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Numb.
That was the only thing you could feel. Dimly, in the back of your mind you wondered whether that even counted as a feeling at all. But really you were too exhausted for introspection right now. You felt the arm tighten protectively round your waist as the train bumping over a point rocked you, your head lolling back and forth as it rested on your partner’s shoulder.
‘Sleep,’ Farah whispered into your hair, placing a small kiss on your scalp.
The rest of the journey passed in a blur as you dozed, the jolting of the train and the tumbling of your mind preventing you from succumbing fully into slumber. But eventually the tinny, robotic announcement of your imminent arrival to the city you called home caused Farah to stir beneath you, and you lifted your head and shifted our weight to the plastic wall of the carriage to allow her to stand and grab your bags.
The station was hardly your favourite place in the city, but on days unlike today you loved the bright bubble of excitement and adventure emanating from clusters of tourists floating over the buzzing hum of productivity and intent given off by commuters hastening to their homes and workplaces around the city. It spoke to you of the life you were creating for yourself here, and the hope that was building inside you even throughout the drudgery and impatience of the every day. But today the tiny flicker of relief that arose in you on arrival fell away as you stepped onto the platform. The cacophony of tannoy announcements and train whistles overlapping with the babble of the groups of tourists pouring over tube maps and debating their next moves in a myriad of languages was all too much. Farah knew – like she always did – and without a word she shouldered both your bags, taking your hand and leading you wordlessly through the ticket barriers and down to the tube. As you flopped down into the seat she’d negotiated for you in the rattling, crowded underground carriage she was rummaging in your bag, and you gave her a small, grateful smile as she plopped your headphones over your ears, allowing you to zone out again.
By the time you’d stepped through the doorway of Farah’s apartment you were flagging rapidly. You let Farah pull your coat from your shoulders before all but collapsing onto her sofa, dragging your black-clad legs under you as you laid your head against the arm, eyes closed, just so done with it all. Farah didn’t follow you; you could hear her moving about the flat, opening and closing drawers and doors with slightly more force than was necessary. She still hadn’t spoken a word, and for all her comfort and consideration towards you you’d felt her anger simmering quietly all the way home. You knew she was containing herself for your sake and you were grateful – you just couldn’t face that now – but you also felt a weight in your soul and the knowledge that it was as good as your fault it was there at all. You could hear water running now; clearly, you assumed, she needed a little time to herself and you tried not to feel hurt all while not begrudging her it in the slightest. She’d been by your side all day after all – strong and silent and steady as a rock.
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You’d not been back there for years until the funeral. You’d worked so hard for so long to escape the gravity of that dizzying black hole but even a few hours into the day you’d been gripped once again by the fear and bewilderment the toxic culture had instilled in you throughout your childhood. Back then the weight of expectations had taken its biting hold as you grew older, and you fought back with a passion until you realised you could never be all that they wanted. You’d fled as soon as the opportunity presented itself towards a new life and the promise of safety, a golden glimmer of hope.
It wasn’t quite that simple, of course. You had got out, but you couldn’t let anyone in. You’d been surrounded by the love of your newfound support network, but you couldn’t accept it. You’d buried all the fight deep inside yourself for fear of frightening them away but all that did was hold them at arms’ length when you so desperately wanted to wrap them close. You’d rebuilt your life in a facsimile of this new normal they’d shown you like a castle, and hidden the frightened child you used to be safe inside its keep as the waves of their concern washed upon its walls, so desperately alone.
Outwardly, you were doing well. Inwardly too, you supposed, as in time the walls started to erode, the waves chipping away at the stone. You started to feel much closer to that child again, but with it the pain she bore, and the sense of devastation and loss was unbearable at times. Sometimes you believed yourself broken beyond repair. You kept going though, haltingly, in recognition of the gift of love your friends had given you and the hope of something more.
You were still on that journey when you met Farah. There was something about her that drew you to her instantly. You were intrigued by her even as her dedication to you was confusing, drawn like a paperclip to a magnet by her charisma, sometimes loud and absurd but at other times soft and almost ethereal. She was older than you, and you loved the lines around her eyes that softened when she was relaxed and calm but hardened like steel when her strong sense of justice was challenged, ready to stare down the offender and reduce them to dust before her feet. Over time you’d learned as much from watching the handle she had over her emotions as you had in therapy, as well as the way she expressed her vulnerability, and just as she was there for you during the hard times you were there for her.
Even more than this was the way she could see you. Somehow she could see the child through the walls you’d so carefully crafted and she rode the waves with the calm confidence of someone who knew she wouldn’t always get it right but was prepared to try, fail, learn and try again, moving forward inch by inch. And in that child she saw things beyond the pain. She drew out a sense of joy in you which you’d thought long since lost. Her wicked intelligence matched your own and led to late evenings of conversation sparking with creativity that left you feeling more alive than ever. Buoyed up by her own quiet confidence as she moved through daily life you began to take steps you never knew you could. As the months went you discovered new pieces of yourself and you worked together to slot them into place, building up the image of the person you were becoming. On your strongest days you were beginning to feel you didn’t even need Farah, but you wanted her by your side for the rest of your life all the same.
But there were always setbacks, and today was possibly the biggest yet. Your family’s words had been biting, and you were still twisting and tumbling in their wake, unable to process. Reason told you that their bile towards you had been untrue and undeserved but you nevertheless found yourself believing in them, unsure what responsibility for the mess that was your family’s story you should rightly take on as your own and what was being unfairly placed upon your shoulders to avoid carrying the burden themselves.
Farah seemed pretty sure though. ‘They were vicious,’ she’d hissed as she led you by the hand away from the church hall. She’d given you all the time you needed to decide that all the small talk and superficial comfort of the mourners wasn’t helping you at all in sorting out what you should be feeling at your bereavement, and the conversation held sotto voce with your relatives – a barely restrained shouting match – had made you realise that your presence was to them as much an insult as your absence would have been. Their fury at you for having stayed away for so long and for the emotionless face you’d presented them with as you desperately tried to fortify the walls that were suddenly needed once again washed over the top of even the tallest tower; as in an oil spill on a tumultuous sea you’d been both drowned and kept afloat in its sick substance until you could no longer distinguish death from life, heaven from hell, breathing from choking and retching. But Farah had sailed close, her whispered ‘I think we ought to leave’ in your ear penetrating your confusion provided a lifeline to the world you knew now. She waited for your affirming nod before finally addressing your family herself.
‘My condolences for your loss’ she offered them with a grace that belied the sarcasm you knew she was tamping down on hard. ‘I am glad to have met you all, despite the circumstances.’ And with a squeeze to your hand she led you gently towards the exit.
‘That’s right, run away!’ one of them called after you, and had you not been so bewildered and humiliated you might have laughed at the immaturity that particular line of snark showed. Neither of you looked back, although Farah had seethed quietly in the back of the taxi on the journey to the station. She seemed to have calmed herself by the time you stepped onto the forecourt, however, instead taking charge of getting you both home as quickly as possible.
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Now you sat, curled in on yourself, absently tracing one of the dainty filigree patterns on the fabric of Farah’s sofa with a finger. Something inside you seemed to have snapped, and you couldn’t imagine how you could possibly mend it this time. Years of hard work had been unravelled in just a few hours, and you were left facing a mass of knots you couldn’t even begin to untangle.
Lost in some absence of thought, you started as Farah crouched down in front of you, already dressed in her silk pyjamas, peering at you closely. She placed a hand on your knee and you tried to give her a faint half-smile, but the way she tilted her head told you you’d failed even at that. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked softly.
You sighed. ‘Drained.’ It was all you could manage, but it was true enough. You heard her hum in sympathy as she stroked her hand up and down your thigh in a soothing motion.
‘I’ve run you a bath. It might help you relax.’ You weren’t at all sure you wanted a bath right now, but then again you weren’t at all sure what you needed, save to avoid any more confrontation, so you took her proffered hand and allowed her to pull you to your feet. You swayed blindly for a moment, one of your anxious dizzy spells taking hold. ‘Steady,’ Farah coaxed, gripping your forearm with her other hand to anchor you. ‘I’ve got you.’ She waited while the snowstorm which had appeared in your vision to subside so you could step forward before nudging you towards her bathroom.
You’d expected the brightness of the ceiling light to hit you as you walked through the door, the sound of the fan whirring to pummel your brain like a jackhammer, but instead Farah’s ensuite was filled with silence and softly lit by candles placed on all the free surfaces. Steam was rising gently from the bath that was so full to the brim with bubbles that you might have found ridiculous if you’d had the energy and were not so preoccupied with surprise an overwhelming appreciation for the care and attention the setup had shown.
Farah’s warm hands found your shoulders and you turned to meet her gaze. ‘You get in’ she suggested, ‘and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’
She returned to find you settled in the water, all but your head submerged under a scented cloud of white, eyes closed. ‘Here,’ she announced gently, proffering a mug towards you. You noticed she held a second.
‘I thought, perhaps, I might sit with you,’ she began, seeing where your eyes had fallen. She was blushing slightly but looking at you with an expression that was almost pleading and filled with so much love. ‘If you wanted,’ she added, uncharacteristically but endearingly awkward in a way that even you had never seen before. Seeing her so uncertain but so desperate to help you in any way she could had you falling in love with her even more.
‘Please stay’ you croaked, throat tight with emotion. Farah sighed with relief and smiled; she passed you your mug and bent down to cup your face and place a small kiss to your forehead. Her eyes swam softly in the flickering light as she pulled away. You inhaled deeply as the distinctive bergamot fragrance of your favourite Earl Grey mingled with the lavender of the bathwater, and surrounded by warmth, watching Farah carefully fold your discarded clothes before settling on the floor beside your head with her own drink, you began to feel a little more tethered to reality. You hummed a contented sigh as you sat otherwise in silence, sipping your tea while Farah played with your hair, picking up the damp strands and twisting them between her fingers.
‘Can I wash your hair?’ she asked once your mug was empty. It took a moment for the question to filter through, your mind oddly blank. But with comprehension came the feeling of shame flooding hot in your chest, aware of what a basket case you’d surely appeared all evening.
‘I’m alright,’ you replied. ‘I can manage.’
‘You aren’t,’ she countered softly, taking your mug. ‘You will be, but not just yet my darling,’ and your breath hitched at the deep understanding in her honeyed voice. ‘and until you are, will you let me take care of you?’
The child inside the fortress cried out, desperate to be comforted, soothed, by the beautiful woman before you, just this once. And when Farah met your eyes, you knew she could see once again and you realised that somehow she needed to do this as much as you needed to receive. So, summoning your courage, you nodded.
It was surprisingly easy, you reflected later, just letting go of your shame, lying still and allowing yourself to be soothed by the feel of warm water being poured through your hair, running rivulets down your back. Farah’s care was like being held tenderly in a soft embrace in a way you had never felt before. She massaged the shampoo into your scalp. At some point your eyes had fallen closed. Rinsing, she finished with conditioner, deft but gentle fingers working it through the tangles of the day until your hair laid silky smooth and shining on your shoulders. Eventually you felt her gather it up and wrap your head tightly in a light linen towel, before her hands were on your shoulders again, easing you back down into the water once more.
You lay there a while longer, enjoying the blanket of darkness behind your closed eyelids and listening to the smallest bubbles popping with a gentle crackle. Farah’s hand was still on your shoulder, her thumb moving backwards and forwards across your damp skin absentmindedly. Your lethargy, Farah’s ministrations and the knowledge that you were safe, home, were just threatening to pull you over the edge of sleep when she finally pulled away and stood.
‘Come on,’ she sighed with a soft smile. ‘The water’s getting cold, and you’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.’
You opened your eyes languidly and watched as she moved across the room and grabbed a couple of clean towels. Turning back to you she nodded encouragingly as she held a bath sheet wide for you to walk into, wrapping it tightly under your arms and tying securely at the front. She draped another towel over your shoulders before the chill of the air on your wet skin could take hold, before blowing out the candles. You followed her into the lamplight of her bedroom, where she sat you down on the edge of the bed and crouching down before you began to rub your arms beneath the soft cotton.
And it was in that moment, seeing her before you, all her attention focused on your wellbeing after such a trying day, that the tower crumbled. A deep sob escaped your throat. Then another. And the next thing you knew, tears were pouring down your face as if the pain of so many wounds was bleeding out through your eyes, and your breath hitched and moaned in agony.
‘Oh my darling’ Farah soothed, drawing you into her arms and holding you like she would never let go. A hand found its way to the back of your head and pulled the towel free, fingers tangling into your damp hair as you wept into her neck with a depth and ferocity you had never allowed your adult self to express. And Farah just held on quietly, occasionally murmuring comforting words into your hair, sweet endearments that you couldn’t quite make out. At times you registered her fingertips on your scalp providing grounding pressure as you cried; other times it was the slow, soothing motion of her hand on your back which you were most aware of as you drowned in your grief – for all the losses you’d experienced and the childhood you could never reclaim. And hours or maybe years later, as you began to settle, you were aware that Farah’s hands had become still, just holding you gently as she rocked you both from side to side.
Sensing you coming back to yourself, Farah slid her hands to your biceps and pushed you back just far enough to peer at you; taking in your puffy eyes and blotchy skin she wiped the tear tracks from your face with her thumbs while her own eyes swam and shone. Shakily you found yourself reaching for her, one hand stretching to cup her face as she had yours, smoothing your thumb up from those beautiful laugh lines you loved so much to her temple and into her hair. For a moment you just gazed at each other like the world around you had stopped, before Farah laughed shakily and sniffed. ‘Come on, I don’t want you getting cold.’
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As you both lay under the covers, warm and dry in soft pyjamas, and you were once again on the edge of sleep, you felt Farah turn to face you. In the faintest glow from the lamplight outside filtering in through a gap in the curtains, her eyes glimmered with unfathomable intensity. Stroking your hair back from your face, making sure she had your attention, she spoke three words.
There were no fireworks, no swelling music; there was no passionate kiss. Just stillness, peace.
You said them too.