Page 12 of Grin and Bear It

“I’m no one and I’m going,” I said, my voice crisp and clear as I turned on my heel and then walked the fuck out of that restaurant.

“El! Ellie!”

Derek called my name from right behind me as I stepped out onto the street, craning my neck to see if there were any cab ranks nearby, then the prick grabbed my arm when I didn’t immediately pay him attention. I spun around at that.

“Ellie—”

“Fuck off, Derek.” I ground that out in a low voice rather than shrieking at him as I really wanted, aware people were watching. “You don’t owe me anything. But…” I yanked my arm free, “I don’t owe you anything either. This… whatever it is, doesn’t work for me anymore.” I stepped away from him and that hurt so good. “I don’t want this, so lose my number.”

“You’re overreacting.” I heard his voice, felt him get closer as I booked an Uber. “We don’t need to do this. Look, I’ll grab a takeaway…”

And there he was, offering me everything he’d been willing to before. I could smell the expensive scent of his cologne, could feel the warmth of his body and knew how much hotter it would get. I could have all the things I so enjoyed on the nights we did get together.

But suddenly I didn’t want them anymore.

Because he didn’t know, he couldn’t. That this was supposed to be an escape from the chaos of my day. I’d shoved aside the drama that had played out at school, the need to get a plumber around to fix the shower, the commitment I’d made to ring the Walker boys’ guardians, just like I did every other fucking thing. Later, that was my promise to myself, always later. I wanted the fun now, the laughs and the sweetness, the pleasure and all the other things I felt being an adult promised but failed to deliver.

“No,” I told him, told the whole night, the whole day. “I don’t want that.” I looked at my phone. “It’s still early. The chick with tits like mine who you were supposed to message? You might still be able to persuade her to come out for dinner.” The intensity in his eyes flickered then, the prospect of what I described tantalising him, even if he thought better of admitting it. “But either way, I’m blocking your number.”

I went into my contacts and did just that, feeling a brief moment of lightness.

“Don’t come around anymore,” I said, anything else I might have had to say cut off by the toot of a car horn. A small, older model sedan pulled up, the Uber driver leaning out the window to peer at me, so my parting salvo was subdued. “Have a good night.”

Maybe Derek had more to say. Maybe he watched my fine arse stalk away with regret in his eyes. Maybe he was texting whoever belonged to the tits he’d meant to message. I didn’t turn around to find out. I kept my eyes trained straight ahead as I got in the car and gave my address to the driver. I didn’t allow myself to look sideways until well after we’d pulled away from the restaurant and had driven up the road.

Finally, I let my focus shift, turning my head to the darkened, empty streets. They seemed to me to have taken on a more melancholic atmosphere, viewed through the lens of rejection and self-doubt. The gloom and the lack of signs of life reflected that painful sense of emptiness that yawned inside me, rising up, up, like bile that had been kept down for way too long. I swallowed it all down, took a shaky breath in, then another, before turning back to the driver.

“Can we go through that bottle-o?” I asked, pointing to a bottle shop ahead of us. I’d come out with the intent of forgetting today and, one way or another, I was going to achieve that goal.

Chapter7

I’d fucked up.

That was what I realised as I got out of the Uber, holding an open can of gin and tonic in one hand and cradling its friends in my other arm. Stumbling to get my balance in my heels, I lurched forward up the path, weaving a little as I went. I made it to the front door in one piece, though only just. But then I was faced with the dilemma of trying to maintain my grip on the drinks and get my keys, until I worked out I could set the cans down.

The problem was that I’d fucked up when I’d cracked the first can open and starting drinking it in the Uber, despite our state drink driving laws. Then, I’d fucked up some more by drinking another couple of them in the half hour cab drive home. And as I straightened up from putting the cans on the porch and fished the keys out of my pocket, I fucked up again when I kicked over my open can as I moved towards the door. I stood and watched the can go rolling off the porch and onto to the flower bed I’d tried to create at the front of the house. Except, of course, the plants had all died. The tonic fizzed all over the barren earth and dead flowers. And wasn’t that some sort of fucked-up analogy for my life? My mood darkening, I shoved the key in the lock then went to go inside, fucking up again when I banged my head against the door when it jammed midway again.

“Fucking fuck…” I slammed my shoulder into the door. “Open, you fucking prick of a thing!” When the door finally gave way, so did I, losing my balance and going cartwheeling forward, arms flailing, a process only made worse by my spindly heels.

When I was able to stand upright again, I vengefully kicked one shoe off, watching it go sailing through the air to who knew where. Although that only made me feel slightly better, I sent the other flying as well. Having regained a little more stability with the loss of my shoes, I went back out to the porch and grabbed the gin cans. Setting them down on the hall table, I cracked open another one to replace the lost soldier outside. Except I managed to fuck that up as well. I tipped the can back too far, so although I managed to get some of it into my mouth, the rest just splashed across my face, then dripped off my chin and onto my tits.

Tits.

The text message thread on Derek’s phone flashed before my eyes then, with that picture at the top, and I saw what I was in his eyes. Not even a name, just a set of appendages. I’d gone out feeling pretty, feminine, like I was on the brink of something exciting. Fuck, if I was honest, deep down, I’d been starting to wonder if this was the start of a new direction with Derek, with him finally taking me on a proper date. But to realise how he really saw me had me hovering between fury and misery. Snarling, I ripped the pretty top up and over my head. The fabric snagged and, because there was no stretch in it, the thin chiffon started to tear as I yanked.

I didn’t stop. I just wanted to get off any reminders of how I’d thought I could fit into that world.

So, even though I heard the ripping sound, I kept pulling at it to get it off me. Then as I held the shreds of the top in my hands, I felt a small rush of remorse.

I’d managed to fuck that up too.

It wasn’t my fault, a small, rational voice said in the back of my head. Derek was the one who’d fucked things up, not me. But as I thought about that, somehow that made me angry: at myself as much as at him. Because wasn’t my mistake the bigger one? Colleen had never been able to understand why I’d spent more than one night with him.

“That guy has fuckboy written all over him,” she had said. “It’s there, in block letters, all over his forehead, with that weird pinchy thing his eyebrows do.”

But I had chosen him, and would have again and again, if I hadn’t blundered into what was probably his real date. He’d gone all out, got dressed up and waited for Ms Right at a sexy restaurant where his friends would see him and they— I blinked, coming back to myself, standing in the hallway with one hand against the wall for balance. Shaking my head, I scooped up the rest of the cans and stumbled into the lounge room and over to the couch where I collapsed then sculled the rest of my can down in long swallows. I didn’t usually drink much, so what I’d drunk so far was making my head spin a little. That same sensible part of me was shrieking at me, trying to get my attention and remind me that going to school with a hangover was even worse than getting to school late. And I still had marking to do and reports to write and the kids—

The kids.

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