I had been seeing Jack for several months, and for the most part, I was happy. Yet, his secrecy and withdrawn nature occasionally drove me to madness. Whenever I asked what was on his mind, he’d reply, “nothing.” If I pointed out how quiet he was, he’d simply shrug and say, “I’ve always been like that.” But that wasn’t true. Around his friends, he became an entirely different person—animated, expressive, and far more present.
He had introduced me to his three closest friends. The first was Peter, a loquacious redhead with a booming voice and a habit of dominating conversations. At first, I found him hard to bear. He rambled incessantly, spouting so-called wisdom, and his sense of humor struck me as either gratingly sarcastic or perhaps too clever for me to appreciate. He simply didn’t sit right with me. The second was Stan, whom I liked even less. He was a thickset man, built like a bear and towering above me, but at least our conversation was somewhat normal—free from Peter’s constant barrage of clever remarks. I met him at Phelan’s, where he was out with his girlfriend. Upon learning I was seeing Jack, he offered little in the way of reassurance.
“You’re too good for Jack,” he said flatly.
“Too good? What do you mean?”
“I’m only kidding—but honestly, he doesn’t deserve you.”
Then he added something that stayed with me for a long time:
“He’s a skilled manipulator.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll figure it out for yourself. Eventually.”
I found it difficult to express my feelings to Jack face-to-face, so I resorted to writing. I poured my thoughts into a letter—everything I was too afraid or unsure to say aloud. What troubled me most was how seldom we saw each other—just once a week. He would come over to my flat when Marketa was on shift and, without a word, head straight to my bedroom, lie down, and wait for me to join him. At first, I found this endearing, even funny. But as it became routine, it left me uneasy. It began to feel as if intimacy was the only thing that interested him.
Then came the small requests—money for cigarettes, mostly. I never thought much of it at first and always lent him a bit. I didn’t realise I was establishing a pattern—one that would soon become expectation.
One evening, we were in my room, and Jack told me he needed to talk. He lay on the bed and asked me to lie beside him. I rested my chin on his chest and looked up into his face, determined not to miss a word.
“You remember what I told you about Alice, Julian’s mother,” he began.
“You mentioned it, yes.”
“We spent years in court after she denied my paternity. It drained me—financially and emotionally. They demanded I prove I had a steady job and a car. But back then, I didn’t have much. I had to borrow money just to afford the legal fees. To this day, I’m still in debt. I worked grueling shifts in a meat factory, killing animals—goats, cows, sheep—anything they gave me. I worked myself to the bone just to pay child support, while she decided I’d never see Julian. In the end, I managed to win at least partial custody. I see him once a week now,” he said, his voice heavy.
“How long were you and Alice together?” I asked gently.
“Three months. That’s it. We were dating. Then, one night at my place, I told her I loved her. She didn’t say anything back. She already knew she was pregnant. She had stopped taking the pill but didn’t tell me. When I found out, I was over the moon. I wanted to raise the child. But her family pulled her away, and they stopped talking to me. She kept reading brochures about how to claim benefits as a single mother. That’s when I started to see the truth. And when Julian was born, she cut me off completely. Decided she would raise him on her own.”
“She really did that? What kind of woman does that?” I asked, stunned.
“You see now how hard it’s been for me? You’re the first girl I’ve been with in years. After Alice, I had no one. Nothing serious. My mind’s still messed up from it all. That’s probably why I seem distant sometimes... It’s not because I don’t care—it’s because I can’t just fall in love. Julian comes first,” he said, raising his eyebrows as if silently asking if I understood.
I was silent. I didn’t know how to respond. I feared he was about to end things, his expression so solemn, his tone so final. He didn’t smile, not once. I braced myself, expecting the worst.
I handed him the letter I’d written, hoping it would still matter to him. He read it in silence, his eyes moving steadily from line to line. I watched closely, trying to read his expression, but his face remained unreadable. He reread the first page more slowly, and when he finally looked up, his eyes glistened with tears. A small smile flickered across his face.
“This is beautiful. Did you really write this?” he asked, amazed.
“Of course I did. It took me hours,” I said softly, my eyes lowered in embarrassment.
“You’re an extraordinary woman. Beautiful and smart... but I don’t want you to become too attached to me. I want you to live your life freely—independent of me.”
And just like that, I felt him slipping away again. My stomach clenched painfully, like I’d swallowed glass. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say, or why he kept pulling back. Was I just a fleeting moment of warmth for him? A temporary escape before he retreated into his unresolved pain over Julian? Where did I truly stand in his life?
Then he looked at me again, more intensely.
“I don’t know what to do, Teri. I’ve never told anyone this before, but I’m terrified—because the more I get to know you, the more I love you,” he said quietly.
In that moment, everything inside me trembled. He loved me—he actually loved me. And what’s more, that love was growing stronger. I didn’t understand everything he had said, but suddenly, none of it mattered. He loved me. That was all I heard.
“You can’t resist love,” I whispered, trying to reassure him.
It seemed as though he already knew that, but something still held him back. I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion. My heart ached for him. What Alice had done was cruel—inhuman. I wanted to hold him and never let go.
“You’ll only be here for a year,” he said. “Then you’ll go back home... and if I give myself to you completely, your leaving will destroy me.”
“How do you know that? Maybe I won’t go,” I said, a little hurt. But deep down, I knew he was right. My work visa was temporary. I would have to return when the year ended. Until then, though, we still had time.
“I live for the present. What matters is that we’re happy now. The future doesn’t concern me,” I tried to assure him. But a strange melancholy settled in my chest. I longed for him to say everything would be alright—that we’d be together for as long as time would allow.
Each evening, I sat at home reading books about relationships. I pored over astrology guides like a madwoman, desperate to understand him. I kept journals to make sense of it all. With each passing day, I felt I was getting closer to him, that I was finally beginning to understand who he truly was. He became the center of my world. I longed to teach him how to love—I had so much love in me, I could have circled the globe with it. I yearned for the moment he’d realize his darkness had lifted, that he could trust me with everything. But every time I thought I had him, he slipped through my fingers once more. He was elusive—like a shadow.
I often found myself returning to the first moment I ever saw him. I remembered it clearly—the feeling. There was a dark cloud hanging over him. At the time, I thought perhaps he was dealing drugs or involved in something illegal. He radiated a heavy, almost oppressive energy. But he wasn’t smuggling drugs. That darkness—it simply belonged to him. It was a part of who he was.
copyright©2025
Žádné komentáře:
Okomentovat