Teach Me Dirty

He raised his eyebrows. “I would never treat you like that.”

“Then let me make my own decision. If you resign, then I’ll be forced to come with you and watch Dad ruin everything, or stay here and die inside and face my exams alone.”

“Or we live happily ever fucking after, Helen.”

But nobody ever lives happily ever after. Not with a twenty-year age gap and a dad like mine.

“Tell me you won’t resign.”

“I don’t think I can do that…” He was hurt and angry and I hated it, I hated everything.

“Please, Mark, tell me you won’t. Promise me you won’t!”

“I can’t fucking promise that, Helen!”

“PLEASE! Mark, please!” And I covered my face and I cried, and I cried and I cried until I heard him swear under his breath.

“That’s really what you want?”

No, it’s not what I want. It’s not even close to what I want.

I made myself nod. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

It took him a long while to speak again, and when he did it was full of frustration, and pain, and rage.

“Ok, Helen. If that’s what you want. I won’t hand in my resignation.” His eyes ate mine up. “But I’m going to keep a letter in my pocket, and the minute you change your mind, the second you change your mind, and I really do fucking hope you do, I’m going to hand it in, and we can put all this silliness behind us.”

But I wouldn’t.

I’d never ask him to walk away from his life like that.

Not for me.

Not ever.

***

Helen

My soul was broken. I could feel every broken piece, and they were rough and jagged like shards of glass. They hurt every time I moved, every time I thought. Every morning that I woke in my bed and realised all over again that he wasn’t with me.

But I didn’t break.

I didn’t stay late after class. I didn’t hang around at lunchtime. I didn’t go on the internet. I didn’t even ask for my phone back.

Every day Mark would look at me like his heart was broken, and my heart felt it, and it knew the same pain.

I’d cry more than I thought it was possible to cry. After tears came these horrible dry sobs that hurt my stomach. I’d retch and there would be nothing there, because I could hardly eat a thing.

A week in and it wasn’t any better. Mum would come to my room every night, and she’d stand in the doorway and sometimes she’d say my name and I know she’d be crying, too.

One night she even came and sat with me. She put her hand on my shoulder and begged me, pleaded with me just to talk, to tell her about it, to tell her anything.

But I couldn’t.

It was all I could do just to breathe.

I sat at the table and my fork stabbed at nothing on the plate. Again. The same every evening.

Only this time Dad slammed his fists down, and he stood, and he was angry. Again.

“Eat your fucking dinner, Helen!”

I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“JUST EAT YOUR FUCKING DINNER!”

I choked on tears. “I can’t.”

His eyes were so nasty. So full of rage. “If you can’t behave like a fucking adult, then our deal is off. Do you understand me?”

And I did understand him. I understood loud and clear.

I picked up my cutlery and I chopped my waffles into pieces and I swallowed them down while he watched and my eyes were fixed on his until he looked away.

It tasted like shit. Just like everything else.

Mum couldn’t even sit there. She went to the bin and scraped her dinner off.

It seems she wasn’t hungry either.

Breathing and sleeping and eating were hard, but painting was hardest of all. Every time I tried it would hurt so bad I couldn’t bear to hold the brush. I had nothing to give.

I wished I could just tell Mark to put in his notice. I thought about it every minute of every day. Every morning I feared I would break, and take the weak option, the selfish option, and cave and watch his world fall down while I cried on the sidelines.

But I didn’t.

I just kept breathing.

And sleeping.

And walking around in a daze.

It got a little easier with Lizzie back around, but only a little. Lizzie’s mum threw Ray out, and they found pictures on his phone. They arrested him, and I was glad. One sliver of happiness amongst the grey.

Lizzie was away from school for days, but when she came back things were like old times again, as much as they could be. There was no Rachel, only us. Two broken people trying to make their way through the day together. A lot of the time we walked in silence, sat in silence, just being there. And that was ok, too.

We were ok.

Barely, but we were ok.