Where the Stars Fall

21 | Shards

With that, Olivia closed the door behind him and leant against it for support, looking pallid and worn. As if her body had gone limp, she slid down.

Sitting on the wooden floor with her legs bent up, she let out a deep exhale before resting her head on her knees.

"Olivia..." I rushed to her, to soothe her.

However, she quickly composed herself and when I was already on my knees facing her, she raised her hand to stop me. "What was all that? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" I pulled myself close between her legs, our faces so near they almost touched.

Pinning her under my gaze, I traced a finger down her cheek and finally leant in to leave a kiss on the top of her head, hoping that the nearness would help calm her down.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" she asked again, shoving her hand into my chest to push me back. "What made you think you could burst into my life after all this time and solve my problems for me? I'm a grown-up woman, perfectly capable of looking after myself. I don't need any man to come and rescue me."

I raised her chin, making her look at me. "Hey, the guy was threatening you! What would you want me to do? Walk away? Act as if it's none of my business? Pretend I don't care? Let you handle it by yourself for the sake of some feminist emancipation, gender liberation or whatever stupid theory you could possibly throw at my face?"

She didn't answer to any of my interrogations, she just remained still, looking at me, our faces mere inches apart, our breaths intertwining.

"Did he ever hurt you, Olivia?"

Avoiding the question, she squeezed my hand and let her head fall backwards, against the door. "God, what a mess!" The words that came out as a deep sigh were followed by silence.

I kept holding her hand, lightly stroking her knuckles with my thumb, allowing her the time to let it all sink in and release the tension built up inside her.

"He's such an idiot," she began, with her head leaning back and her eyes shut. "He's furious because things aren't going his way this time. He thought he could play one of his romantic tricks and that was it, as good as done. In the bag!" She swallowed a small sob. "He booked a flight to Paris and wanted to take me there. Today! That bastard thought I'd be so thrilled, I'd fall for his smooth talk just like that!" She clicked her fingers. "But you know what I did? I told him to shove those tickets up his arse! He's used to having everyone kiss his ass and do exactly what he says. But I'm not falling for it, not this time! I'm not taking him back. The hell I will."

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"You know what else he told me? That I'm not like other women because I can't forgive and move on. Because I'm resentful and mean, unable to appreciate the magnitude of his grand romantic gestures. Arsehole!"

My thumb made tiny circles in the centre of her palm.

"Worse still, he told me I'm going to end up alone, like a bitter and jaded and withered old bag, all because of my pride. Can you see how twisted this is? He sleeps around, but in the end the fault is mine – because I'm not humble enough to accept his apologies." Olivia let out a short, bitter chuckle.

I kissed the tips of her fingers.

"But the thing I don't get is, why does he keep on coming back? Why doesn't he leave me alone? Why do men cheat but are unable to leave for good? To have some hot sex on the side and still be able to show off some sort of apparent stability? Tell me, what kind of messed up compromise is that?"

There are a million reasons, I suppose. Some of us are plain stupid, some can't get enough of the adrenaline, others need to feel like they still have it, the ability to attract a woman. Others have real issues and should pay a visit to the therapist. Maybe the real question is why some women put up with it.

Anyway, I took it all as rhetorical and didn't answer. She was obviously nervous, disappointed and mad at him too. She seemed to want him out of her life, which was good, and needed to get it off her chest.

"Romantic! Well, screw romantic, Brian. You know whose invention this is, all the romantic love rubbish talk?" Her features hardened as she shook off my hand.

After pushing back her hair off her face and thumbing the tears from her cheeks, she responded to the question herself. "It was invented by men, obviously! To keep women in their place, subservient to them, waiting for some noble idiot who's going to appear out of nowhere promising to love them forever. Only to shag anything that moves behind their backs right after." Her gaze pierced mine, her expression changing from one of sadness to utter irritation. "But you surely know that yourself, don't you?"

What?!

"Shit, it hurts!" she winced as she held her foot up and analysed her heel. "Tell me, why did you bother coming here? Don't you think I have enough problems already? Without you making matters worse? Damn it, I've got a bloody shard stuck in here. I have to get it out."

After all that inarticulate rambling, she hobbled off to the bathroom, leaving me here, alone, on bent knees, not knowing whom she's really pissed off at, and whether she wants me to go check on her or simply leave. Not knowing whether she needs me like I need her – but is too scared to admit it, too afraid to let me in.

A tight knot of dread has lodged itself in my stomach. I'm feeling a miserable ache inside my chest, as if my heart had broken into shards too.