The Lucky One Chapter Ten

She came so soft and gentle and kind that I didn’t notice when she was gone. She didn’t seem so alive, but she came so slow and careful and quite you won’t even know it. And it didn’t hurt that much, that hard, the moment she was leaving. Maybe, that’s why in the afters, when I found myself alone and without her, I found it so cruel.

So my love, here I am, scribbling notes you will probably never read. I promise to keep you with all the things that I find pretty as well as the ugly, and the aches and the empty things. I will keep the ghost of you in that way; with all my ways, I will love you still and all the ways you never do. 

Cate stopped scribbling on her phone. Her unsent notes for her had been countless. Still, in her hopes of having her again, she could not find the courage to send her those. What for?

The seat that she took in the club was somehow a sort of solitary; there was peace and quite despite the loud noises and the neon lights dancing around the club. On the table in front of her were the empty bottles of tequila and her untouched vodka. She promised herself to never sit on clubs and nurse her broken heart there again, yet there she was, alone in a table so big, lonely in a crowd so wild. She could see the dance floor full of people dancing and making out and it did not help to forget the scene she picked that morning. Sandra had a girlfriend. A new blonde. God, was she that replaceable?

“Hey, do you mind if I –”

“Fuck off.” Cate growled to whoever that was.

She didn’t come here to hook up. She came here to forget. Still, she failed. In every corner of the bar, she could see the ghost of her ex-lover. The remnants of who they were and what they were suddenly flowed inside that bar and even if she would try to close her eyes, Sandra was staring right back at her, smiling, giggling.

“Tell me lies.”

The brunette raised her brow as she closed her medical book” What?”

The blonde rolled on her bed as she looked at her from across the room, “Lies.” She blurted, “Like tell me lies.”

“Skin is not the largest organ in the body.”

She grinned, “What else?”

“The heart does not pump blood.”

“What else?”

“My heart does not love you.”

“Is that a lie?” Cate jested as she left out a laugh, “Really?”

With a soft, warm smile on her lips, Sandra stood up from her study table to walk towards her girlfriend on the bed, “Yes. It’s a lie.”

“So…” Cate looked at her eyes, then her lips, back to her eyes before she played with the brunette’s hair, “So your heart loves me?”

“It does.” The brunette drew a smile for her as she touched  Cate’s lower lip, “And it will love you forever.”

“Tell me one truth.”

“I’m going to marry you.”

“Such a pretty liar.” Cate muttered to herself as she picked up her glass of vodka and drank it empty; the rage and the burning sensation of the liquid was skinning her throat, still the pain was good, because it made her forget that her heart was bleeding too.

—–

Sandra Bullock

A call woke me up. I went home from work at around midnight, went to sleep an hour after and at around two, I got woken up.  It was close to three in the morning and there she was, passed out in some bar. I right away got into some clothes, drove down to the address of the bar and when I got there, the bar was closed and she was outside, sleeping with a staff  from the bar who made sure no one would touch her. 

“Good morning, ma’am. She’s still passed out. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but you are the number on Cate Blanchett’s speed dial.”

I got my purse and handed the girl a hundred dollar, “Please don’t tell anyone Cate Blanchett went here and that she got drunk and out. Here.” I said, gave her a smile as she got the money, “And thank you. You can leave now, I got her.”

The girl, probably in her twenties, uttered her thank you before she walked back inside the bar. That early morning was achingly cold. I sighed as I looked at the drunk and passed out Cate sitting on the bench. I slowly sat beside her, all in silence as I thought about what to do with her. I did not know where she was staying.

“Wake up.” I spoke, my eyes glued to my car in front, yet she did not wake up, “Catherine.” I muttered even louder, still I received nothing.

I gave up another sigh. I moved to face her now and when I did, all the nerves in my body started tingling. In that early morning, despite the fact that she was drunk and was out, she still looked so beautiful. She had gained lines around her mouth, still I knew that those lines where the graveyard of histories that only she knew about. Her lashes, thick and long were like a black cape coating her eyes. Her lips, so red and her nose so pointed. I could see her deep, lustrous eyes even if those were closed. She was too beautiful for this world, it was as if she was carved by the god who carved the deities in ancient Greece. This beautiful drunk lady beside me, I’ve killed. Stabbed her with my letting go and I knew how badly I have hurt her. Cate was a writer and I was her muse; she immortalized me in her works, in the words she printed in the atoms of her blood – she made me live in the pages of her skin, all my ugly, she turned it pretty; the rough, the hard, the cold, she made everything about me beautiful and when I decided to end her, to end us, my ghost stayed still, in her and through her.

I gathered the courage to wake her up this time for the early morning had gone even colder, “Cate, wake up. Hey…” I said as I gently shook her by her shoulder, “Wake up.”

The blonde did not even move. I silently sighed as I took off my robe. It was cold and wearing a worn out jeans and a shirt would not do me good. But she, who was passed out in the cold, wearing a jeans and a tank top needed it more than I do. I wrapped the robe around her and I gradually got her hand to sling it around my  shoulder just so I could take her into my car. As soon as I was about to lift her up, she woke up.

“That’s a relief. I thought I’d be lifting a drunk you towards my car.” I spoke casually, trying to lighten up the mood as I felt her somehow ashamed.

“You came.”

“The staff called.” I looked at her, “I was on your speed dial.”

She did not bother to say another word. Instead, as if sober, she ran her fingers through her hair, as if trying to shake away the liquor that had gotten into her system. She eventually stood up and took off my robe and handed it back to me.

“I am sorry I disturbed you. I’d keep in mind to remove you from my speed dial.”

“Where you are going?” I asked as she started to walk away.

“You can go home now.” She answered without looking back at me; some things don’t really change, she’s still as stubborn as before, “I’ll catch a cab.”

“It’s fucking 3 AM. You will not catch a cab. You will catch hypothermia.”

I heard her chuckle, “Stop worrying, doc.”

The audacity of this woman, “Then stop making me worry.” I retorted.

She did not reply.  She walked further away from me and only stopped as she stood beside a lamppost. From afar, the snow was falling down and her hair was gradually kissed by snowflakes. The bluish golden moon was still hanging above and it somehow made the scene more beautiful. But would it still be beautiful if she would catch hypothermia? I know deep in myself how hardheaded she could be and so I mirrored what she was doing. I made my way towards her and when I reached her spot, I sat down on the snow covered ground like a little kid. She looked down at me, but did not say anything. For five minutes, I sat there, letting the snow kissed my head.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for a cab.” I answered and when I did, she started to walk the opposite way, “Where are you going?”

“You wanna catch hypothermia?” She asked in all seriousness.

I wanted to smile. It worked. It fucking worked. I stood up and brushed off the snow on my body.

“You no longer want to wait for a cab?” I asked as I reached my car.

She looked at me defeatedly, “Take me home.” I arched my brow to which she answered with another defeated sigh, “Please… take me home, please.”

***