Maame(84)

I work through lunch and leave at four. Only outside does it feel like I can finally breathe and the relief has me burst into tears on the street. People walk by, throwing me looks but continuing with their day. I understand. They might have plans, which talking to me might delay.

I walk back into the OTP building to use the toilet and wipe my face.

Alex

Still on to meet at 6?



I really miss the new Maddie but I don’t have time to lament her recent departure. It was already time for me to be someone else, time to be yet another Maddie. Alex’s Maddie.



* * *



I’m so glad to see Alex that when I spot him exiting the station, I run up and hug him. So quickly has he become my safety net, my break.

“You know what, Maddie?” he says into my neck. “I’ve missed you, too.”

The plan is to walk through the park to his flat and watch a film. He asks me about my day and I make it up with ease, with pleasure.

I should google if lying to this degree is a skill performed deftly only by the criminally insane. My lies are stretching so far from the truth I can no longer see them. I shiver at the thought of my current family affairs.

No, that didn’t happen in this world. Alex’s Maddie simply came home from work last night, had dinner with her flatmates, and went to bed.

As he tells me about his day, Subconscious Maddie sits, looking far from impressed. She folds her arms and pushes the twisted braids from her eyes. He thinks Dad is alive!

I ignore her and she adds, Ben lied to you. How did that make you feel?

I lose my footing, tripping over loose rocks. Alex reaches out in time to grab my hand. “You okay?”

I nod, wiping my forehead before looking at him. He’s smiling, using one hand to shield his eyes from the evening sun whilst the other still holds on to mine. What if I did tell him? Just came out and said it. I lied about going to a barbecue. My best friend’s name is Nia, not Emma. Our dads aren’t best friends. Our dads are dead. Hers died ten years ago, mine just under a month ago. I’m so, so sorry I lied.

There’s no way he’d stay; honestly, I’d judge him if he did, because it’s a crazy thing to lie about. But to lose Alex now would be unbearable. I’d have nothing but grief left. We’re not serious; I know this won’t last, but I need him to stick around until the days don’t seem as long, until the funeral’s over and I’m better, more stable in this new reality of mine.

So you’re using him? No!

Like Ben used you? Shut up!

What happens to Alex and fantasy Maddie when you’re “better”?

“Ouch—Maddie?”

I look up at Alex. “What?”

He holds up our hands. “Tight grip,” he says. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Sorry!” I let go of his hand.

Subconscious Maddie looks smug, and I internally remind her she’s meant to be on my side.

I am on the side of truth!

I look at Alex again and smile hard. “I’m fine, just a little clumsy.”



* * *



But my thoughts follow me through the park and up to his flat.

It’s halfway through the film when Alex kisses me. I know where he wants things to go and for one brief, inexcusable moment, I tell myself sex will make up for my lies. It has to because I need him. I need a pause from my life and the emotional turmoil determined to come with it. I get that respite when I’m not being me. I get that respite with Alex.

My cardigan comes off and goose bumps cover my skin. It’s okay. I like Alex. I like him a lot. He’s kind and thoughtful and easy. That’s why you’re having sex with him. That is the only reason why. But I can’t connect his lips to my skin. I stare at his living room ceiling and think maybe I’m not a fan of foreplay.

“Is this okay?” he asks, positioning himself above me.

I nod and he doesn’t read my mind. When he enters me, it’s less painful than it was with Ben, but it isn’t comfortable; I shift under him because I feel like he’s in the wrong place, even though he can’t be. I accept what it is, but no matter how closely I hold him, if I shut my eyes it feels like we’re miles apart. The inability to connect, the stifling, undeniable dissociation with first my mind and body, and then my body and his, somehow feels worse than the acute physical pain I experienced with Ben. That I at least managed to place; it was temporary, and promised the gift of relief if I gave it a few hours. With Alex, the sofa’s cushion rubs and pulls at my back. I feel my body is being used, but I can’t understand why when this is something I told myself I wanted.



* * *



There’s silence between us after. I ignore it, but it follows us to the kitchen. I watch Alex as he watches the kettle. I don’t want to speak into the silence because I’m scared of what it will give back. Alex taps the counter; I feel him gearing up. He pours hot water into a mug with a green tea bag at the bottom and places it in front of me. Then he takes a seat at the dining table.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says quietly.

I want to hold it in, to lie again. I’m just so good at it. For something so universally condemned, lying truly appeals to me; it often seems like the only way to maintain peace and comfortable continuity. But another part of me is tired—tired of pretending and keeping track, tired of being worn out after sex, like I’ve spent the entire time running away from my own shadow.