Sarah Crabtree

“He needs me.”

Three little words. The last words she’d said before she left.

“He needs you?!” he’d screamed at her. “What about me? I need you more!”

But his words fell on empty ears and he watched her slim figure exit his apartment and leave his life forever. As she turned the corner of the street, he felt a fist plunge into the pit of his stomach; claws ripped at his innards; cruel hands tore out his heart.

He couldn’t sleep that night. Nor the night after. Nor the night after that. He lay in the chasm of the double bed, turning over and over in his mind all that she had meant to him. He sobbed into the coolness of the pillow where only hours earlier her dear face had lain.

He tried not to torture himself with visions of her with the other. Neither was he ready to acknowledge that the other had indeed entered her life before he had. He – James – had been a kind and thoughtful lover. A shoulder to cry on when she’d needed him. A secret love.

And now she didn’t need him anymore.

As twilight turned into the witching hour and shadows tormented him as others played out the scenarios of their lives, he thought about the man who had taken her from him. 

He wanted him to die…But then, she would be sad. And even though she had ruined his very soul, he couldn’t bear for her to feel the way he was feeling now. How could anybody survive a hurt so deep as this? He wanted to throw open his bedroom window and scream to the world: “Never, ever, ever allow yourself to love again. It hurts just too damn much. Keep it all in. Keep it all to yourself.”

Instead he locked the window in case an intruder should attempt to break in.

As the days followed, he tried to go about his life. Everything – his overcoat, his workload, even his weekly trip to the corner store – seemed to wrap around him like a shroud.

“You look like you won the lottery and lost the ticket,” said Mrs Beames, the friendly shopkeeper, as she handed him his change.

As he pocketed the coins, he tried to force out a smile. He felt the lines of time etched in his grey face. The pale sun had long ago bid its farewell to this long day. He nodded a farewell to Mrs Beames, lifted his flimsy carrier and pushed open the door on to the quiet street. The streetlamps were starting to wink open their ruby eyes. As the bulbs warmed, their amber hearts would grow more orange in the gloom.

He found her waiting on the doorstep of the apartment block. Her coat was black and silky. Her eyes were wild and green. She tilted her head up towards his, showing tiny white teeth and a delicate pink tongue.

“So who are you, my beauty?” He put his shopping carrier on the step and bent to pick up the beautiful creature. She purred appreciatively and he felt something in his heart shift, like the movement of the minute hand on a clock. She nestled into his coat as he gently stroked her ebony head.

The cat stayed with him for the next day, winding her glossy body round his legs as he worked on his laptop. But the following day she did not return.

He waited, hoping. And sure enough when the moon was at its fullest, she came to him again. He put down a saucer of milk and watched as her pink tongue tickled the edges of the blue porcelain. She paused just for a moment, to stare into his eyes, and then finished lapping up the liquid.

Another movement of the clock. Another beat of his heart. He smiled at the cat. But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Again she left him. This time for a week. And when she did return, she was more skittish. Maybe she’d been playing with the alley cats and had been forced to defend herself. When he bent to pick her up, she scratched the back of his hand.

“Why, you little demon!” The pain was sharp and shocking. He turned to the kitchen sink and rinsed his injured hand under the tap, mentally clocking where he’d left the plasters and antiseptic.

But the pain soon disappeared when later she jumped on to his lap and curled up into his stomach.

“You hurt me,” he whispered above her purring. “But I forgive you.”

And this time the smile reached his eyes.   

Sarah Crabtree 2004