Devastate Page 3

  “My friends call me Eeyore, because it rhymes with Lior,” he says, trying to keep the mood light. But at the mention of Eeyore, my mind thinks of Winnie the Pooh, A.A. Milne and inevitably Bella. This is the reason I don't talk to people, engage in conversation or show any interest in the lives of others. I can barely breathe from the impact of the most simple reminder. Like a boulder hitting me straight in the chest, Bella’s death consumes me. Most days I think I've built an impenetrable wall around me and my heart, but right here, I’ve unknowingly dug the knife deeper. I turn my back on him and Elliot immediately, trying to reach for the door handle and avoid them noticing the tears that threaten to spill out. In a moment of panic, I forget that I need to push on the door and I'm pulling at it relentlessly. My face heats up as I persist on dealing with this like an irrational adult. A lot of the time I know I can handle things better, but my skills of resilience are non-existent. Combine that with the element of surprise and I'm a complete mess.

  The tears roll down my face as I finally remember to push the door. Feeling one hand on the small of my back and seeing another above mine pushing on the door handle reminds me I'm not alone.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Evie, whatever I said, I'm so sorry.”

  4

  Lior

  She hiccups, trying to stifle a sob, and the way her body shivers reverberates through my fingertips. I don't want to let her go inside, but I can see how desperate she is to be alone. I step back and inhale deeply, watching as she runs inside. I'm lost for words. One minute she seemed receptive and the next I thought she was about to shatter into a million pieces. I finally get out of my own head and look over to Elliot, in disbelief. “What did I do?”

  “She's delicate,” he says with a shrug, but his inability to look me in the eye says there’s more to it than he’s letting on.

  “Should I go inside and check on her?”

  “It’s okay, she won’t talk anyway,” he responds, defeat obvious in his tone. He begins walking ahead of me and I just follow; lost in my own thoughts.

  Last night when my eyes landed on hers, I couldn't help but stare. Even though the dimmed light didn't provide the best illumination, the way she stood there staring at me had me intrigued immediately. I wasn't lying when I said Elliot speaks about her all the time. It’s not what he says, but the tone of his voice when he says it. He alludes to someone who is quiet, defenseless and helpless, but even with her hunched shoulders and the way she purposefully puts distance between us; it’s her eyes that tell me she’s anything but. Wide with curiosity, there’s a depth in them that tells me she’s lived a thousand lives, and she’s got a thousand more to go.

  I moved to the city a few months ago. Wanting a change, I applied for a job cross country and have been dipping my feet in unchartered waters ever since. Elliot and I initially met at the gym, before we realized we worked for the same real estate company, Cohen & Sons; but in different departments. The gym is in the same building as work, so meeting in the morning and having lunch together on a daily basis has become our own little ritual. Everybody at work makes fun of our blooming bromance, but sometimes you can’t help but connect with others for a number of different reasons. And when you’re new, distractions help with the transition.

  Yesterday Elliot took the day off work and said he had something to take care of during the day with Evie. I don’t ask questions, and I’ve noticed he’s one to talk when he wants to. So when he called and asked to go out for drinks, I got the feeling that something was off. Eight shots and ten beers later, Elliot was a little worse for the wear, and I still hadn't figured out what the hell he was so tense about. All I got was incessant ramblings about “him just trying to help.” I know he does a lot for her. I know they have a well thought out routine that serves a purpose I am unaware of, but for the first time ever, It looked like it was taking its toll on my friend.

  Now that I’ve met the ever illusive Evie; twice. I can’t help but want to place Elliot’s version of her, and the person I saw last night together. I called Elliot to have lunch and see how he was feeling, and now after Evie’s meltdown, I’m desperate to get inside his head. I quickly catch up to Elliot. “Does that happen often?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “With Evie?”

  “Can we talk about it when we’re eating? I’m too hungover to walk and talk,” he explains.

  “Fine.”

  We make our way to our favorite deli and find a table in the far back corner. “Lunch is on me,” Elliot says before walking to the line and ordering. Five minutes later he returns with an Italian sub for each of us and two bottles of water. I dig into my food straight away and assume he’ll start talking when he wants to. Four bites in and I’m becoming impatient. I take a long sip of water and stare at him at the same time. He puts down his food. “Fine, what is it you’re so eager to know?”

  “Will she be okay? After what happened earlier?”

  “I’ll know when I pick her up after her shift later.”

  “How often do you pick her up?”

  “Every time she works.”

  “Why?” I ask in disbelief. “She’s not sick is she?” My mind is racing, trying to work out why he’s so protective of her.

  “No, like I said before, she’s just delicate,” he says firmly.

  My annoyance unexpectedly creeps to the surface. “Just spit it out. Say you don’t want to talk about her and be done with it.”

  His eyes lock on mine, and his jaw begins clenching and unclenching repeatedly, I can see I’ve hit a nerve. I’m torn between pushing Elliot’s buttons, and wanting to indulge in my self-absorbed train of thought. I also know, I have to begrudgingly ask him the question that has the potential to change everything.

  “Is there something going on between you two?”

  He takes a deep breath and puts the sub down. If he’s stopped eating then I know this is serious. “Her husband was my brother.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah, he died.”

  The revelation hits me hard and I want to keep digging, but I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me more. Again, I’m sitting here trying to wonder whose secrets he is trying to protect, and selfishly I only want to know Evie’s.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, man. You’re a great guy for sticking by Evie through all this.”

  “That’s what family does, I guess.” He grabs his bottle of water and takes a long pull, effectively shutting down the conversation.

  The rest of the meal is quiet and I give him space. I tell him I’ll see him at the gym bright and early tomorrow; maybe a good night’s sleep will make him feel better.

  I leave the shop and aimlessly walk around the city, Evie consuming my thoughts. It’s hard to explain what it is that has me so hung up on her, but the two times I’ve seen her has ignited the beginning of an addiction I don’t want to give up. Meeting her feels synonymous with my exploration of the unknown, leaving my past and chasing my future. This afternoon, Elliot grazed the surface of Evie’s past, unknowingly pulling me in further. Anyone can see she isn’t exactly welcoming people in her life with open arms, but something tells me the struggle would be worth it.

  It seems my body and mind are working in sync when I find myself standing in front of the store Evie works at. My mind alternates between the pros and cons of walking inside. She’s going to recognize me instantly and telling her that I’m buying a gift for someone feels extremely transparent. Fuck it. I would buy the whole shop just to get a closer look at the enigma that is Evie. I take a deep breath and psych myself up to go inside. There’s no turning back now.

  The bell on top of the door jingles as I push the door open. Looking around I notice Evie is nowhere to be found, I walk to the front counter prepared to ask the shop assistant if she knows where Evie is when a head of brown hair pops up unexpectedly from underneath the bench. Her rich chocolate eyes meet mine, and a light flush creeps up from her neck to her cheeks; giving her skin much-needed c
olor. She purses her lips together, uncertainty written all over her face. She looks behind me and around the shop, trying to find a reason as to why I would be here; in her space.

  “Hey,” I say, bringing her focus back to me. Instead of giving her some far-fetched reason of why I'm standing in front of her, I decide to go with the truth. “I finished lunch with Elliot and wanted to come back and see if you were okay.”

  It takes a few seconds before she realizes she should probably respond, but her inability to fill the silence extends the awkwardness between us.

  “Maybe I should go,” I blurt out. Feeling a little disheartened, I know with Evie there’s more than meets the eye, but I need her to want to show me first. I need to regroup and reassess if I’m ever going to make her feel comfortable around me. I need to find a balance between too much interest and not enough. I shift my eyes between her and the other sales assistant, buying some extra time before I admit defeat. She looks between Evie and I before breaking the tension. “Feel free to have a look at any of our items. Menswear is in the far left corner.”

  “Thanks for the offer, maybe next time?” I leave the question hanging in the air while I glance back at Evie. She’s now furiously biting on her bottom lip, the redness in her cheeks gone, replaced with the natural pale hue of her skin. I wink at her and smile, trying to keep it light.

  “Catch you around,” I say before giving the ladies my back and walking toward the door.

  The sound of customers combined with the music fades with each step, and I use all my willpower to not glance back.

  As I grip the metal handle, I hear a voice. It’s Evie’s, and I can barely contain the simple lift of my lips.

  “Wait.”

  I loosen my hold and count a few seconds before I turn around. She calls out again. “Lior. Wait.” I take it as my cue and turn around. Following my gut instinct, I know this might be something worth feeling uncomfortable for.

  5

  Evie

  As Lior turns back around and makes his way back to us, Courtney, my co-worker elbows me in the stomach. “What’s wrong with you?” she whispers.

  “What?”

  “A guy looking like that comes to see how you are and you act even more weird than usual.”

  “What do you mean, weirder than usual?” I ask.

  “Look at him smiling at you.”

  I avoid looking at him, and focus on Courtney and her unfiltered commentary, “I’m not weird.”

  She turns to look at me, her eyes almost bulging out of her head, “You’re kidding me, right? We don’t even have time to talk about this right now. Just be normal,” she demands. I realize I took for granted that people would just accept my need for distance, but didn’t think they would perceive me as weird, or abnormal. Or even be interested in me at all.

  Another elbow to the side reminds me to look up. There he is just patiently waiting, we’re both staring at one another until I remember I asked him to wait and he came back. Ball is in my court now.

  “So, Elliot didn’t come with you,” I blurt out.

  “No, he stayed back at the deli, I have some errands to run.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I say losing what little confidence I had. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

  “No, you’re not keeping me. I wanted to see how you were.” His hands grip the granite surface and his torso leans in ever so slightly. “After last night and earlier, I figured a fresh start couldn’t hurt.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about earlier,” I say. Uncharacteristically I find myself eager to make up for the way I left him on the sidewalk, but extremely unsure as to what to say next. The truth isn’t an option, but I’m extremely cautious about coming off crazy, thanks to Courtney’s earlier comments. “Something you said, just caught me off guard.”

  “It’s my name isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “I just tell everyone my parents were high when they named me. It somehow makes it better.”

  I lower my head and hide the almost smile that is creeping up on my face. Once I’ve schooled my features, I look back at Lior and notice his eyes haven’t left me. Whether I look up, down or anywhere else but him, his eyes are somehow always pinned on me.

  “Lior, isn’t a name I can say I’ve heard before.”

  “I haven’t either,” he says. “I like being the only one, but I think I’ll pass the name on to my son one day, and keep it going.”

  Twice in one day general conversation has punched me right in the stomach and reminded me why I don’t do this. I start to fiddle with the small things around me, finding a pen and clicking it incessantly, trying to distract myself from walking away and crawling into a ball. A hand lands on mine stilling it immediately. I just stare at his hand on mine; this is becoming somewhat of a habit.

  “I did it again, didn’t I?” he asks me softly. With my eyes lowered and my voice low, I respond with the most truth I can give him.

  “It was me. I did it again.”

  He squeezes my hand, before letting it go. “I’m going to go, but I’ll be back soon.” His fingers gently lift my chin and force my eyes to remain open and not succumb to their need to hide. The tiny creases around his eyes show his worry. “We can try this as many times as you need to, okay?”

  I nod and shut my eyes, a lone tear rolling down my face. I step back making the first break, hoping that when I open my eyes he’ll be gone. The feel of his fingers disappears first, and the sound of the bell on the door confirms his departure. I slide to the floor and pull my knees to my chest and rest my face against my thighs, a steady stream of tears soaking my black jeans. I’m at work and I need to get back up, but Lior and his innocent efforts at small talk have made me feel weak, exposed and vulnerable. I don’t know if I’m more mad that he’s brought feelings to the surface that I only deal with in private, or that they’re right there on the tip of my tongue dying to find someone who asks the right questions. Bella’s anniversary is still so fresh in my mind. Visiting her doesn’t just remind me of how much I miss her, but how much I miss the old me. The woman who wasn’t smothered in layers of anger and despair. Some days I don’t know who I am grieving; Bella or me.

  “Hey, Evie. You okay?” Courtney’s hand lands on my knee and she crouches down beside me, waiting patiently for a response. I wipe my nose with my sleeve and hope I don’t look like someone who belongs in an institution.

  “I guess this is what you meant about being weird, huh?”

  “No, you’ve definitely been weirder than this,” she says. “Remember the time you locked yourself in the bathroom by accident?”

  “What? That wasn’t me,” I protest.

  “I know,” she laughs. “But you’ve stopped crying.”

  “I’m so sorry, Courtney, I’ve been totally useless today. I’ll make it up to you I promise, I’ll take a shift for you if you want a day off, or stay back if you want to leave early.”

  She uses her hip to lean on the counter and squeezes her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger, making it appear like she’s deep in thought.

  “Yes,” she says excitedly. Her hands disappear behind her to support the way she’s leaning on the counter. “You and I are going to dinner after work.”

  My face scrunches up. “No, that’s not really what I had in mind.”

  Her face falls at my rejection. “You just said you would make it up to me.”

  “Yes, and I gave you options on how.”

  “Look, Evie. We’ve worked together for six months and today isn’t the first or second time I’ve seen you breakdown.” Her expression tells me I haven’t been fooling anyone. “Just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.” She walks toward me and puts her arm out, her hand landing on my shoulder and gently squeezing. “Just try.”

  * * *

  As the rest of the afternoon passes by smoothly, Courtney and I have settled into a routine where she fills up all the silence with stories of her life before she moved to the city; her parents and what it’s like
being the only girl among five brothers. Her lack of interest or is it lack of coaxing me into conversation tells me she’s aware of my desire to remain quiet; I like it this way.

  “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

  “What?”

  “Dinner. What do you eat?”

  “Oh, you pick. I haven’t been out in a while, I don’t know what tastes good lately,” I respond truthfully.

  “Do you need to call that guy that always picks you up?” she asks.

  Shit. Elliot. “Yeah, do you mind if I use the work phone?”

  “Just text him from your cell.”

  “Well, my cell is broken and in my drawer at home and has been for the last eighteen months, so if it’s okay I’ll use the work phone,” I explain.

  “Eighteen months, what the fuck Evie?” My lips lift at her disgust, she’s appalled at the possibility of existing without a cell phone. I wonder how she’ll react to all the things I’ve changed about myself since James died. I walk over to the phone and punch in Elliot’s number.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey. It’s Evie.”

  “What’s wrong?” he immediately asks.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to let you know I’m going out for dinner after work with a co-worker, so you don’t have to meet me at the shop. Depending on where we go, I’ll either walk or catch a cab home after.”