Page 77 of Possessed By You
The night is not lost on us though, and instead of trying to sleep while the rest of England does, we ready ourselves for a dinner out on the town. We’re poor excuses for twenty-somethings, moving like tortoises over the sidewalk. Dimitri follows behind, alert as ever.
Benjamin is constantly recognized, but Brits have far more reserve than New Yorkers, watching mostly from a distance. I’m sure Dimitri is glad for it. It was only a few weeks ago our faces were plastered on news stations, magazines, social media, survivors of a near-deadly wreck.
London is wet. The ground is scattered with puddles of water after a day of rain. Even now the dark sky looks ready to burst open. Hopefully it won’t, since we have no umbrellas. We find a quaint pub with dark lighting and seclude ourselves by the end of the bar, hovering close to each other in order to remain inconspicuous. Although I can’t imagine we’d stop traffic halfway across the world, there’s honestly no telling.
There’s a rowdy group of men a few stools down, occupied with a re-run of a soccer game. Benjamin’s medication prevents him from drinking, which would help shake off this unnerving tic that seems to be affecting us both, but he orders me a beer along with wings for both of us. Whether it’s just jetlag or something more, perhaps what we’ve been struggling to overcome for weeks now—the pain of losing someone who would have changed our very foundation in life—I’m not sure, but with this uneasy haze over my emotions, I’m not turning away the chance to dilute them a bit.
What it is about London I don’t know. I thought we’d arrive and fall into the same excitement we did in Bali, but we’re quiet, both very far away from fun or even escapism.
When Benjamin finally inquires about Kevin, it’s confirmed for me. This trip might not be all roses and sunshine. If anything, this foreign place could unload it all.
I embellish Kevin’s recent tale of woe, a visit to his mother’s with Doug, which he described as a nightmare through fits of laughter. I relay it to Benjamin with just as much enthusiasm until our drinks arrive. Dimitri allows sufficient distance, seated at a table by the window, and won’t touch the beer Benjamin has sent over.
It’s strange to be together like this. The past weeks have consisted of hospitals and dire situations, stress beyond measure. Lately, the only chance we’ve had for downtime has been spent trying to reestablish and repair the bond that severed between us the day of the accident.
I think we’ve forgiven each other for the wrongs committed that day, but just as I can’t forget the words he uttered in his anger, he can’t forget my betrayal, my failure in trusting him with the conditions I was enduring.
Spotting has stopped, and yet I haven’t reached for him at night.
Maybe that’s the reason we’re so disjointed. Sex has always been a saving grace in our relationship, from the beginning. Through fights, separations, it’s brought us back to each other, providing us with a release, an absolution to distance.
He hasn’t reached for me either, meaning he hasn’t felt healthy enough to or he doesn’t feel ready for it. Or perhaps he’s unsure whether I’d welcome it. So many questions, with hardly any answers.
The weight of the revelation is heavy and makes me instinctively need to touch him. I place my hand on his back, on the soft cotton material of his t-shirt. Shifting my legs, I twist in my stool to face him, laying my head on his shoulder.
I wonder if Dimitri can tell, if it’s noticeable. Dimitri’s seen us at rock bottom before. I think we’re handling this much better than we did back then.
Even after our food arrives, I find a way to consistently touch him, look at him. Benjamin’s phone rings, which he glances at and ignores. In New York, it’s just reaching evening. Within a minute, it’s going off again, and he sighs.
“It’s Tiffany. I should get it.”
He dismounts from the stool, exiting the bar to answer the call. I smile at how intently Dimitri watches him from his seat, having been given instructions to stay with me at all times.
The sound of elbows slamming into the counter startles me. “I’ve definitely seen you around before.”
He’s one of the men from the rowdy group. Strangely enough, he’s American.
“Have you been waiting for my husband to leave so you could come over here?” I ask him, smirking.
“Husband? Damn.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“I was hoping he was a boyfriend or even a fiancé. That I could have worked with.”
“Oh?”
“When I’m not intoxicated, I’m quite the date. I bring flowers, hold the door open…”
My eyes shift to Dimitri, who has stealthily crossed the room in a matter of seconds and is now seated at the bar beside me. The man is too tipsy to notice. His boys are calling him back over now that the commercials have ended.
“A gentleman, then.”
“I mean, yeah. But I can be ungentlemanly if the lady wants it too.”
His pass at me doesn’t land. He’s my age but clearly hasn’t come to his own yet. I met so many men just like him working at Marilyn’s bar, who tried out the same kind of sleazy lines.
He takes one glance at the diamond on my finger and whistles. “Couldn’t give you a ring like that though. How much did that cost?”
