Short Story

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I felt him come in; through the noise and colour and lights of the party, I felt him come into the room and stand quietly to one side, not mingling, just waiting and watching. We have such a deep connection he didn’t need to tell me he was there; I knew. Maybe there was a change in the air, maybe I smelled him, his scent distinct as the ozone smell before a storm breaks. Whatever it was, I knew he’d arrived and I felt a brief flare of rage that he should just turn up here, uninvited and unwanted, when I was trying to enjoy my party.

The heat of the room was pleasant still and I was passing from guest to guest, making conversation and laughing, but all the time I could feel his eyes follow me round the room. He wouldn’t do or say anything yet; from experience I knew he could be trusted to behave for a while longer. He might even be decent company for some guests but if that were the case, as I shut the door on the last few to leave, there’d be hell to pay for ignoring him all evening. I had to act.

I sidled up to him; he’s an expert sidler so he appreciated that, and grinned at me as I took his elbow and guided him into the kitchen. With my foot wedged against the door, to stop anyone else coming in, I looked at him sternly and felt furious that he just laughed.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You never do,” he said, his mouth turned down in a quirky mock frown. “You never do.”

“Well, what do you expect? You’re a right royal pain when you’re with me. You make my friends hate me,” I said.

“No,” he said and I saw that the joking was over. “They don’t hate you. Honestly. They don’t even know about me, most of them. Or care. I know I make you different when I’m with you, but is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I said.

Someone rattled at the door.

“Just a minute,” I called.

“Look,” I said. “You can stay, all right, but please don’t upset anyone.”

“Deal,” he said and held out a hand.

Reluctantly I took it and he squeezed it.

“We do need to talk,” he said gently and I could see he meant it.

“Later, when everyone’s gone,” I said.

“You always say that,” he said.

“Maybe this time I mean it,” I said.

He kept his word and behaved like a perfect gentleman. I’m not sure anyone really noticed him among the guests; he certainly didn’t stand out as anything out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, I was glad when I shut the door behind my last guest and knew there was nothing more he could do to spoil my party.

I was collecting glasses and he came up behind me, making me jump and drop glasses. I scrabbled to retrieve them and set them down on a coffee table.

“We need to talk,” he said again.

“Then talk,” I said. “I have all night now. What do you need to tell me?”

The room seemed so quiet after the noise of before and it made me feel a little uneasy. I was tempted to go and turn the music back on but he wouldn’t talk if I did that, and I really needed to hear what he said. He picked up one of the empty glasses and twirled it experimentally, making the crystal catch the light and twinkle brightly.

“You need me,” he said. “No, don’t speak. The more you push me away the more I will keep pushing back. I don’t mean you can’t survive without me. That’d just be stupid. Most people survive without guys like me. Two thirds in fact.”

“You’ve nearly killed me God knows how many times,” I said.

He simply shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That’s not down to me. That’s down to you trying to get away from me.”

He had a point. He’d never touched me and never would, not in violence anyway.

“You know I love you, right?” he said, suddenly unsure.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “You’ve been the one constant my whole life. I just don’t understand why you come and stay for months, years even and then just vanish.”

“We all need a break,” he said and I knew he didn’t mean me. It made me wonder how hard it must be for him; I’d never looked at it like that before.

“OK,” I said. “So tell me what you do for me other than make my life shit when you’re around.”

“That’s not me,” he said. “Again, that’s you. You ignore me, you push me away and you dive into anything that blocks me from you and wonder why it all collapses on you and you end up hiding in bed crying for days. I’m not the enemy, you know. I’m here to protect you against the enemy; that’s all I’ve ever been here to do.”

“I don’t have any enemies but you,” I said bitterly and he sighed, and rubbed his head, ruffling the dark hair that was just starting to show strands of silver. It seemed he was going grey just as I was.

“I’ve said I am not your enemy. I’ve said I love you,” he said, clearly exasperated. “What more can I do?”

“Tell me then who my enemy is that you claim to be protecting me from. Tell me why you hang around for months making me miserable. Tell me what earthly bloody use you are in my life.”

I almost screamed the last sentence.

He put his head in his hands for a second and then raised it to look directly into my eyes. His eyes seemed so full of sorrow I had to turn away.

“Your enemy wears many faces and many names,” he said. “But perhaps complacency might be a starting point. You’re like most humans; you like to get comfortable in a rut and call it finding your place. You have so much more to you than that. You never wanted the semi in suburbia with 2.4 kids, but you let yourself be convinced that it’s something that would have made you happy. You never felt normal and like everyone else, but you convince yourself that if you could just conform a bit more and hide your true self, you’d be happier and you’d get greater acceptance from the world around you. Shall I go on?”

“I don’t understand why you make me so miserable. Do you like doing it, coming along when everything is going well and casting your horrible shadow over it all. Do you like it? Does it make you happy?”

I was crying by now. I always end up crying before long when he’s there.

“No,” he said. “I hate it. I don’t want to do it. But better that than you going to sleep and becoming a robot, becoming a mindless clone watching EastEnders every night.”

He rummaged in a pocket and passed me a handkerchief, still warm from his body heat and smelling of cedar-wood.

“We should have talked before,” he said, as I blew my nose. “Years ago.”

“I wouldn’t have listened,” I said. “I’m going to listen now. Just, tell me something.”

“Anything,” he said, and took my hand. His was warm and the skin was as soft as mine.

“Just tell me you won’t ever leave me now I know why you’re here,” I said.

“I promise I will be here for as long as you need me,” he said.

“That’ll be forever, I think,” I said and smiled through my tears.