us. He had screwed me up in his hand like paper and tossed me away.
I tried to start writing again, but everything I produced was full of a bitterness that made me ashamed. Some of it I deleted, some I hid in folders I never looked inside. I was taking things too seriously again. I fixated on perceived wrongs Nick had done to me, callous things he had said or implied, so that I could hate him and therefore justify the intensity of my feelings for him as pure hatred. But I recognised that the only thing he had done to hurt me was to withdraw his affection, which he had every right to do. In every other way he had been courteous and thoughtful. At times I thought this was the worst misery I had experienced in my life, but it was also a very shallow misery, which at any time could have been relieved completely by a word from him and transformed into idiotic happiness.
One night online I asked him if he had sadistic tendencies.
Nick: not that i know of
Nick: why do you ask?
me: you seem like someone who does
Nick: hm
Nick: that’s worrying
Some time passed. I stared at the screen but didn’t type anything. I was one day away from finishing my antibiotics.
Nick: is there an example you’re thinking of?
me: no
Nick: ok
Nick: i think when i hurt people it tends to be through selfishness Nick: rather than being an end in itself
Nick: have i done something to hurt you?
me: no
Nick: are you sure?
I let more time go by. With the pad of my finger I covered his name on my laptop screen.
Nick: are you still there?
me: yeah
Nick: oh
Nick: i guess you don’t feel like talking then Nick: that’s ok, i should go to bed anyway
The next morning he sent me an email that read:
i can see you don’t really feel like keeping in touch at the moment, so i’m going to stop sending you messages, ok? i’ll see you when i’m back.
I considered writing a spiteful email in response but instead I didn’t reply at all.
The following night Bobbi suggested we watch one of Nick’s films.
That would be weird, I said.
He’s our friend, why would it be weird?
She was on my laptop, searching Netflix. I had made a pot of peppermint tea and we were waiting for it to brew.
It’s on here, she said. I saw it on here. It’s the one about the bridesmaid marrying her boss.
Why are you even looking for his films?
It’s a pretty minor part but he does take his shirt off at one point. You’re into that, right?
Genuinely, please stop, I said.
She stopped. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor and she reached to pour herself a splash of tea to see if it was ready.
Do you like him as a person? she said. Or is it just like, he’s good-looking and married to someone interesting?
I could tell she was still hurt by the jealousy remark, but I had apologised already. I didn’t want to indulge her hostility toward Nick, especially since I wasn’t talking to him then. It was obvious to me that Bobbi’s feelings were not sincerely hurt anymore, if they ever had been, and that she just liked to make fun of me whenever I experienced romantic feelings. I looked at her like she was something very far away from me, a friend I used to have, or someone whose name I didn’t remember.
Melissa’s not that interesting, I said.
When Bobbi went home I looked up the film she was talking about. It had been released six years previously, when I was fifteen. Nick appeared in it as a character with whom the protagonist has a regrettable one-night stand. I found a video link and skipped ahead to the scene where he was getting out of her shower the next morning. He looked younger, and his face was different, although even in this video he was older than me. I watched the scene twice. After he left, the protagonist called her friend and they laughed hysterically about what a jerk Nick’s character was, which was a bonding moment for their friendship.
I sent him an email after I watched it. I wrote:
Sure, if that’s what you want. I hope the filming is going okay.
He replied at about 1 a.m.
i should have told you before, but i’m going to be in the north of france for most of august with melissa and various other people. it’s a huge villa type place in a village called etables. people are always coming and going, so you’re welcome to come and stay for a while if you want, though i can see why that might not appeal.
I was sitting cross-legged in bed trying to work on a spoken word thing when the email notification came through. I replied:
So are we still having an affair or is that over now?
He didn’t reply for a while. I guessed he had gone to bed, but the possibility that he hadn’t yet made me not want to work any more. I made myself a cup of instant coffee and watched some YouTube videos of other spoken word performers.
Eventually a notification came through on instant messenger.
Nick: are you awake
me: yes
Nick: so yeah look
Nick: i don’t know what you want
Nick: obviously we can’t see each other very often Nick: and having an affair is reasonably stressful me: haha
me: are you breaking up with me
Nick: if we never actually see one another Nick: then the affair just consists of like Nick: worrying about the affair
Nick: do you see what i mean
me: I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me over instant messenger me: I thought you were going to leave your wife so we could run away together Nick: you don’t need to be defensive
me: how do you know what I need
me: maybe I’m actually really upset
Nick: are you
Nick: i never have any idea what you feel about anything me: well it doesn’t really matter now, does it
He had to be back on set early that morning so he went to bed. I kept thinking about the time I gave him head and he just lay there quietly letting me do it. I had never done that before, I wanted to explain. You could have told me what was so bad about it instead of just letting me carry on. It wasn’t kind. I felt so foolish. But I knew he had done nothing wrong really. I considered calling Bobbi and telling her everything, in the hope that she would tell Melissa and then Nick’s life would be ruined. But I decided it would be too humiliating a story to relate.
11
I missed work the next day because I slept in. I sent Sunny a grovelling email and she responded: we survived. It was noon by the time I showered. I put on a black T-shirt dress and went out for a walk, though it was too hot to enjoy walking. The air felt helpless and trapped on the streets. Shop windows reflected blinding flares of sunlight and my skin was damp. I sat on the campus cricket pitch on my own and smoked two cigarettes, one after another. I had a headache, I hadn’t eaten. My body felt used up and worthless to me. I didn’t want to put food or medicine into it any more.