Literally. As if someone were taking x-rays with
their eyes and imagining something that could
never happen.
I turn just in time to catch her in the act, while
she recovers from that dreamy image she had just a
second ago, then she abruptly turns back to her
book.
I blink repeatedly. My throat goes dry. My legs
feel paralyzed and my hands start shaking.
Why am I reacting like this? Why would a
woman’s stare affect me so? I should be used to it
by now.
The problem is it’s not some woman’s stare.
Hell no.
It’s her and her damned hazelnut eyes, so sweet,
so intense and damned good, just like she is.
And me, in contrast to that, I’m anything but
sweet and good and I’m far from anything like
what a man of thirty years old should be. I’m too
old to be living like a teenager who doesn’t give a
shit about anything.
Because now, and I’m damned for it, I’ve found
something that’s important to me.
And I’m terrified.
I care about her and the person who is growing
in her belly, that she happens to be touching in this
moment, almost hugging it.
And then I completely lose my sense of
orientation. I lose control. I lose every single
fucking part of me, because I realize that I’ll never
be anything if I go on being what I always have
been until now.
A man who doesn’t know how to love.
The rain beats down incessantly against the
window, and as I sit here I feel like a fraud, an
imitation of something that has never really
existed.
Happiness damn near destroys you … Breaks
your faith to pieces on the floor.
And this terrible tenderness destroys me, it
breaks me into pieces while it also fills my heart
with something that I don’t know how to contain,
because it’s glued away from my hands passing
through my fingers before I have a second to bring
it to my mouth and taste it.
Then one day, you’ll wake up and she’ll be
home.
I find myself thinking.
And hoping.
I shake my head and grab the first bottle I come
across.
Tequila. Perfect.
I fill the glass and down it in one gulp but it’s
not enough. I pour myself another drink and
another, until my vision starts to cloud over and I
can’t focus on her even if I want to.
But it’s useless, because even if I shut my eyes
and decide not to open them again, I would
continue to see her round face and her smile that
bends your knees and makes you kneel on the
ground.
She will be home.
2
No. It can’t.
It can’t be her.
It mustn’t be her.
2 Happiness, The Fray, The Fray
8
Erin
“Excuse me…” A girl sitting with her friends calls
my attention as I pass between the tables, picking
up empty glasses.
“Can I bring you something else?” I ask,
smiling at them. Today I’m full of life and in a
good mood.
“We wanted another round of rum-and-coke.”
“You got it, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait!” She blocks me before I can get very far.
“Hey, please, is there a chance that you could
arrange for Patrick to be the one to bring it over?”
she asks me in a whisper and slyly slips a twenty
in my apron pocket.
I look at her in shock without having the
courage to reply. I blush with embarrassment, or
maybe rage. Or maybe both of those things.
She winks at me as if to say, “You got me,
right?” and I nod and remain in my confused
stupor, heading toward the counter where Patrick
and Rain are laughing at one of Ned’s jokes.
“Honey, are you okay? You don’t look…” Rain
says, studying me.
“I’m fine,” I say, unable to hide the
disappointment I feel in this moment. It’s a nice
mixture of jealousy and yearning, because that girl
is hot, she’s not pregnant and because tonight
she’ll be able to bring him back to her home and
sleep in his arms. Well, I don’t think they’ll sleep,
but if I think about what they’ll really do, I’m sure
I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.
“Uh…” I blurt out, “that girl at table fifteen
asked for another round of rum-and-coke for her
and her friends.”
“Sure, I’ll get it ready for you right away,” Rain
says and I can feel Patrick’s eyes on me.
I swallow before finding the courage to look at
him, because for some dark reason, I want him to
see that I don’t approve.
“They want Patrick to bring it to them in
person,” I add, looking at him sideways.
Rain shoots him a look that would impale him
and Patrick turns every shade of red before being
able to articulate his response.
“Liam will bring it to them,” he says looking
around, trying to find him.
I pull out the money from my apron and throw
it on the counter in disgust.
“She gave me twenty euros to make sure you
got the message,” I say, feeling my courage grow
within me.
“You can give it back to her, I don’t want to be
anybody’s bootlicker,” I conclude, raising my
head, straightening my shoulders and faking a self
confidence that I do not feel in this moment, but
that I must show whatever be the cost.
Patrick is silent for a moment with his eyes
fixed on the bill; I turn and go back to the dining
area before tears can start burning my eyes. I pass
by the tables as if nothing has happened,
continuing to sniffle and drying myself with my
sleeve before my tears get plastered onto my
cheeks.
I feel humiliated and I don’t know if it’s right
that I should. I also feel like I’ve been made fun of,
and again, I’m not sure it’s the right emotion for
this situation.
It’s just when it comes to Patrick, I seem to run
through the entire scale of human emotions in a
few seconds. It’s an emotional elevator that leaves
me insecure and unhappy.
This is the effect he has on me and I can’t
permit him to have this control over my emotions
and my life. And if I don’t want to feel this way
anymore, there’s only one thing to do.
I can’t let him get any closer to me.
Patrick
I continue to look at that twenty left on the counter
by Erin. Rain is standing next to me, not talking. I
can feel her disapproval, even if she doesn’t say a
word because I know her, and I know that she is
ordering me to do something right now, and I can’t
say she’s wrong.
I’m the one who creates this kind of situation,
because I’m the one who always lets women know
that I’m available. And it’s never bothered me
before, not until now. Not until I saw Erin’s
expression as she threw down the money in disgust
—money she earned by helping a cheap tart get
her hands on me.
I don’t want anyone to get their hands on me.
I don’t want anyone that isn’t her to put their
hands on me.
And in the moment this thought slaps me in the
face, and I feel my anger rising to my temples.
I take the bill, I jump over the counter into the
bar area, which is not being very sensitive to Ned,
who was calmly drinking his beer, not expecting
me to leap down beside him.
With a sudden feeling of fury, I go to the table
where the girl is, and I can feel all eyes in the
house on me.
Including hers.
“I’m not your personal barman, or your little
plaything,” I tell the girl who was after me. “Don’t
you dare ever try asking one of my workers to do
anything like that again. She’s not for sale and
neither am I!” I say, slapping the money down in
front of her. “And now, I think it’s better if you go.
And don’t come back.”
I turn around and go back towards the counter,
where I see Rain with puffy eyes that are full of
tears. She’s waiting for me, triumphant in her
pride. As soon as I get near her she throws her
arms around my neck and kisses my cheek.
“This is the Patrick I’ve always hoped to see. I
knew it was hidden in there somewhere,” she says,
pointing at my heart. “And now,” she lowers her
voice, “go to her.”
Rain is the best person I’ve ever known in my
life. Really, she is the best, the sweetest, the most
sincere person I’ve ever known, both before and
after her terrible accident. She is without any kind
of guile or artifice, and is completely pure and
direct. She looks at you with those big green eyes
and tells you what she needs to and then, if her
words take you apart, she puts you back together
again. She throws reality right in your face, laid
bare and raw, and she’s also honest enough to let
you know when you’re a hopeless asshole.
I smile at her and give her a kiss before going
towards the back room. I can hear Erin in there
sobbing in the distance, even from the outside with
the door closed. I run to her, throw open the door
and find her standing out in the rain, teeth
chattering and shaking from the cold.
“Erin … what the heck?”
Her eyes are my downfall.
Swollen, deep and drowning in tears.
In a second I fall apart. I’m in a million little
pieces that intermingle with the falling hail.
My convictions, my fears, my never-ending
bullshit.
Everything breaks.
I break myself.
And I don’t want to be put back together,
because if being broken down this badly is what it
takes to finally see what you’ve tried to hide from
sight and from your heart for thirty years, then I
don’t give a fuck about being reduced to a million
pieces. I could stay like this forever. I could be just
air, as long as it’s her air, her oxygen, and I could
be the one that allows her to breathe and to live.
Because now I have a goal.
Now something is important to me.
Someone.
Now she is important to me.
9
Erin
After watching the scene Patrick created, I can’t
stand to be there anymore and run away like a
baby in front of a horror film, taking refuge at the
back of the pub. I start sobbing so hard that I’m
afraid someone will hear me in there, and so in a
moment of confusion, I open the door and close it
behind me, forgetting that from the outside, I’m
locked out. I stay there, in the freezing cold, with
no coat on and stand under the hail that hits me
without pity, hitting me, like it wants to slap me,
like it wants to really hit home this idea: that
Patrick is not the one for me.
I cover my face with my hands as I start to
shiver in the cold, without being able to calm my
cries and unable to avoid shattering like a glass left
to crash into a million splinters on the pavement.
And then the door slams open.
And he’s here.
He’s worried, and scared and desperate.
He’s absolutely perfect.
He looks at me and in a heartbeat all the pieces
come back together and I can breathe again, as if
he were the air passing through my lungs.
“I … I’m sorry,” he yells, trying to drown out
the sound of the hail.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I yell back.
He takes a step forward.
“It is. I allowed all of this to happen. I
established a reputation that meant that trashy girls
like that would come here looking for me. I made
it so that everyone believed that I am the dickhead
that I really am. That you would think it too.”
“And you are,” I say, moving my wet hair from
my eyes.
“I am.” He smiles bitterly. “But I don’t want to
be like that any more.”
“No?” I ask with a pained voice and a bit of
hope brushing up against my heart.
taking another step closer to me. “I need you to
help me to be a better person.”
“M-me? Why me?”
Another step closer and his forehead is touching
mine. It caresses my face and I close my eyes to let
his touch imprint itself in my mind.
“Because with you, Erin, I feel I can be …
different. I can be myself. I feel that I can finally
be a man.”
Patrick
We go back into the pub as I support her with an
arm. She’s shivering and pale and seems just about
ready to faint. She’s freezing, having been standing
in the freezing rain and is completely distraught
because of me. She’s barely able to put one foot in
front of the other. So I pick her up and carry her to
the door of her apartment. She doesn’t protest, she
doesn’t say anything, she simply rests her head on
my chest and by doing so she stops me feeling
cold and shaky, because this contact warms my
body and heats up my cold heart.
I climb the stairs slowly, afraid I might drop her;
I open the door and go straight to the bathroom.
She needs a hot bath, right away, so she can relax.
I make her sit on the edge of the tub as I turn the
water on.
“What are you doing?” she asks me in
confusion.
“You need to warm up,” I tell her, kneeling
down to undo her shoelaces.
“Patrick…” she says, trying to object, but I’m
taking no notice. I’m
here now, and I’m taking
care of her.
“I can do it by myself. And you need to dry off
and warm up too.”
I shake my head, signaling that she is all I care
about, and continue to undress her.
“Patrick, really.” She looks at me. “I’ll do it
alone. Thank you, but I’m okay to carry on by
myself now.”
I get up and reluctantly leave the bathroom,
closing the door. “I’m here if you need me.”
I go in the kitchen and put on the kettle. I take a
cup from the cupboard and prepare her a scalding
hot cup of tea with plenty of milk. I wouldn’t want
the caffeine to stir her up too much.
After a few minutes I decide to knock on the
bathroom door. “May I come in?” I ask before
entering.
The sight of her naked shoulders that are visible
above the water full of bubbles is paralyzing. I
catch my breath and quiver like a virgin schoolboy
that’s never seen a piece of nude female skin from
this close.
I swallow hard, more than once, and put my
other hand on the cup so as to stop it trembling
from the emotions I’m feeling. Then, I slowly get
near the tub as she continues to ‘give me the
shoulder’, as it were. She doesn’t emit a sound.
“Erin?” I call her quietly before moving forward
so I can look her in the face.
She’s curled up in the tub, hugging her legs
against her chest, and is crying mutely. As she goes
on not moving, not speaking, her shoulders quiver
just slightly.
I set the tea down on the edge of the tub and
kneel down. She remains still, not talking.
With my heart in my shoes and my hands that
won’t stop shaking, I brush her arm ever so softly,
and the contact with her wet skin makes me
instantly crazy with longing.
I am completely screwed.
“Is … is everything alright?”
No answer.
“Honey…” I say in a moment of brain damage.
“Please, talk to me.”
So she turns slowly with her head still resting
on her knees. Her eyes are tired and swollen and
I’d like to cut off one of my own testicles for
having been the idiot responsible for all this upset.
I slowly brush her face, as if touching her again
might kill me on the spot. It’s so slight, and she
might not even notice I’m doing it. I cock my head
and study her, trying to understand what might
make her feel better.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says in a whisper.