These Delicate Creatures
Four
Michael opens Instagram again just as he’s arriving home and stops dead before the front door.
His key is extended to the keyhole, but his eyes are fixed on the screen. His head feel suddenly ice cold, and he wonders, almost absently, if he will faint.
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Anna posted fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t know how he had missed it- perhaps he was on the tube. She’s in a loose fitting black jumper and low-rise grey trackies. Her wide-rimmed glasses are perched low on her nose, and she pouts from behind two extended fingers in the “peace” sign. But for the first time in his relationship with her, he’s not really looking at her. Behind her, stretched out towards a glinting red sunrise, is a town Michael doesn’t recognise. His eyes flit between the town, and the tagged location.
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Los Angeles.
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He stumbles inside and strides up the stairs to his room, opening the messenger and typing a message.
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You’re in LA?
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He throws the phone on the bed and pulls of his shirt and trousers, trying to muster a hold on his thoughts. His breathing is short and uncontrolled. This was the first time he’d heard any mention of LA.
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He picks up the phone. No reply yet. He looks down at the Ann Summers bag and feels a surge of annoyance. He picks it up and throws it, half-heartedly, at the door, before collapsing on the bed. How could she not have told him?
The phone is in his hand almost as soon as it buzzes.
Her.
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I am 😊
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His face contorts. He feels as though she’s driven a knife under his ribs.
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You didn’t tell me.
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She reads it. She’s typing. Michael counts the full stops as they appear.
One, two, three, Typing, one, two, three.
Typing, one, two, three.
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She left the country?
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Typing, one, two, three.
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I get she’s busy. I’m busy. She knows how much I support her work.
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Typing, one, two, three.
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I’m her boyfriend for fuck’s sake. Don’t I get a heads up?
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Typing, one, two, three.
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Perhaps it was a last minute thing? Her agent books the flights and had it lined up.
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Typing, one, two, three.
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But not even time for a message?
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Typing, one…
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The typing stops.
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He holds the phone as though it’s his own heart flatlining before his eyes. His face moves its way slowly through a number of expressions. His eyebrows raise as though in disbelief, then they furrow as though in a deep state of perplexion, then his nose crinkles, as though he’s insulted.
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Then the message comes through.
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Oh – sorry. I didn’t think I needed to update you on every step of my career?
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The emotions reduce and simmer down into shame. Perhaps he was holding the leash to tightly? He knew he didn’t want to seem possessive or controlling. The tighter he held the grip, the more she’d pull against it. He wondered how far she would allow him to let out the leash – would she continue to move further and further away? He couldn’t let it out indefinitely. There had to come a point where she’d come back to him.
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He sighs.
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You’re right. He types. Sorry, just a shock that’s all. Didn’t even know you’d been booked outside of London!
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She replies more quickly now.
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It’s my first US contract. So exciting.
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That’s incredible, babe. So proud of you. Please let me know how it goes. X
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Sure 😊 xx
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He smiles at the phone. A calm washes over him.
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Stay safe too xx
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She types.
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Dw – being well looked after already x
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He frowns.
It dawns on him slowly then. Now the initial panic and confusion have subsided, a cold kind of dread settles in his stomach. He needs to check the photo again. He knows that he’s missed something, but a part of him doesn’t want to realise what. But he’s pressed back before he can stop himself.
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The picture, he now realises, is on a hotel balcony. A private one, the one you might expect to see on the other side of a pair of sliding doors leading from the bedroom. Nothing seems noteworthy at first glance, but now he’s looking at it with fresh, analytical eyes. Both her arms are grasping the rail, and she’s leaning back over the edge just enough to show the tan flesh of her abdomen. Both her arms are on the rail.
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Instinct leads him then. He places a forefinger and thumb on the photo and drags them apart, zooming in to the round glasses. The one he’s pictured a hundred times looking up at him, obscuring her coy, playful eyes.
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He sees the reflection of a naked male torso holding a phone. His face his obscured by the glinting light, but he can just make out the smirk of teeth. Contented lips that smiled with the recent taste of her.
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His face is now empty of expression. He shuts the phone off calmly and pulls a small suitcase from the top of one of his draws.