Merak
Merak (Serbian) — a wonderful little word that refers to a feeling of bliss and the sense of oneness with the universe that comes from the simplest of pleasures.
I lost someone, too.
How could Therese possibly bring up her own baggage in light of everything that Carol had just told her? The last thing she wanted to do was fashion some sort of sick competition out of this. You lost your family? Well, I lost the love of my life so suck on that. Obviously, she’d never dream of phrasing it like that, but that would be the inevitably linked connotation, surely? The thoughts plagued her far past the fire going out; far, even, past Carol’s breaths beginning to deepen as the blonde slipped into a dreamless sleep. The two women were still intertwined on the sofa, and the fact that Carol had made no move to… well, move, spoke to Therese in a language she’d never been able to quite understand before. Carol’s own love language, perhaps. God save anyone who ever tried to write that dictionary. It had likely gone midnight by the time her eyes finally shut, the only solace from the cynicism of her own brain trapped in the feeling of Carol’s arms wrapped around her.
Occasionally, one woman would shift slightly, and the other would move to accommodate the change in position. Throughout the entire night, though, they remained laced around each other; fingers linking, noses brushing, each insignificant point of connection coming together to build the raft that fought against the tides of two unsteadily shifting worlds.
When Therese opened her eyes again, it felt almost as if she’d never been asleep at all, and yet there was sunlight streaming in through the curtains; there was the weight of Carol on her chest. Tonight was the first night in weeks that she’d slept entirely through, undisturbed by those incessant nightmares that seemed determined to send her duvet flying from the mattress in a flurry of jolts and screams. Carol was the breeze-block, it seemed, that kept her tied down in a realm far from that of bad dreams. Just peace. Just sleep.
Carol stirred, the curve of her jaw pressing into Therese’s abdomen. Her grip tightened behind Therese’s back and it occurred to the brunette that maybe she wasn’t the only one being anchored to reality right now. She was so peaceful when she was sleeping — the hard lines and cool indifference that Therese had come to associate with Carol were gone, replaced only by a faintly twitching smile and an impossible softness that surrounded them both.
“Morning.”
Minutes later, Carol’s voice — muffled as it was — stumbled into the silence, her gaze lifting to catch Therese’s in the grand stillness of everything else. She seemed to clock the situation all at once, her eyebrows flying up almost as quickly as the rest of her body as she untangled herself from the mess of loops and knots that was Therese.
“Oh god. I’m so sorry. You must have been suffocated all night, Therese. Why didn’t you wake me?”
She was already standing up, her eyes squinting with the muted effects of last night’s wine, panic swarming her features as she hurried around the room picking up boxes and bottles and glasses and, in Therese’s eyes, any evidence that last night had happened at all. It wasn’t deliberate. Of course it wasn’t. She doesn’t feel like that, for you.
At something of a loss for words, Therese watched Carol rush out, and then listened to the hurried clang of an opening bin in the kitchen as all traces of anything they’d shared were pushed down into the rest of the week’s old food. A part of her had expected this — at least, a part of her had known to expect a different reaction from Carol than might be anticipated — because of the enigma that the older woman had so frequently proved herself to be. She came back into the room apologising, flustered in a way that Therese had never seen before. As it turned out, there was a lot of Carol that she’d never seen before.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have had so many glasses, oh god, did I stain your shirt? Dragging you down with all of that wasn’t the plan, I swear, I’m so sorry—”
Finally reaching for her senses behind clouded vision, Therese stood, wincing for a moment before catching Carol’s panicked stare in her own. For once, she was in control.
“You’ve said ‘I’m so sorry’ three times now. You have nothing to apologise for.”
Carol looked from the ground, a smile playing behind her eyes.
“I do, though. I...”
She let out an embarrassed laugh.
“I got us both drunk, dumped a sob story into the mix and then passed out literally on top of you.”
Therese shook her head, taking a step closer. A moment passed between them before she reached to skim her thumb against the edge of Carol’s palm. In an unintended reaction, Carol pushed her hand into Therese’s, linking their fingers as if it were a habit. As if it ever could be.
“It was more than a sob story, Carol.”
Avoiding the implications of what Therese had said — you trusted me with that much — Carol tugged on an embarrassed grin.
“You must think I’m awful.”
For the first time, Therese saw through the charade. That casual play at nonchalance which was ordinarily so easy to go along with.
“No. Not at all. That first meeting in the bookshop was enough to convince me that nothing about you is awful. God, you were so put together it was almost scary.”
She didn’t need to ask if Carol remembered the encounter. How could either of them ever forget it?
“I’m different around you, Therese. That is scary. I’ve known you — what — thirteen days?”
She’s been keeping count.
“And the person you met, the one who… wears velvet gloves, and unironically winks at people, and asks strangers what they dream about… all of that — she’s the person that everyone who knows me, sees. The picture of sophistication.”
She spat out the words, Therese noticed, as if being the most elegant woman alive was a curse. What was it like, upholding that persona, day in, day out? Could Carol ever really be anyone else?
“The person who breaks down after four glasses of wine in another person’s lap... I don’t know. I have no idea who that version of me, is.”
She tailed off, her hand still in Therese’s.
“Thirteen days and half a bottle does something to a woman, apparently.”
Therese couldn’t disagree; when she’d first encountered Carol in the bookshop, it came close to being off-putting how suave she was. She hadn’t seen that at the time, though, as enthralled as she’d been, as enthralled as she still was; but this side of Carol was perhaps even more captivating than the one she’d met. Something had changed, last night.
“I… quite like this version, actually.”
Carol glanced up, surprise joining the battle against the shame that clouded her features. She gave a half-hearted attempt at a shrug, her gaze now stumbling down to their interlocked hands. The younger woman moved slightly closer again, hoping that Carol couldn’t feel the pulse that raced through her fingertips.
“You do?”
A piece of Therese’s heart crumbled, so shocked as Carol was that anyone could feel anything towards the parts of her which weren’t ‘perfect’. What the hell was perfect, anyway?
Carol is.
“I do.”
A pause, as each woman drew impossibly closer to the other, lips parting, eyes searching.
“We were… you stayed with me? Through the whole night?”
There it was — that same hopeful vulnerability that Therese had only seen traces of since last night. Of course I did. Where else could she ever have wanted to be?
“Carol…”
There were so many things Therese could have said. Too many things. Her head ached with the possibilities.
“Therese.”
Their lips were centimetres apart. The brunette’s free hand came up to press against Carol’s cheek, shock registering in her eyes before she melted almost imperceptibly into the caress. Her jaw moved as if to speak, words forming that Therese already knew the answer to.
Can I kiss you?
A breath, a nod, a certainty.
“CAROL!”
The reverie shattered. Carol stumbled backwards, her head snapping towards the noise just as Therese reversed inadvertently into the coffee table with a thud. Apologetic glances were thrown between the two, harmony morphing into dissonance as the front door shut.
Abby.
“Right, Sunday’s been and gone and I managed to keep out of your hair but unless you two slept together, I’m assuming you’re free to play a violently unfriendly game of monopo—”
Up until the third syllable of monopoly, Abby’s voice had been resounding in from the front corridor, and it was only as she rounded the corner that she finally paused. Maybe paused isn’t the word for it — when she first clocked the two women, it was like she’d hit a brick wall. Her eyes flitted first to Therese, the brunette’s face ever so slightly flushed, and then to Carol, wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing when they FaceTimed yesterday.
“Oh my god.”
Carol sighed, figuring that she’d correct any assumptions later on. She gestured vaguely at Abby.
“Therese, meet Abby. My best friend of almost twenty-five years. Abby, meet Therese.”
She glanced surreptitiously at Therese and then very deliberately at Abby.
Therese cleared her throat at Carol’s as Abby’s eyes narrowed, a grin breaking out from behind her suspicion before she could stop it. Monopoly in hand, she plonked herself down on the sofa.
“So this is the mysterious Therese.”
She gave the brunette a once-over, smirking at Carol in the most obvious possible fashion before she stuck her hand out.
“Nice to finally meet you, Therese. You’ll be glad to know that I’ve heard so much about you.”
It was Therese’s turn, this time, to shoot a playful look at Carol as the older woman stood, gobsmacked. Finally, Abby let her off the hook, slapping a hand down onto the board game in front of her and jolting the room out of its thickening silence. She didn’t miss the heart-eyes that Carol was giving Therese, but for once, resigned any related comment.
"What's your take on Monopoly?"
“Two thousand dollars and a win, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Therese winced as she handed over the last of her money, all of her assets gone. This was the third time she’d landed on Mayfair — the most expensive property in the game — and Abby was loving it. Carol was long out, her head resting on the back of the sofa as she watched the women battle. Every so often, her knee would shift ever so slightly to the left, knocking gently against Therese’s. She would note the way the brunette’s eyes would widen for a moment, a dice roll faltering, a play delayed. Abby wasn’t the only one enjoying this game.
“God, people aren’t joking when they talk about this game lasting a century. How long’s it been?”
Carol tugged her watch out from under a cashmere sleeve, hand brushing against Therese’s thigh.
“It’s almost two.”
Four hours, had passed, somehow, the three women revelling in each other’s company for just as long. Therese had taken just as much a liking to Abby as Abby had taken to her, the occasional burst of raucous laughter on her best friend’s behalf warming Carol’s heart through. She adored this casual domesticity almost as much as she’d loved the look on Therese’s face every time someone had landed on one of her properties — glee, in a form almost childish for how wonderful it was. Therese leaned backwards, now, heaving a contended sigh as she watched Abby count the riches she’d amassed. Her head rested accidentally against Carol’s arm, outstretched on the back of the sofa as it had been. Both women stiffened for a moment until the younger woman leaned further into Carol, her gaze never faltering from directly ahead. Slowly, and as cautiously as if to avoid waking someone from sleep, Carol curled her arm around Therese, her fingers coming to lie on the brunette’s shoulder. When Abby glanced up from the fake money she’d been flicking through, she paused, taking in the look of absolute bliss on Carol’s features as she gazed down at Therese, the way that they both seemed almost unaware of the way they seemed to be holding each other together, tucked into their own quiet corner of the world.
Feeling almost intrusive, she glanced back down, smiling quietly to herself. This almost-happiness. This would be enough. Especially since she’d won monopoly, although with the way Carol had been basically donating her money to Therese throughout the game, it had only ever really been a one-in-two chance.
“So.”
It was, unexpectedly, Carol’s voice which broke the silence, Therese jolting slightly beside her.
“Who’s staying for dinner?"
Abby waited to reply until Therese had — “I’ve got to get home to Dannie, sorry,” — watching cautiously as the Carol’s smile faltered, just slightly.
“Abby?”
She shrugged.
“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.”
Therese stayed for another hour after, settling into herself as Abby took up most of the conversation with scandalous memories from high school, college, and the days beyond. She took particular delight in recalling the campus-wide game of ‘tag’ that their university had somehow allowed, divulging to Therese every single detail of Carol’s feature at the winner’s table.
“I didn’t even know she had it in her — god, you wouldn’t even come near me for the entire three weeks. Even after I’d been body slammed by some guy in the year above and was most definitely out of the game.”
Carol grinned, revelling in her notoriety.
“You couldn’t trust anyone. For all I knew, you’d signed a deal to lock me in the dorm room or something.”
Abby rolled her eyes as Therese laughed quietly, the air warm with the kind of mirth that usually took weeks of small talk to find. It was a strange happiness that filled her at the thought of getting along with Abby, so well, so quickly — a gleefully twisting thing that tugged a smile across her face even in moments of passive absent-mindedness where there usually wouldn’t have been much to see at all. I’ve made a friend, and the thought was childish but it was true — she knew, now, what Abby’s face looked like in uncontrollable laughter. She could recognise the way her eyes creased and her hand came up to shield her mouth, the way she would rock backwards and then again forwards in time with the bout of giggling to come and go. Therese would have been smiling even where there was nobody to see her, even in darkness, even without Carol. Today, she thought, as she glanced down at the watch with an unfamiliar sense of foreboding, had been an excellent day.
“You’ve got to go?”
Carol had seen the look, and when Therese turned to nod a confirmation, their faces were close.
“Unfortunately. Dannie’ll probably be throwing a fit back home.”
A flicker of something across the blonde’s face — jealousy? — and then a smile as she slapped her palms to her thighs.
“That’s that then. You’ll be okay to drive back into the city?”
Abby smirked. Overprotective Carol was fun to watch, and it was ever more the spectacle when Therese slid a ‘comforting’ hand onto Carol’s knee.
“I’ll be okay.”
And with the contemporary newness that Abby had only so far heard in description, Therese drew herself up, steps like a ballet dancer’s as she stole from the house — an echo. An existence. Carol’s eyes seemed trained on the space that the younger woman had filled — where her bag, her shoes, her thoughts, had been — and it was only as the front door slipped casually shut that she turned to look at Abby. The expression itself wasn’t sheepish, and yet there was sheepishness there.
“Tell me you know what you’re doing.”
Carol laughed, despite the tenderness that Abby’s voice had encompassed.
“I don’t.”
She stretched out the I as if it were a statement within itself — I don’t, but does anyone? — and it shifted like an unrolling carpet out into the air around Abby. Not a statement. A contemplation. To admit, or not to admit, to the steady disassembling of herself into Therese? The truth, she had decided, in the milliseconds that had passed.
“I never did.”
And it was Abby who she glanced up at now, her eyes searching, her thoughts finding. There was no plosivity to her words, and even the hardness of the ‘d’s were softened out like wood into ash, slipping from her lips just the same as a whisper might come.
“Abby?”
The lack of response merely an invitation to continue. That was how it was with Carol. She would answer to silence as if its sheer quiddity was a question, more readily than to any human interaction.
“What happens if…”
Therese’s car started out on the driveway, and the rolling crunch of gravel stole the silence from between the two women until the quietude had returned again. Carol seemed to droop with the brunette’s absence, but perhaps it was with the weight of what she had yet to say.
“If this goes wrong?”
She edged around the question, for fear, mostly, of the experience that Abby had with its answer. What happens if Therese breaks my heart like I broke yours? Ironic, and yet Abby could tell that even through the monopoly game, Carol had been waiting to ask this. The change in mood wasn’t sudden, nor unexpected — it was here, and it was as Carol-esque as anything else that either woman could have predicted. Was it even a change in mood, any more than it was just a lack of Therese? Questions. So many of them, and yet Abby was faced with just one.
“You fall apart.”
She put it simply, a punchline — and one that hit Carol just as hard as a punch would have done.
“And it takes you a million times longer to put yourself back together than it does to break in the first place, but you will. You heal. You move on.”
A weak smile; a smile enough.
“You move on?”
“You do.”
Barely a lie. Scraping the edge of the truth like pen to hesitant journalist’s paper, because so much more was entailed in moving on than either could hope to talk about. Abby hadn’t — Carol wouldn’t. And on this winding trail stretches; scrawled notes in margins, sheets ripped out of a steadily thickening book.
Carol knew, though, as well as her face shielded the doubt in her head — she wouldn’t. There would be no moving on from Therese Belivet.