On the Simplicity of Words

"Say something, Rosie, for Christ's sake," she gasped.

"I'm... sorry," I managed to rasp the words at last, past a dry tongue that didn't want to work at all. "For everything. For not being there for you. For not looking for you sooner. I'm sorry. I wanted to see you. I needed to. But. But you're right. I shouldn't have come here. It was stupid. And. And selfish. I'm... sorry. For... everything. Sorry. Goodbye. Lea. I'll... I'll go away. Don't worry. I'll go now. I'm sorry. For everything."

I pulled myself free from her and turned away, clasping my arms around me against the agony, gasping for breath as the brutal jagged jaws of rejection slammed shut across my heart.

The world blurred and I stumbled away, heedless of where, just needing to be somewhere else, anywhere else, somewhere where I could try to forget the bewildered hurt in her eyes, somewhere where I could slither down into blackness and finally, once and for all, die.

"Rose! Rosie, wait!" she screamed. "No! Please! Come back! I'm sorry!"

The slight weight of her hit me once more. She locked her arms around me, holding me tight, arresting me in my tracks. I could feel the way her wordless sobs wracked her, and her meagre strength was only just sufficient to keep us standing as I broke down.

I turned, pulled myself to her by the lapels of her burgundy wool jacket as I tried to crawl in against her. I buried my face under her chin as I had so often in the past, and I wept like the broken little thing that, in so many ways, I still was.

Somehow we ended up entangled on the filthy steps of the pub's fire escape, cheek to salty cheek, my arms around her and hers locked like a vise behind my neck.

Feet passed us by; I could hear murmurs of concern from a group of women, gentle questions, offers to walk us home, but neither of us could stop crying long enough to answer them, and I for one could not bear to let go of the other half of me.

Not just yet.

Not when I'd only just found her again.

.:.

We sat across from one another at a corner table in a small cafe, surrounded by a snowdrift of used tissues, half-finished cups of coffee and carrot cake crumbs. The lovely young thing who'd greeted us had taken one look at us and seated us in the most sheltered nook she had; she'd hovered but not intruded, topped up our tissues as and when we needed them, and taken more than one handful for herself to deal with her own helpless reaction to the emotional supernova we so heedlessly subjected her to.

Lea was a mess. I didn't even want to think what I looked like; my throat was flayed and my stupid fringe kept falling over my burning eyes and casting a dark veil over the world. I gripped her hands in mine, white knuckled, jittery and spaced out, too scared to let go in case she'd disappear on me.

She stared at me, gaze flitting over my features as if she were trying to etch each of them into her memory forever.

"You pierced your ears," she managed, after some time. Her voice was strangely smokey, and she had to clear her throat twice to finish the brief sentence.

"Just the one," I whispered.

"It's... pretty. That stone really suits you. It goes with your hair. Oh God, I'd forgotten how much I love your hair," she breathed, as she reached up to touch it.

"It's lapis. It's the blue I remembered in your eyes. I... I began to wear it for... for you."

Her face crumpled up and she ducked her head. She took a breath, sniffed hard. "Christ, Rosie. I'm a mess. You've wrecked me. What were you thinking? Showing up like this? Without even trying to get in contact first? What if I'd been at a performance, or a lecture? I had somewhere I needed to be. Somewhere important. I should have been there by now."

"I'm sorry," I said again, trying to meet her gaze. "I didn't think. I haven't been able to think things through properly for eight years now. I just do things. And... sometimes if I'm really lucky... they go right like... this has..."

Her hands clenched hard on mine.

"God I've missed you so much," she said, voice cracking. "I have been to hell and back. And this time I didn't have you to save me."

I shuddered, sniffed again. "You were always with me. There's always been a part of you, standing just behind my shoulder, always watching me. At my darkest I'd imagine you and what you would have done. And then I would do it. It's what got me through all... this."

"I wish I could have had that. Why? Why, Rosie? Why did you never come to find me?"

I stared at her hands, at the blue veins showing underneath her pale skin.

"Because I am far too fucked up," I groaned, at last. "It took me years to work out just how completely broken I am. It took three therapists to make me cry again, Lea. Three. I didn't feel anything for years. I was too dead inside to feel anything at all after you left. Nothing could make me cry once I no longer had you. So... I was just going through the motions. Just existing. Not really living. Not for years..."

Her eyes were wide and dark in the half light of the cafe's corner; her lower lip trembling. She collected my hands in hers, raised them to her face, tucked them in against her cheek.

I coughed, then swallowed the hot bitter acid in my throat.

"Rosie?"

"I'm ok. I'm ok," I panted. "Oh God. It's just too much to deal with all at once. You. Me. This."

I hung my head as I struggled for a breath. "I'm so sorry, Lea. I never meant to abandon you. You were my life."

She picked up a tissue, wiped her eyes for the three millionth time.

"I tried to cope. Managed to make it through school without you. I still don't know how. Anger. Rage, maybe. I got a degree. And a job, despite all this," I said, waving a dismissive hand at myself.

"So did I. Such as it is."

"I know. I found you on your department's facebook page. You guys suck at keeping things private," I said, sniffing.

She gave a choking laugh and wiped her eyes again. "Fucking social media. It's the devil's playground. Still. It sounds like it brought you back to me. What else. Tell me what else."

"I started playing hockey again," I whispered. "I play for the County again, sometimes."

"That's good. Really good. I'm glad. You were always brilliant at it. I'm glad you still have it in you."

"Did you ever start running again?"

"No. I tried at first. But... not any more," she said. She looked away. "Chemo destroyed my muscles."

"Chemo...therapy? Oh... oh Jesus, no, no, no no no" I whispered, shaking my head violently, trying to deny what she was saying.

"Yes. I got another lovely present."

I made some sort of horrible sound; she shuddered and squeezed my hands again.

"Rose. It's fine. It's fine. They caught it early, Rosie. I've been clear for four years. I'm ok now. You don't need to look at me like that. Please... Rose, stop that," she begged. "Please, don't look at me like that. It's too much. You're wrecking me. Please."

She swallowed, looked down again.

"I should have written to you," she whispered. "But... I was too hurt. Too bitter. Bitter that you'd had a normal childhood and I'd had... this. Then I grew up, and it became about... protecting you from this. I couldn't do anything else, but I could at least do that. Bit by bit... I guess I... began to believe that you were better off without me. That you'd heal and move on."

"I was never ok without you. Never."

"I... I can see that now. And... oh, it sounds so foolish. But... a part of me always hoped that some day I'd turn around and... you'd be there. And we'd hug, and you'd smile at me like you are now, and everything would be ok. I just didn't imagine it would be today," she finished with a weird little hiccoughing sob.

I blew my nose. She wiped her eyes again.

"I can't believe you're really here," she said. "After all this time."

"I wish I'd got it together sooner. I should have come sooner."

"You came. That's what matters. How..." She cleared her throat. "How long are you going to be here?"

"Just... tonight. I have to leave tomorrow. Work. I didn't plan anything beyond getting here. I have to leave in the morning."

"Oh for fuck sakes," she sighed, disgusted. "Where are you staying?"

"A hotel near the station. The Radisson Blu."

"No. Absolutely fuck that. I've got a spare room. And... and I... I really, desperately need you to come stay with me. We need to talk, Rosie. There's so much I need to say to you before you leave again."

"Ok."

"Just like that? That was easy." she said, with a small smile. "It's like... like old times."

I shrugged, helplessly. "How can I put anything into words right now? This is who I am. I never cared about anything else but being near you."

She blushed and looked away.

I paid our bill and quietly slipped the lovely girl who'd guarded us fifty pounds as we left. It was every last bit of the emergency Oh-my-God-I've-lost-my-wallet stash from my jacket's inner pocket, but I didn't care. She stared in flabbergasted disbelief at the crumpled notes, and then squeaked and flushed hot and pink as Lea grabbed her, hugged her hard, and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're an angel," I declared to her, as I gently closed her hand over the gift. "Never, ever lose sight of the lovely person you are."

Lea slipped her arm through mine in her age-old way, and dragged me off into the night.

.:.

"Where were you supposed to be?" I said, raising my voice over the roar of the engine behind us.

"After the pub? A colloquium on Ancient music. My... boss... booked tickets. He's going to be furious. So furious. Oh, I can't wait."

"Won't you be in trouble?"

"So much trouble. I don't think words exist to adequately describe the amount of trouble. But I don't give a fiddler's fig," she whispered. She shifted closer to me, leaned in against my shoulder, and I fought down the lump in my throat as the scent of her conjured half-remembered memories of our youth.

"You look so nice," I breathed, when I could. "So posh in that coat. Despite everything that's happened to you. I'm so glad to see you looking so well."

"And you look like you're not taking any care of yourself," she whispered back. "You need to fix that. Rose... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being so angry, for going to pieces. I... it was just such a shock to see you standing there. It uncorked everything at once. I wasn't ready. I would never have been ready. And I wasn't really sure that you were real. God, what a pair we make," she sighed.

"I'm still not sure I'm real."

"You're real enough for me," she said, as she gently placed her hand on my knee and squeezed it.

"I'm so sorry for not reaching out. If I'd..."

"You had your own devils to deal with."

The bus negotiated a traffic circle, and she jostled against me. I shifted, tried to find a more comfortable spot on the seat without disturbing her.

"How's... your dad and mum?"

"Mum's sad, Dad's moved on."

"What? No! When!" I gasped.

"They got divorced shortly after we moved," she said, soft and matter of fact.

"Divorced. Oh. Oh thank God, I thought you meant..."

"What? Oh. No. Not yet. There's still some miles left in the old silverback."

"I'm sorry."

"You weren't to know," she said softly. "How could you have known? Mum's never kept in contact. She's too broken. Are... are your dad and mum ok?"

"Yeah. Older, slower, still the same in most ways. Mum misses Mummy Sarah like nothing I can really put into words."

"Like mothers, like daughters," she sighed. "I'll tell my mum to get over herself and reach out. It will be good for her. Maybe it will bring her out of her shell."

She shook her head and gave me a tired grin.

"We really are the mirrors of ourselves now. You got touched by light, I got dipped in shadow."

She squeezed my hand again. "At least you filled out nicely," she said, matter of fact. "You always were going to be a stunning woman. I'm glad that happened for you."

I flushed, stared down at my lap.

"Are you... seeing anyone?" I asked.

"Not... exactly. You?"

"No. Not romantically. I've had my fill of heartbreak."

"Oh, Rosie," she sighed. "You have to live too, honey."

"Said the ghost to the vampire," I quietly retorted.

"I've kicked cancer's arse twice. I'm no ghost and you're no vampire. And you're far too wonderful to spend your life alone."

I turned my face away, tried to find some control.

She wormed in closer to me. "I'd forgotten how you smelled," she said. "Like home. Like safety. I cannot believe how much I'd missed this. How much I'd missed us. You."

"Going through every day like the best half of you is missing," I whispered.

"Catching glimpses of it in passing out of the corner of your eye," she agreed. "You know what kept me going? Remembering how you'd crawl into my bed and hold me and read to me when the pain was at its worst."

"You were so frail, and looked so tiny without your hair. It broke me."

"I wanted to tell you not to cry. But I was never strong enough. And I was always far too selfish to tell you not to come and to look after yourself."

"You might as well have told me to cut off my own leg," I said. "It would have been easier for me to do that than not come to you."

"I know."

.:.

Her phone began to ring as she opened her peeling front door.

She ignored it.

"Shouldn't you answer that?"

"I know who it is. It's no longer important."

"Lea, it might be your boss."

"It is my boss. That's his ringtone."

"You should answer it."

"No," she said, with a set to her jaw that I remembered so well.

She shut the door behind us, turned on a light. "It's not much," she said softly, "but it's home."

Her phone rang again.

"Answer that," I told her.

"No."

"He could be worried."

"He's not worried. He's angry."

"What?"

"He wants to shout at me for not being at the lecture. For making him look bad, for embarrassing him in front of his colleagues again. Sadly, I'm destined to always be an embarrassment to him. Frail little Lea, the fetchingly fragile fiancée he can trot out to show how kind and caring and normal he is. Look at Lea, everyone, the cancer victim I'm marrying because I'm such a great person. Behold and admire and bask in my generosity!"

She posed dramatically, then slumped in on herself.

"Tonight was going to be when he announced our engagement. I wonder whether he did. Somehow I think not, the fucking narcissist."

Her voice was soft but no less bitter for it.

"You're... engaged," I said, focussing on filtering down to what seemed to me to be the key fact. My voice sounded strange and vague even by the already fucked-up standards of my day. "To your boss," I added.

"Yes."

I leaned back against the wall, wondering how many more hits I would have to take. Wondering how many more I could take.

"You don't sound... thrilled about it."

"I'm not. It's a business transaction. My smile and musical ability and some photogenic fawning at events - a smoke screen he's bartered for security and breathing room for me."

"Oh Lea," I whispered.

"Don't. Don't you dare," she said, voice breaking. She stamped her foot and spun away from me, scrubbing furiously at the tears. "I can't do this sober. I can't do this at all. Jesus. Jesus, of all the days to have to deal with this. Get a grip, Lea, get a grip," she finished with a whisper.

I slunk closer and hesitantly touched her shoulder.

She wouldn't turn to face me.

"I had to," she whispered. "I need the safety net. There is nobody who will help me. Mum's barely hanging on, Dad's drunk half of the time and angry the rest of it. I have next to nothing of my own. I exist hand to mouth. This was the only way out for me. And, anyway, it's not like he wants me for my body. He's got his own... tastes."

My heart broke. "Oh my God, Lea..."

"Please don't judge me," she whispered. "I can take it from anyone else. But not from you."

She took a shuddering breath, sighed it out. She kicked off her heels, hung her coat up on a hook. "Right. At the very top of the short list of things I can actually do something about is my sobriety. I'm opening some wine," she said. "I am going to drink myself into a stupor. I can't deal with anything else tonight. Not now. It can all burn to ashes, for all I care."

She stalked off.

I slowly unbuttoned my jacket and hung it beside hers, then stared around at the empty walls and the peeling wallpaper with mounting horror.

This wasn't a home.

It was a prison.

My Lea was in a prison.

"Rose, are you coming or what?" she called.

I wiped my eyes and glued on a brave face for her.

.:.

She poured her second glass and topped up my first. I watched her as she took a sip, as she put her hand to the bridge of her nose in the old gesture of unease that I remembered so well.

"What is it?" I said, softly.

She snorted. "I forget how well you know me."

"You haven't changed much. I can still read you like a book."

"You always could. I missed that."

She sat back, stared around the cramped and dingy kitchen. "He is going to be so pissed with me. Oh my god. I'm in for it now."

"Why..."

I coughed, cleared my throat, continued. "Why did you put yourself in this position with him, Lea?"

"I didn't have a choice. It's this or flat-share. I can't, Rose. I can't live with random other people in my space. This... this act of prostitution I'm going to put myself through for him. I... it's the only way I can hang on to what little I have. I get somewhere to live, access to events and society, the space to breathe and play my music. Time that I won't get, otherwise. He'll give me a stipend; more than enough to make sure I keep up appearances. He'll use me as a showpiece. A drawcard for the department and the University - a cornerstone of the little empire he's building. It's better than the alternative."

"But surely..."

"Surely... what? You think that there's some benefactor out there who will help me out of the goodness of their heart? Someone who can magically conjure me a better life where I'm not working as an indentured servant to a power-mad man? This isn't a fairy tale, Rose. This is real life. My life. It's brutish, and painful, and... odds are it will be short. If you find a person who can change that, please do send them my way."

I closed my eyes, hunching in on myself as the sharp edge of her rage raked me. She saw, reached out, clasped my wrist tightly.

"I'm sorry. Oh God. I'm sorry, Rosie. I'm sorry. Please. I'm bitter. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to hurt you of all people..."

"It's... it's ok. It's just... this is so unfair."

"I know. But this is my life. I have a roof over my head, enough to eat, money to put to my mum to make sure she's ok. It's better than lots of people get."

She sighed.

"My dreams were just dreams after all. They started to fade when I was fifteen. I've... accepted that. This is what I have now."

"You deserve a palace," I whispered. I bit back the sob, forced it down and away into the black shadowy place where I hid all the Terrible Things.

"You are the only person who has ever thought that," she said, smiling sadly at me. "Everyone else just sees... well, me."

I shook my head, vehemently denying her words but unable to speak past the numbing blackness.

"Don't be sad, Rose. Sometimes things just don't end up how you thought they would. At least I had you in my life. I had something good."

"I wish you'd never left," I managed.

"Life happens. We can either let it break us or... step aside until we can stand again."

I drained my wine glass, and coughed as the cheap wine burned my raw throat. She refilled it for me.

"So tell me about yourself," she said, gently. "Tell me something nice. Let me hear that you're at least doing better than this," she added, glancing around at the spartan kitchen.