“Thank god,” my mum smiled. “He’s home. We can all go to bed now.” She put her arm around me and led me to the hall. “He’s safe,” she smiled. I hauled my sorry ass to bed. That night I didn’t sleep. I knew deep in my gut what I had to do if I truly loved Josh. I needed to set him free so he could carry on with his life’s work, but should I tell him the truth? No, then he would make the decision for me. I knew if I was in his position I could never leave him. I wouldn’t have the strength. What if he did stay? Would we last? This I didn’t know. I needed a crystal ball. My dad was right. He would fuck up the rest of his life. The cold hard reality was we couldn’t have a future together, not in our family’s eyes. Oh what to do, what to do. At 5. 00 am I came to the heartbreaking decision. I knew what to do and it turned my stomach just thinking about it.
The next day I faked sickness to get the day off school. My parents went to work and I started to pace again, waiting for his call. At one o–clock my phone rang. It was Josh- he thought I was on lunch break. I braced myself.
“Hi,” I answered.
“Hi baby,” he said happily down the phone. Oh shit. “Have you missed me?” he asked.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At home. I have news” he announced and my heart sank. “I’m coming to Sydney tonight.”
“Why?” I whispered quietly.
“To see you. You didn’t answer my question, have you missed me?”
“Have you?” I whispered again, my voice too hoarse to speak.
“So fucking much I can’t stand it. I think I’ve come up with a solution though. We will talk about it tonight. Pick me up, what time flight will I book?” I stayed silent and closed my eyes…silence again. “Natasha, what’s wrong?” His voice betrayed his worry. I stayed silent. “Baby are you ok?” he asked quietly.
“Not really,” I whispered past the golf–ball sized lump in my throat. He didn’t know that I knew about his so called solution… again silence…
“Why aren’t you ok?”
“It’s complicated,” I whispered.
“Tell me tonight. We will work it out. I’ll book the flight and text you the details I’ll be there soon.” This was it. I knew to save his future I had to hurt him and rip my heart out in the process, but again I stayed silent, unable to talk without breaking into full–blown sobs.
“Josh you can’t come to Sydney.”
“Why?” he whispered, “why not?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
He stayed silent. This time I could almost hear his brain ticking. “I need to see you,” he snapped.
“No, Josh, you can’t.”
“Why not?” he was getting annoyed.
“I don’t want to see you,” I covered my mouth with my hand so he couldn’t hear my chest quivering with unshed tears.
“You don’t want to see me?” he whispered.
“No, Josh, I don’t,” I lied again. While I closed my eyes, he stayed silent for a minute.
“I don’t believe you,” he yelled. “Have my fucking parents been in your ear?”
“No,” I lied again.
“You know, don’t you?” he snapped.
“Know what?” I acted innocent.
“I’m coming to get you, whether you like it or not,” he yelled. I started to cry, holding my stomach because the pain was unbearable. I dropped to my knees on the lounge room floor and closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath as I stabbed the final knife into my already broken heart.
“I’ve met somebody else.”
“What!” he yelled, making me jump. “Are you fucking kidding me!” he screamed down the phone. “Two weeks, it’s been two fucking weeks!” he yelled, “and you’ve met someone else.”
“Yes,” I sobbed. He stayed silent. I knew I’d broken his heart as well as mine and I was now on my hands and knees on the floor. Again, silence.
In a deathly voice he asked, “Have you slept with him?” I could hardly answer. How could he even think that? My chest was breaking.
“Yes,” I sobbed. He made a guttural noise and the phone went dead. He had hung up. I collapsed into the foetal position on the floor, knowing he was probably on the floor like me. I was a cold heartless bitch, how could I say that? My heart was broken, my chest hurt. I was crying so loudly I was sure the neighbours could hear me.
I stayed in bed for a week, unable to eat and hardly able to keep anything down, while my mother doted on me, thinking I had a stomach bug. I lay motionless, staring at the ceiling. I had no tears left.
Even to this day, seven years later, that memory brings nausea to my stomach every time I think of it. It is as if it happened yesterday. I am brought back to a young seventeen–year–old girl lying alone on the lounge room floor clutching the phone. The pain is so vivid it’s unbearable. I do what I always do when this memory haunts me. I get straight up, put the television on and get into the shower. Sometimes I stay in the shower for over an hour-it is as if I am trying to wash the lies away. Although it’s not possible, if only I could. I’ve never forgiven myself., I should have told him the truth. He deserved the truth. Something’s got to give as this is unbearable. Why do the memories of this man haunt me-how do I escape him?
“You know what shits me?” I moan as I look into my compact mirror at my face, turning my head. “When I pay good money and say I have a wedding and I want to look hot, that does not mean code for I want to look like the tooth fairy on crack.”
“I know, right,” Bridget tuts. We are in the back of a cab surveying the damage from our hair and makeup appointment. “At least your hair looks good.