Being Kalli(46)

“That was Kalli crazy for your attention. That was her becoming infatuated with you, although she didn’t know it was happening.”

Nate rubs his thumb in a circle over the picture. “More.”

“Um.” I look up to his eyes, but he’s still locked on the photo.

“That Kalli wasn’t sure what to feel because she hadn’t been in a situation like that before—caring about someone. She wanted all your attention—craved it.”

“Was it too much to ask to give me all of your attention?”

I close my eyes and remain still. I start seeing the path. The inevitable road where this will lead no matter what I do. I could fight my case and have him teetering on the edge of will-I, won’t-I, or I could suck up to him, be too overbearing, and have him back off completely.

A tear betrays me, slips from my closed eyes and it’s hot down the side of my nose. I don’t want to wipe it because that will draw attention to the fact I’m crying when I really have no right to.

“Come here,” Nate says, holding out his arms.

He was astute to notice, anyway.

I blink at his fingers, wanting to escape in his touch, but repelled at the same time by the sympathy. I absolutely don’t want to start that. Being a charity case would hurt more.

“Kall Bell.” Nate snatches up my lingering fingers, debating his hands. “Here,” he says as he holds me against his chest.

So many questions run through my mind. There’s everything to ask, and yet I just be. I hold onto this moment and erase the rest. This is a hug, and it’s not linked to anything good or bad. Nate has his arms tensed around my body, trapping my arms still, where they lie near his waist. I hesitate then slip my arms around his middle.

It’s just a hug.

I want to believe this.

But it breaks my heart. This is a good friend to a good friend hugging. There’s compassion and care in this hug, but there isn’t more to it.

He pulls away too soon.

“Here’s what happened for me. I’ve liked you since we started uni. I know it’s only been half a year or less, but every time we kissed I faked being drunk or got myself drunk to get away with touching your waist. I waited to speak to you on the dance floor just to feel my lips at your ear. I invented a school project to photograph you because you’re the most beautiful girl I know.

“After we made out and got under each other’s clothes I’d already lost my strength in you. You were all I thought about during my days, and in my dreams at night. You were my dream come true every moment we got close, and I barely had any part of my life that was just me, that wasn’t you weaved into my actions somehow.

“You didn’t realise when you left that night, you took that part of me without returning it. I was lost and hurting before I heard what happened, saw you. But once people were saying what you allowed that fuckhead to do to you against the wall, him publicly owning you, all those noises, and then seeing you and sensing him all over you, and not me anymore, it was like you burned that part of me all in an instant.”

Of course I’ve imagined what went on for Nate. I’ve had the time to agonise over it, to hate myself for treating sex carelessly, treating his trust carelessly, and treating his delicate feelings so carelessly.

But never was it animated like this. Never did it feel like I was projected within his body, having me hurt him and myself with my spinning out of control.

Because I now wonder how I’d get over something like that if it happened to me.

That’s utterly terrifying.

“It doesn’t have to be over. I’m so ready for this.”

Nate doesn’t answer, but his body language is enough. He’s still lounged against his side of the sofa, but it’s the gap between us that does the most talking. His muscles look relaxed this way, unlike they do when he’s against me. Then, he’s tense, unsure or uncomfortable. The way he looks tells me he needs this space.

I look down to my lap. It’s not a conscious decision, rather a need to feel smaller, more insignificant. In this moment I foresee no more vibrato / vibration. We won’t ever find the sweet spot again in our friendship where we perfectly match; I’m the attention, he’s the looker. We used to fit like that, like two adjacent puzzle pieces.

In my head we make sense, now. I suppose we made sense in his head, pre-Kalli stuff-up.

But again, we’re on two different trains passing in opposite directions.

Nate shakes his head, and I take my answer. Not yet. Yet being the operative word of hope I hang on to.

Nate stands and as he starts to leave, my heart lurches to stop this, and I call just loud enough for him to hear, “What are you going to do? What happens now?”