Chapter 1
„Going out?”
“I’m out of cigarettes.” I don’t even look up at her, trying hard to ignore the full pack sitting comfortably in my pocket.
It gets easier every time I repeat the lie. It’s the first time that’s the worst. The guilt eats you alive. Anxiety nips at my heels, like a wild dog, because what if it’s the day she calls me out on it? What if it’s the day she asks me directly, instead of stealing glances at me, like I know she does.
I wait, like always, by the door and already dressed, thinking she may finally ask:
“Where are you really going?”
But she never does.
And so, the lie becomes truth in the end. She chooses not to ask, and I come back with a full pack anyway… So, am I really lying?
“See you later.”
“Bye! Love you!”
“Love you too.”
The words taste hollow on my tongue. They have for quite a while. I know I mean them, but I am not sure I am allowed to say them, not when every foggy morning I let the falsehood of my habits infect our household. I think my father said it once- somewhere between lecturing me on what being a man truly meant and a bottle raised to his lips.
“A lie is like a dripping roof…” I mutter to myself while I follow the very same street I take every time I go out. “You put it off until you find mould in your walls.”
I scoff just thinking about it.
What a line that was.
Perhaps he left it with me out of spite- to torture me even when his voice couldn’t reach me anymore, as if he knew I’d come to resent that phrase. I was almost sure of it. Even after years, his voice still came to me, the same way his eyes would every time I looked in the mirror.
So I never look around, not even to browse the window displays.
I don’t need him to look at me… Not today.
Instead, I entertain myself by letting the breeze carry me along the narrow streets of my city. It whistles in my ears, singing to me while the rain drums quietly against the brick walls of the alleyway. I watch the droplets shatter against the surface of the puddles splashing under my feet, like tiny seas disrupted by a giant’s foot.
But ultimately, there is one voice that calls me through the quaint streets, beckoning me forward. By no means is it gentle… No, it’s commanding. It doesn’t plead or encourage, but rather demands that I step up, like I always have.
The sea calls me.
I don’t want to answer, but I do anyway.
The rattling of the rain soon fades into the murmur of waves lapping against the sandy shores of the town I was born in. My shoes thud heavily between the patches of tall grass sprouting from the sand. They brush against my knees like gentle hands welcoming me home.
It is my home- in a way.
I was born here.
Raised here.
The waves watched me share my first kiss and cry over my first breakup.
They knew me well- the waves, I mean.
I didn’t seek them out, however- not when the goal of my journey hid beneath them.
You see- there is a trick to it, one I came to master over the course of the years. It was simple, really… Uncomfortably simple.
I must never acknowledge her directly.
It’s important.
Very important.
So, just like every time, I walk along the shore, keeping the water at an arm’s length. I let my gaze slide along the sand, making sure I am not tempted to look back. I can’t spare her even a glance, not when the last time almost cost me the precious lie I cling to.
I walk in silence.
Always.
That’s another thing.
If I don’t listen… I might just miss her. It’s already hard enough with the crashing of the waves so close by. It always starts slow. A splash here…A rustle there. My stomach tightens every time. Over time, I learned to ignore the sweat on my palms or the bitter taste in my mouth that makes my stomach turn.
I let her come, listening to her legs move through the shallow water until I am sure she is right behind me. I can hear the water bubbling every time she takes a step forward, not even trying to sync with the rhythm of the sea.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask, eyes firmly on the path ahead.
A giggle follows.
A splash.
She’s still there, I know… but I can’t force her to talk.
Never could.
“Silence it is,” I mutter. “As you wish.”
It is then that I hear it, right by my ear. Her cold breath wafts against the back of my neck.
“Aw, why the long face?” she whispers quietly.
I can never get used to hearing her voice, no matter how many times we meet. It’s always quiet, dancing at the edge of a hiss that sounds less and less human every time I hear it. My breath stutters, my lungs squeezing tight.
She chuckles.
I can feel her pull away, her fading presence loosening the knot in my stomach.
“Don’t do that,” I mutter. “You know I hate it.”
“Really?” I can practically imagine her tilting her head. “You used to like it.”
“I used to like a lot of things.”
She hums behind me, kicking the water like she was a child splashing in the waves. I can feel the droplets soaking through my pantleg. It’s freezing, liquid ice dripping down my leg.
It’s unpleasant.
Not just because of the cold… But because I know she did that on purpose.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
There’s a pause, one long enough to have me thinking she left.
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Well… It’s raining.”
“It’s always raining… Hardly makes a difference, does it?”
I wet my lips, the sigh escaping my chest before I could stop it.
I know better than to ask… At least, I should know better. I think I should feel something- a sense of dread, maybe? But I don’t. I don’t feel anything.
That’s another lie.
I am not scared.
“Was… I hope it- It wasn’t always… Was it?”
She says nothing.
I know I deserve it.
“I’ll tell you if you look at me.” There’s an edge to her voice, one that feels like a blade tracing along my jugular.
I swallow at the words, my lips pulling into a thin line.
“You know I can’t do that-“
“Can’t or don’t want to?”
It is my turn to stay silent.
In a world where unspoken truths are pieces on a board, we are both the grandmasters of lies.
She thinks it’s funny. I can tell by the laughter behind me. Her laughter comes out shallow, like she’s choking on the air. It’s wheezy, all too high- like nails dragging across a chalkboard.
My eyes water at the sound.
I don’t laugh with her. Instead, I let the sound of it fade into the waves.
“Ah… You never change…” she mutters behind me, her voice airy.
“I have changed.”
“No… We both know you haven’t,” she counters, splashing in the water somewhere to my left. “I quite like it… Actually… You might be older, but you’re the very same-“
“Stop,” I say without thinking.
A part of me is prepared to hear her continue, the mere thought of her saying my name bringing chills down my spine. I only ever let her say it once, the first time we met.
Or rather, the first time we met again.
She scoffs. At least I think she did. I can’t tell when she sounds… like that.
Like she’s choking.
“You won’t even let me say it? You’re cruel.” I can hear the smirk in her voice. “Bet you don’t even remember my name.”
“I do remember.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s…”
I could never forget- but I couldn’t say it either. Not to her and not to anybody.
But I do feel guilty. I really do. I suppose I owe her much more than her name. I owe her the world, I think, but in the end, all she could get from me was a short walk along the shore.
I know she deserved more, but it was all I could give.
“I won’t say it.”
“Why?”
“Because I know better… I know what you’re doing.”
A bubbling growl echoes behind me, like water rising down her throat.
“Oh… I see how it is.”
I feel it. It’s impossible to ignore.
A finger poking at my spine, digging through the folds of my jacket until I feel the cold seeping through. I gasp, my airway closing at the passing contact. I should be careful. She never touches me. I didn’t think it was possible until the very moment.
Before I can stop it, my hand jumps to my throat, rubbing against the skin as if it could loosen the muscles underneath.
“I’m sorry.” I rasp out.
The hand vanishes as soon as I say it.
Then, there is silence. I don’t hear anything. Not her steps. Not the gurgling sound of her breath. Not even a splash of waves colliding against her body.
I can’t even hear the sea.
I can’t hear the breeze.
There is nothing.
I sit frozen in place.
“Are you?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”
I wait, every second like a noose tightening around my neck.
One.
Two.
Three.
When the sound returns, it hits me like a tidal wave. The crashing of waves rattles through my skull, settling behind my eyes with the whistling of the breeze, splitting my head in half. I grimace just for a moment, pressing my fingers to my temples until the cacophony subsides.
The splashing behind me resumes, almost too innocent.
“I don’t think you are…” she offers.
My gut clenches at the words.
I want to say that I am. I want to fight her about it.
Because I am sorry.
I am sorry, goddamnit!
I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t. Who on earth would subject themselves to that? A sod who is sorry… That’s my answer. A poor sod that is sorry, but can’t quite say it, without sounding like a liar.
Without sounding like his father.
“Not going to say anything?”
“Will you believe me if I say I am?”
She chuckles, cold and wet.
“No,” she mutters finally. “They all say they are sorry. But sorry doesn’t quite undo anything, doesn’t it? I am sure you know…”
I feel the breath escape my lungs at her words.
She wasn’t wrong.
I wanted her to be… I wanted my apology to mean something, but I never quite got over the fact that it didn’t. One night, I did tell her that I didn’t mean it… I was almost sure I never meant it when I said it. Even when the apology was due, it was just as hollow as when I heard it uttered back at me.
For a second, I want to light one of my cigs. They are calling me from my pocket, promising sweet release when the smoke coils in my lungs. I know I can’t have one, not even when I am alone. The same pack sits in my pocket, still in foil.
“You want a smoke… Don’t you?”
“I won’t smoke. I know you don’t like it.”
“It’s the same pack… Isn’t it?”
I take a deep breath.
“Yes… It is.”
She clicks her tongue.
“Pathetic.” She mutters. “The least you could do is smoke them…”
“I choose how I-“
“Grieve?”
I tense up at the word. I never liked it. It always sounded so clinical, like a diagnosis on something that shouldn’t have a name. How something so ambiguous could have just one name attached to it? Is a child losing a pet the same as a man longing after something long lost? Are they both grieving?
No.
I am not grieving.
And neither was she.
“How I process… This.”
“For twenty years-“
“For however long I need.”
“And what about me? How long do I need?”
Her question rings through my head, piercing through my thoughts like an arrow. How long does she need? I want to say the same, but we both know it’s not that easy.
“I am sorry-“
“You’re not.” She shuts me down before the words can leave my mouth.
I inhale sharply. I know it’s not true, but I cannot help but feel the kind of pinch on the inside of my ribcage. It pinches hard, every time, like a shard of glass stuck under my skin, reminding me I can’t ever be sure. Am I sincere? I want to be.
“Why do you think so?”
She doesn’t answer, as always.
Instead, she starts humming again. I don’t recognise it at the start. The sound blends with the waves and the whistling of the breeze, almost as if she were a part of it all. A piece of landscape, inseparable from the sea around us.
Then I recognise it.
The realisation is cold, much colder. It grips my throat. Breaks my bones. Tears my skin.
It does everything and nothing.
I know this song.
“It was playing then… In your car…” she whispers. “I remember… Never liked the singer. I was quite drunk, but I still couldn’t stand him-“
“You weren’t that drunk.”
She chuckles, the water around her bubbling up as if to answer me first.
“Oh, I was… I watched you stomp away, grumbling to yourself-“
“You are remembering wrong,” I mutter. “I didn’t stomp, I- I just needed a pack.”
“So you weren’t upset at what I said?”
I try to stay calm.
I really do.
Because I know it didn’t happen like this.
“I wasn’t. I was surprised, but-“ I bite my tongue. “It was a lot to take in.”
“I waited for you…”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why? Because you don’t like what happened?”
“Because you are rewriting it every time I see you,” I whisper. “Because you’re lying and trying to get me to…”
“Then why come? Why come at all?” she questions. “Why?”
“Because…” the words die in my throat.
I can’t say it.
There is nothing I can say to her.
“Because you didn’t need a new pack, did you?” she whispers.
I don’t even feel it happen. I stare at the sand, the wet grains clinging to my shoes… Like the residue of her. A reminder that I leave prints in the sand while she doesn’t. To remind me why I am there. At the beach. With her.
That’s when her hands wrap around my waist. Her grip is strong, skin wet from the waves as she squeezes me tight. I can feel her pressing against me. She’s bare… I know she is. Bare and cold, dripping wet from the waves that swallowed her once before.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Breathe.
I need to breathe.
But every breath fills my lungs with the stench of salt and something sickly sweet.
“No… No, you didn’t…” My breath trembles as her lips brush behind my ear. “You were upset… Don’t you remember? The snow was falling… The music was playing. Why didn’t we drive away? Why didn’t we get in the car?”
“I…” I can practically taste the sickening bitterness of the words. “I was drunk…”
I feel her shift against me, naked skin dragging against my jacket.
“Yes… Yes, we were… Even though you promised you wouldn’t… And then what happened?”
I can’t breathe.
Ifeel her, every inch of her… Holding me just like she used to.
“I don’t remember-“
“You do.” She hisses. “Say it.”
“I… I brought up…”
“Marriage.” She finished for me, the words vicious against my ear. “And I said?”
“Y-you weren’t ready.”
She hums, the sound vibrating against my spine.
I tell myself not to look.
I know I don’t want to see it.
Her fingers are digging into my stomach, like sharp claws threatening to tear me apart if I don’t let her do as she pleases.
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
Don’t.
Look.
I open my eyes.
She holds me. She holds me tight with a pair of hands that feel like hers in the most horrifying way possible. Not because they are warm. Not because I know the voice behind me. Not even because of the familiar painted nails pressing into me.
No… They are hers because the nails are cracked, falling off the blistering flesh. The liquid inside presses against the paper-thin skin, threatening to burst with the slightest touch. The flesh feels sharp, despite the mushy softness.
They are hers.
Always have been.
“I was looking for you… I waited and waited, until I left the car…”
“Please stop.”
“They started calling me over. I tried to leave.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“There were four of them.”
“S-stop!”
Her hands tightened around me.
“You know… It wasn’t even the cold… Or how they let me lie there.” She whispers. “It’s not even the fact that you never said anything… Or that you could free me if you wanted to. You know what keeps me here?”
“N-no.”
A lie.
“I know you were watching.”
