TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) (9 page)

"Wil, enough!" I say, clenching my fist. "I suppose we should talk," I continue, this time to Danii.

"Dante, you don't owe her anything," Wil says, bowing his head into mine.

"Wil, just... don't. I'm fine."

I walk past her and up the steps separating us from the hotel lobby. It's a pleasant lobby although far from spectacular, but the three of us decided our first stop on this trip would be that of comfort. No hostels or one-star bargains. Instead, a place we can rest and prepare in style. Squalor awaits, this I'm sure, but for now, we cling to leisure.

Walking single file through the lobby, we're surrounded by paintings and lamps. I start tackling the steep steps, and we remain in silence. I barely notice she's behind me, although I sense her, the smell of her, that smell I thought I'd never taste again. The mixture of honey and coconut, the dizzying aroma pouring into my throat. For so long I took it for granted, but now I appreciate it above anything... everything.
 

The memory of a passionate shower lingers, me sneaking in to surprise her with kisses and helpful hands. My tongue caressed her entire body, the smell of honey and taste of coconut playing with my senses as the thud of water beat down from above. It wasn't the only time we had passion in the shower, far from it, but right now, it's all I can think about.
 

Continuing to push up the steps, we pass the third floor and onto the fourth and final one. I can't look behind or break the hush of nothing. I don't know what to say; indeed, what do you say to a girl you loved—still love—who only recently closed the door on you, not only literally, but figuratively forever.

Why are you here?

I'll never forget our first date, the nerves and nausea rumbling around my starving insides. First dates aren't hard; they're usually the easiest. After all, at this stage, you know so little about the other person that a mountain of questions await. With Danii, it was different, but I knew this before laying eyes on her.

"Sarah, would you like a drink?" Those were the first words I heard from Danii's soothing lips, although at the time I didn't know who she was, nor what she looked like. Speaking with Ethan, in our friend Chris' kitchen during a party, I froze mid-sentence.

"And?" Ethan asked. "What about—"
 

"Shhh," I cut him off, needing to find the face that belonged to those captivating tones, and there she was—those lips, eyes, nose, hair, everything... I was finished. "Who. Is. She?" I asked, to nobody in particular.
 

"Danii Adams," said Chris, who must have overheard me in passing. "Not bad, ey?"

"Yeah. Not. Bad. At. All."

I obsessed from afar for most of the evening, wanting, but unable to say hello. She had an unnerving hold over me, a pull I didn't understand, and one I still can't comprehend.

"I must speak to her," I said to Ethan and Chris, over an hour into my obsession.

"Then speak to her," said Ethan.

"I can't. She's too... too... I don't know. She's too,
something
."

"I'll speak to her," said Chris.

"No!"

"It's fine, it's fine." And he was gone before I could stop him, me rocking from one foot to the other and half hiding behind Ethan.

"Oh my god what is he doing this is the worst thing to ever happen to me ever, and to think I wasn't even going to come tonight, and I can't believe he's over there and..." I tailed off because she was looking at me for the first time, her smile wide and her finger twirling a lock of hair.

Chris brought her over. "Dante, this is Danii. Danii, this is my good pal, Dante."

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," I said.
 

And Chris talked and so did Ethan, and so did she, I think, but I didn't hear any of it because my insides danced a dance they'd never danced before.

"So, how do you know Chris?" she asked me, after Chris and Ethan left to gather drinks.

"School," I said.

"Nice. I'm here with my friend Sarah. I don't know anybody, but it seems like a nice crowd."

"Yeah," I said, apparently unable to form a full sentence.
 

"Yeah." She smiled, although it wasn't a nervous or pitying smile. It was genuine and lovely, her eyes lighting up, the lines running from her mouth all the way up her cheek.

"Well—" but she was cut off by her friend Sarah, who approached from behind and whispered into her ear. "Okay, well we're going, apparently," she said, still smiling.

I died a little.

"But it was nice meeting you, Dante."

"Yeah, you too."

She laughed. "Look, you seem like a nice enough guy. Seeing as I can't stay longer to hear you say more than three words, how about we meet up next week?"

"Really?" I asked.

"Only if you want to—"

"No, that would be nice. Here..." I said, handing her my phone, panting slightly like a dog.
 

She keyed in her number. I watched her walk away, and early the next morning, I sent her a text. We arranged to have a meal only two days later, but time seemed to drag, each hour clinging on for dear life.

Eventually my impatience was put to rest, as I sat opposite her in a nice, but far from jaw-dropping, Italian restaurant.
 

"So..." I started, but had no idea how to finish. Subsequently, I began most of my sentences like that for the remainder of the evening. "So..." I stammered. "How's the pasta?"

"It's nice, thank you. Yours?"

"Yeah."

She laughed. "You know, for a writer, you don't seem too comfortable with words."

"Who says I'm a writer?" I said, my forehead greasy with sweat.

"I asked around. Going to be a famous journalist one day, right?"

I returned the laugh, my chest easing for the first time in days. "Something like that. Although I wouldn't call being a journalist a writer."

"No?"

"Not really, no."

"They write, don't they?"

"In part."

"Well, I'd say you're a writer then. Anyway, my sources tell me you happen to be rather good at writing. You'll have to read me one of your masterpieces, someday," she said, smiling and biting her bottom lip, twirling locks of loose hair hanging over her left shoulder.

I needed her right then, in many ways, I fell in love with her the moment she smiled and bit her lip. Maybe I fell in love the moment I heard her voice, but whenever it occurred, a dark, horrible part of me hated her for it.

There are no pressures on first dates, but there was on this one. They shouldn't feel like a job interview, but this one did. And although my pounding heart settled, and my sentences grew longer, more impressive, somewhat worthy of a conversation with an angel like Danii... I knew within minutes of that first date that I needed her, loved her, and hated her because of it.
 

Standing before a door proclaiming it's room 417, I'm brought back to the present. Pulling the key out of my pocket, I open the door and enter the sun-filled room. I pass the battered mirror and glance at my frail form. The jeans and plain green sweater drown me more than usual, my deteriorating diet already leaving its mark. The door snaps shut, and as I turn and look at her, the churn in my stomach returns. "What are you doing here, Danii?" I mumble.

"To be honest, I'm not sure."

I nod, because I don't know what else to do, and walk over to the window and lean my forehead against the cool wooden pane. An old church rests to the left outside, and a line of green stands below both this building and that. It's so pretty up here. I looked out of the same window yesterday, at the same church around the same time, but it didn't look like this.
 

A light blue cross tops the church, much lighter against the richer sky. I remember the train journey when I wanted to be outside, imagining the same thing again: clinging to the cross as the breeze tickles my ears and the sun warms my cheeks.
 

"I'm sorry," says the soft voice from behind.
 

"What for? All you did was say how you feel. No need to apologise."

"No, that's not true. You came to me. You needed me. I shut you out."

Spinning on the spot, I lean on the open ledge as the breeze kisses the back of my neck. She's beautiful, just like outside, and I hate how I'm unable to hate her. "It's okay. It wasn't the easiest thing to hear, I'm sure. Hell, it wasn't the easiest thing to say."

"Exactly. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

"Fine, is that what you came for? To apologise? If you did, fine, I forgive you."

"That's not why I've come."

"Then talk. Say what you say, Danii."

Taking a seat on the red-patterned bedsheets, she leans on her knees, aiming her head towards the floor. "When you came to me and said what you said, I had no idea how to react. I'd spent the best part of a year trying to hate you, or at least... forget you. I've never loved anybody like I love you. I don't even understand it, because for the most part, we were terrible for one another. But I did love you, and it pained me, literally hurt, to stand back and watch you push me away time and time again. And seeing you after so long, on my doorstep and having a go at Jon—"

"I was hardly having—"

"Dante, please. Just listen. I was angry at you for coming. I hated you for it, but then you came out with the... news... and, well, the anger disappeared. But I didn't want to let go of the anger, for without it, all I have is love. And I've tried to convince myself for so long that I don't love you. That I don't miss you. That I don't need you." She takes a deep breath. "I closed the door because I didn't know what else to do. As soon as I did, I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in there. Jon knocked and knocked and knocked, begging me to let him in.
 

"He was so worried. He loves me so much. But at that moment, I realised I didn't love him back. I'd spent months trying to love him, but in truth, I never did. Because I couldn't stop loving you. And I really did hate you then. For the first time ever, I honestly hated you. When you broke my heart, I didn't hate you. When you broke Jon's nose, I didn't hate you. But knowing I would always love you... I hated you for that. I hate you for the hold you have over me."

Finally, she looks up. "I came out of the bathroom, told Jon some bullshit story, and tried to get on with my life. I know, horrible. I pushed everything deep, deep down, and carried on with life. Even though I knew what you were going through, I carried on. Even though I knew I didn't love Jon, I carried on. I tried, I honestly tried to forget. But how the hell can you?"

Standing up, she sighs and pushes her hands through her hair. "I finally went to your parent’s house. Your mum cried the moment she saw me, and we hugged and sobbed and broke down in each other's arms. She told me you'd gone away, and I knew I had to come and find you. I couldn't allow us to end like that." She sighs again, this one heavier. "I can't stop loving you, Dante. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't let you go."

Pinching the bridge of my nose between finger and thumb, I face the window once more. I bite my knuckles and ball my fists and stare outside... just gape... at nothing... at everything. "What happens now?" I ask, the warm light less delicious and soothing than it once was.

"I don't know," she says, brushing her palm down my back. Her breath tickles my neck, and it makes everything stand on end. My body misses her and reaches for her; every inch of skin longing for her tips and lips.
 

"What about Jon?"

"I left him. I told him everything...
everything
. I closed the door on him like I closed the door on you, and I feel terrible for it, but I can't think about him... not now."

Turning to face her, she places her hands on my chest, moving them up and down ever so gently and slowly. She places her forehead on my chin, the aroma I thought I'd never taste again practically on my lips. I have so many questions and so much to say. Not now. Later. Right now, I need to kiss her.

"I'm so sorry, Danii. Everything I put you—"

"Don't."

Cupping her chin, I edge her upward, wrapping my right arm around her back and pushing my left through that golden brown mane I've spent so many nights yearning for. Kissing her, I caress my tongue with hers. This was normal, once, but now it's a strange déjâ vu from long ago. Familiar, but not. A faint linger in a lifetime of wonder.

8
^th
November—Cologne:

Recommended Listening:

Sun Song—Laura Veirs

She’s Always a Woman to Me—Fyfe Dangerfield

Samson—Regina Spector

Charlie Darwin—The Low Anthem

Cologne isn't a city I've spent nights dreaming about, unlike some distant lands like the New York City skyline, Sydney Harbour, Uluru at sunrise, or the rolling hillsides of Switzerland. I've spent many a night fantasising about places far away, picturing those I've seen in magazines and on movie sets, wondering if they're as beautiful and fantastic as they seem.
 

Regrettably, Cologne wasn't part of this fantasy, but having arrived yesterday, it's snapped me out of my somber mood.