A Little Bit Dramatic

A LITTLE BIT DRAMATIC

By Stephanie Connolly

If I’m to be totally honest with you, and I plan to be, I’ve always been a little bit dramatic.

         Don’t get me wrong, I’m not like one of those annoying screechy types, the kind that everyone hated at school but pretended to like because they were too scared to say otherwise.

I very rarely wish to be the centre of attention, (except sometimes when I’m really drunk,) and although I’ve told my fair share of porky pies I’m not one to make up stories in order to obtain the shock factor.

But I suppose it is safe to say that right from the very start I have carried an air of drama around with me.

Whilst most kids were playing, ‘Mummies and Daddies,’ I played out my own version, ‘Switched-at-birth-and-desperately-seeking-my-long-lost-family,’ for example.  Despite my being from a fairly average town in suburban Surrey, all my games were played out in an American accent and they usually always involved lots of crying, wailing and general over-acting.

As a teenager the drama just seemed to increase, but then again, I suppose it increases for every poor soul going through the torture that is puberty.  I do think though that I was perhaps more of a handful than some.

I’d decided at the grand old age of seventeen, back when I felt as though I’d already seen and done it all, (and bought the T-shirt and taken it back and got a refund,) that all I really wanted out of life was simplicity.

Seven years on and my aspirations really haven’t changed at all.  Trouble is fate clearly has other plans.

***

          I never made a conscious decision to fall head over very high heels in love.  I had been so busy battling to disguise the electricity in the atmosphere that I hadn’t noticed the love part at all.

          I assume that everyone else involved could sense the chemistry from a mile off.  You could practically smell the lust in the air.  There were times when my gaze would catch his, just for a split second, and my heart would thump so hard I was certain that everyone in the room could hear it.

It wasn’t until the very last minute that I discovered the crazy little thing called, ‘Love,’ was hurtling straight towards me at a thousand miles per hour like a runaway train.

Perhaps the love bug had hit me because Jack had offered to save my shoes?  We had sat side-by-side at the river edge, underneath an enormous moon and a clear sky, and it suddenly occurred to me that if I dangled my legs a little too vigorously there was a fairly high chance that my beautiful Roland Cartier sandals could just slip slowly off and plunge into the murky water below us.  He assured me that if this were to happen he would jump in and rescue them for me.  In that declaration alone he had become my very own modern-day hero.

Perhaps that was the moment when the collision took place, when the runaway train came colliding into me, knocking me for six and stealing my heart.  At three o’clock on a Sunday morning in June, almost three years ago.

And from that point onwards there would be no turning back.  The tracks only ran one-way and there were no other stops.

          I knew there would be serious consequences.  Hearts would be broken and tears would be shed.  The shit would most definitely hit the fan at some point, it was inevitable.  And I can’t describe the guilt that I felt.  It was so heavy, like a bag of rocks sitting constantly in the pit of my stomach.  And yet I found myself completely hooked on him, he was like the most addictive drug that had ever existed.

As soon as I’d had my first hit, at about a quarter past three on that Sunday morning, I instantly wanted more, I craved it, the way I crave chocolate and shoes.

***

‘It’s like an addiction,’ I explained, wedging the phone in between my shoulder and my ear, whilst I inexpertly painted my nails at the same time.

‘No it’s not, stop being silly. You only feel like this because you can’t have him. It’s simple.’

          I hated it when Kirsten was right, which was pretty much the majority of the time, but she wasn’t in that instance so I told her,

‘You are so wrong! I know what you’re trying to say, but you’ve got it all wrong.  I need to be with him.’  I told her, ‘Not because I can’t be with him, but because I have to.’

I could tell I was boring her.  We’d had the same conversation around fifteen times in the previous week.  But I couldn’t help it.  She was the only one that I could talk to and I felt like I would burst if I didn’t talk to someone.

‘Sophie just trust me okay? You’re going to screw everything up, you’ve got to be sensible about this.’

I put the nail polish down and took an enormous drag on my cigarette.  I’d read somewhere that smoking kills the oxygen in your brain and since I didn’t really want to think clearly at that moment, I thought it would help me to not think.  If that makes sense?  I exhaled and decided to change the subject.

‘What time are you getting here tonight?’  I asked.

‘I finish work at five, so will get to yours around six ish I reckon.  Is he coming?’

‘Um, I’m not sure,’ I lied.  But she knew me too well and I heard her laugh knowingly.

‘Alright, well I’d better go, I’ll see you in a bit.’  Kirsten hung up.

I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I didn’t have any make up on, and I still hadn’t applied any fake tan to my typically English skin, yet I hadn’t seen myself looking so fresh and so alive, in such a long time.

***

        I wish I could tell you what a monster my partner was.  It would have been a damn-sight easier on me if he had been.  If he was an abusive, skanky bastard, who ignored his responsibilities and slept around, like the sort you get on the Jeremy Kyle show, I probably wouldn’t have carried a stomach full of guilt that weighed a ton.  I could have sought sympathy from everyone around me and I would have had the perfect excuse for my behaviour.

The trouble was Toby wasn’t a monster at all.  He was a decent, caring and sensitive man.  A musician with more charisma and charm than all of The Beatles put together.  He was hugely creative, highly talented and a lovely person to be around.  And on top of all of that he was the father of my little girl.

         We’d met at college, where we both studied for a diploma in Music.  And we were probably the most unlikely of couples.  I wore skinny jeans, stilettos and suede jackets; he wore baggy trousers, baseball caps and converse trainers.  He was tattooed and pierced and had the craziest hair style ever invented and I thought he was gorgeous.  I’d had such a lot of bad luck with so many other boyfriends that when I found Toby and saw how different he had been to anybody else that I’d known, I assumed he was perfect for me.

At the beginning ours had been a carefree, fun and loving relationship with very little drama at all.  Toby introduced me to the underground music scene and took me along to every gig that he and his band had ever played, we’d taken random road trips to watch bands play, we had spent many long nights out with our friends, we’d smoked far too much and drank too much too and it had been exactly how a young relationship should have been.

Little more than three months into our relationship we discovered something that would drastically change our lives for ever.  At just nineteen years old we found out that our days of being irresponsible teenagers were well and truly over.  I was pregnant, we were to become parents.

Of course the news shocked and scared the hell out of us. We were absolutely clueless.  We didn’t know what to do, how to tell everyone nor how to deal with the judgemental comments that other people found themselves obliged to share.

We’d cried, we’d fought and then we’d cried some more, but ultimately we stuck together and learnt how to play the cards that the fates had dealt us.

         And in February two-thousand and four, Toby and I were blessed with the most adorable baby girl, Savannah.

It was never easy, but Savannah brought with her so much joy and fun and Toby and I were determined that we would prove everyone wrong.

         We put our hearts and souls into taking care of our baby.  And even though we didn’t always get along we had built a solid relationship firmly based on friendship.  We were great friends, but I know that even Toby will agree that there was always a little something missing. 

***

I scrubbed the shampoo into my scalp and stood perfectly still for what felt like hours as I let the water beat off my head and down my back, taking the soapy suds with it.  I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him.  I would try with all my might to concentrate on something non-Jack related, but my brain disobeyed and my imagination would insist on fantasising about what it would be like to spend every minute of every day with him.

         Subconsciously I found myself getting ready for the night ahead.  But I felt as though I were in cruise control.  My body was preparing itself for going out on the town, with very little instruction from my pre-occupied brain.

         I shaved my legs, applied a face pack, rubbed a ‘deep conditioning’ treatment through my hair and imagined myself in his bed reading the papers on a lazy Sunday morning.  And every now and again I’d interrupt my own thoughts, become so embarrassed with myself and then push the embarrassment aside and fantasise some more.  It was irresistible.

If he had known the thoughts that were running circle in my head I think he would have thought I was an absolute nutcase.

We were in the middle of a heat wave that summer.  It was stifling, to the point where an electric fan was practically a necessity, especially if I were to prevent my foundation from melting away.  The heat provided a perfect opportunity to strut around wearing very little, without looking like an absolute slut.  Which I must admit, I took full advantage of.

That evening I slid my freshly-moisturised legs into a skimpy pair of denim shorts and teamed them with ridiculously high, but extremely beautiful heels.  I could have left it at that and popped on a modest top but my inner-slut forced me to choose a rather low-cut top instead.

I blow-dried my hair, (which took about three minutes flat,) and was busy applying my mascara when I heard the door click.

I was certain Toby would wonder why I had suddenly chosen to dress like a Page Three Girl over that summer, but as he greeted me briefly and walked passed me in the bathroom he didn’t seem to notice at all.  Jack, however, did.

I couldn’t look at him, even as I said a casual, ‘Hello,’ our eyes didn’t meet.  But I felt his eyes flicker with interest, for a brief second.  And I felt an instant rush run through me.

I could hear Toby and Jack laughing in the living room, they were talking about some horror film they’d both seen recently.  Both were demonstrating their best impressions and joking around.  The lager was clearly already in free flow.

Kirsten arrived about half an hour late, although that was nothing unusual.  She stuck her head around the door of the lounge and said hi to the boys, then she swung back round and raised an eyebrow at me.  I smiled sheepishly.  It wasn’t an ideal situation, but I couldn’t help that they were friends.

The four of us, me, my best friend, my boyfriend and the guy I couldn’t stop thinking about, took a taxi into Kingston and met more friends in a funky bar down by the river.  And after a few drinks we all strolled along and joined the queue for the nightclub on the bridge.

Toby was not really a clubbing sort, he was never a big drinker and didn’t particularly enjoy the kind of music they played, but every now and again he would  abandon his punk-rocker ways and join us as I indulged in my favourite past time, dancing like a lunatic.

I’m not sure whether he did it on purpose but when we got to the door and the doormen asked us to provide I.D Toby announced that he’d left his at home.

As his girlfriend I should have argued with the bouncers, explained that he was twenty-one and that we lived too far away for him to go all the way home.  Indeed when the bouncers turned out to be arrogant so and so’s, on an obvious power trip, I should have at least offered to take a taxi home with him to collect his drivers licence.  But it is with great shame that I state that at that very point in time I felt almost relieved.

I wanted Toby to go home for a little while, I knew that he, never one to rush around, would take his time and wouldn’t return for at least an hour or two, leaving me with plenty of time to get my Jack fix.

My inhibitions had upped and left by the time I had necked my fourth beer.  And in their absence I found myself flirting shamefully with Jack.  I seemed to completely crave his attention and once I had it I flourished, like a flower in full bloom.  And the thing is I liked who I was when I was around him.  He made me feel sexy.  He made me feel completely alive.

We danced and chatted all night long, he made me laugh so much with his jokes and stories, he’d laugh at my jokes and make me feel as though I were the wittiest most intelligent girl ever.  And I’m not one for cliché’s or corny statements but I really just felt like we fitted together like a glove.

‘You really shouldn’t be looking this good,’ He told me, drawing me closer until I could feel his breath on my neck.

‘You really shouldn’t be looking.’ I replied.

          I was convinced that Jack was just another bad boy.  A‘treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen’ kind.  I had been so familiar with those boys.  I was, as most women are, a total sucker for a man who would play me like a fool, and I seemed to be a bit of an arsehole magnet.

I sincerely believed that he was out to get me.  That he would lunge into my soul, tear out my heart and bounce it around like a rubber ball.  I thought I would end up nursing myself better over vodka, chocolate and chick flicks, I thought I’d struggle to get over him for years and years to come.  And yet I knew that, whatever the outcome, I just had to go along for the ride.  I just couldn’t help myself.

Over the course of the next few weeks our situation grew more and more intense.

I tried to get on with my daily life.  Of taking care of Savannah, keeping the flat tidy, going to work, that kind of thing.  But things with Toby had taken a turn for the worse.

We were fighting all the time, and the fights were so predictable.  They usually resulted in one or both of us in floods of tears, and begging for the others forgiveness.  And they could be caused by something as trivial as the washing up.

My physical attraction for Jack had increased to the point where I could just melt every time he was within a ten metre radius of me.  And should he physically touch me, brush my arm for example, or sit a little too close, my heart would practically freeze.  I would look for any old excuse to invite him to our house, for dinner or drinks or to watch a movie.  And all the while I fought against the desire and lust that I felt for him and tried to prevent myself from accidentally-on-purpose throwing myself on him at any given opportunity.

Lust and Desire aside, we continued to grow more and more intimate with one another, disclosing secrets, stories and our innermost fears and desires.  We would exchange text messages every day without fail and would talk for hours on the phone when no one else was around.

I was in dangerously deep, and every time I thought about my actions and the fact that I was very likely to be breaking my own home my stomach would be in knots.

One night, after another ridiculous and pointless argument with Toby I got in my car, told him I was going to a friend’s house and then drove straight over to Jack.

On my way over I sparked up a cigarette and turned my Alanis Morisette album up to full volume, hoping that she could work her feminine magic and help me make some sense of the thoughts in my head.  I drove much too fast, as I always do when I’m anxious about something.

‘This is ridiculous Soph.’  I told myself, fully aware that talking to oneself is the first sign of madness.  ‘You are about to wreck your home.  You are about to steal Savannah’s security on a whim for one guy.  You crazy, stupid bitch.’

I found myself welling up a little.  Trying desperately to clear the lump in my throat.  I fought back the tears, caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror and promptly wiped my cheeks and applied a little lip gloss.

I had always said that I would never be one of those home-wrecker types, the kind of woman to cheat on a good guy or sleep with a married man.  Especially if there were children involved.  Those women were awful.  How could they live with themselves?!  And yet there I was.  Committing a cardinal sin.  Lying to someone who did not deserve to be lied to.  Playing with fire.  Risking everything I possessed.  But you know what?  You really cannot help who you fall in love with.

I wanted to know what was going on.  I needed to know.  The outcome had to be clearer for me or I was going to go insane.  And I had already lost a lot of my sanity over those past months.

Jack got in the car and gently kissed my cheek.  His eyes scanned my face and flickered with concern.

‘Are you okay?’  he asked me.  He had sounded like he really meant it.

‘Let’s just drive.’  I answered.

I continued to drive at high speed around the area that I had known and loved since I was a little girl.  It was the area I had been born in, and although I had suffered with feelings of insecurity all my life, this was the one place where I felt I belonged.  I drove passed my Nan’s house, passed my old primary school and passed the college where Toby and I had met.  And eventually, when I just couldn’t stand my own thoughts any longer I pulled up, next to the cricket green, I stopped the car and switched off the engine.  I took my seat belt off and turned to face Jack.

He was smiling at me.  His eyes twinkled.  The shade of green and the flecks of hazel in his eyes were almost identical to mine, I noticed.

‘I had a big fight with Toby.’  I told him, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed at the intensity of his gaze.  I shuffled in my seat a little.  ‘I don’t know what to do.’  I confessed.

Jack nodded slowly, his smile fading slightly.  I noticed his brow crinkle and he turned to me and said, ‘well . . . what do you want to do?’

What I really wanted to do was pounce on him, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him as he’d never been kissed before, but I figured that was perhaps a little inappropriate, so I concentrated really hard on the matter at hand.

‘I don’t really know, but this isn’t working out at all.’  Had I have been brave, or drunk, or perhaps both, I would have told him that I wanted to be with him.  I wanted to go to bed with him each and every night and wake up with him each and every morning.  I wanted to spend every spare second with him.  Just being next to him or having him around.  But since I was sober and a complete wimp I just kind of shrugged and continued, ‘I think Toby and I are going to split up.  We’re at breaking point.’

I studied his face, but couldn’t find any indication of what was going on behind those gorgeous curly eye lashes and sparkly eyes of his.  I secretly hoped he would suddenly declare his undying love for me and tell me to split with Toby and be with him instead.  Of course he didn’t say anything like that.  Which is good really, as I think in hindsight I would have thought him a complete weirdo if he had.  What he did say was instead very diplomatic, and exactly the right thing o say under the circumstances, he said, ‘you have to do what you feel is right.’ And then he told me to, ‘Trust your instincts.’

***