Leave Me Breathless

Last night taught me something important, though. It taught me that I’m not completely broken. That I could be fixed. But what’s the point in being fixed if you know you’ll always end up broken again?

It’s another quiet day in the shop. I try to create something, tossing paint at the canvas haphazardly, but not even anything accidental happens. I sit back after an hour of trying and notice for the first time since I planted myself on this stool that every colour I’ve used is dull. Gloomy. It’s indicative of how I’m feeling. I give up and clear away, pulling my laptop out and loading my online shop.

I nearly come out of my skin when I find I’ve made a sale on one of my paintings. ‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, looking across to the landscape oil that’s currently hanging on my shop wall. I smile, returning my attention to the details of the buyer. ‘Scotland,’ I say to myself, noting that the address is a castle. Excitement tickles my tummy as I print off shipping labels and set them aside, ready for when I’ve wrapped the painting to post. And then I find myself pulling up Facebook.

When I type in my sister’s name, my heart sinks and my excitement vanishes. She’s changed her profile picture again. My throat clogs with emotion as I stare at my mother in her bed, her eyes empty as she looks back at me. She’s gripping the blanket over her legs hard, her arthritis-plagued fingers deformed. My sister is sitting on the bed next to her, smiling, though it’s a sad smile. I feel a teardrop roll down my cheek, and I look down when it falls, seeing it splash when it hits the counter. This picture was taken on a bad day. Mum looked perky on Saturday. It was a good day. Has it been bad days since? Another tear falls.

‘Hey.’

I jump and look up, finding Molly approaching. I quickly snap my laptop shut and brush at my cheeks. ‘Hey.’

‘Are you okay?’ She places her handbag on the counter, assessing me worriedly.

I sniff and pluck a tissue from the box nearby, flapping it casually before taking it to my nose. ‘Hay fever.’ I blow my nose hard. ‘It’s got me good this year.’

Molly’s nose scrunches in sympathy as she pulls up a stool and parks herself opposite me. ‘Come on, then.’

‘Come on what?’

I notice that her usually neat ponytail is askew, and her rosy cheeks are rosier than normal. ‘I ran here from school on my lunch break, Hannah.’

‘Why?’ I rub at my running nose.

‘I saw you with Ryan last night.’

The tissue stills as I bring it away, my mouth forming a straight – guilty – line. How much did she see? ‘He was making sure I got home okay.’

‘And that involves a snog, too, huh?’

I’m up from the stool quickly, heading into the kitchenette out back, stalling having to spill. But when I do spill, it’s definitely a conversation that requires tea. I flick the kettle on and grab two mugs as Molly arrives in the room sounding a little wheezy. ‘Tell me everything.’

I find myself throwing the tea bags in the mugs with a bit more force than necessary. ‘He kissed me.’

‘Yes, I saw. And?’

‘And that was it.’

‘Oh, come on. This is Hampton. Nothing exciting happens. Don’t spoil my fun.’ Molly’s beside me in a second, resting against the counter as I pour the water and stir. Her eyes are excited. I laugh on the inside. I’m about to piss on her bonfire.

‘And I went to his place and we had sex and then I left this morning.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘It was a mistake.’ I grab the milk from the fridge and slam the door, leaning against it. ‘It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m kicking myself that it did.’

Her face drops. ‘Why? He’s gorgeous. Not to mention single.’

And he kicked me out this morning like I expect he boots out every other woman he seduces. God, why am I even letting that bother me? I’ve already convinced myself it was for the best. I was very close to falling in too deep, and that would be stupid. I should be thanking him for snapping me back to reality. I told Molly last night that I didn’t need a man to make me strong again. I should remember that, and I should definitely disregard all those feelings of liberation and freedom that I felt during the best sex ever. With the loveliest man I’ve ever met. No, not lovely. He’s an arsehole.

I push my back from the fridge and finish the tea, handing one to Molly. ‘I was drunk. Stupid. I’m really in no position to get involved with a man.’

Molly gives me a small, understanding smile, probably remembering our conversation in the pub last night. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. ‘But a great rebound screw, yeah?’