Page 64 of If We Were Young

This was never about him and her.

It was about me and him.

Most specifically me.

Theory

“You never knew how I felt.” I clutched at my chest as I pushed away. “All those times when I waited, and you didn’t know how I felt, so you waited too.”

He bit on his bottom lip and I groaned like a wildcat.

“It wasn’t even about me not saying yes on that doorstep. The doubts had always been in place, the question on the doorstep was you confirming your doubts were true.”

“Were they?”

I pushed my palm against his coat and the wool pressed back. “Matthew, I—”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, Ronnie.” Stepping back, he held his hand out. “Come, let’s get you home.”

How many times had he said that to me before? Remind me again why you are living at home and not with us?

I shook my head forcing away the memory, but it hung around, its echo taunting.

Because Mum says it’s easier this way.

In my head his laugh reverberated back at me.

He always thought I was spineless and that I wasn’t showing him anything different, because I wasn’t any different.

My thoughts spiralled too quick to catch.

Still, we stood in the street, the rain drenching us until we were like layers of wet newspaper. Wet and half-disintegrated, yesterday’s news.

No, I was different now.

I was.

“Where is your flat?”

He cocked an eyebrow and then glanced up the road. “Two streets away.”

“Take me there.”

“Ronnie, it’s not a competition of who can push each other the most.”

“I know. Take me there anyway.”

I wanted to stand in his space and breathe his air. I needed to see beneath the external layers. See if I was right about the man he was. See if the man in my head was the same as the one I once thought I was in love with.

“It’s not much. It’s only rented.”

“Don’t care.”

We walked in silence, just our hands talking as our skin rubbed together. When he stopped again, he pointed at a black door up a short flight of steps.

“In there?” I whispered.

He nodded.