I have given up trying to explain myself. Too many times they assumed I was searching for reasoning or reassurance; you’ll find someone! It’s not that big of a deal! You’ve got us, anyway! I had been single - independent - for three and a half years. Sometimes my friends and their partners would invite me to threesomes. I was a novelty.
The change began at a beach soirée in September. A friend wanted me to meet her boyfriend’s mates and I had obligingly attended. There were five couples, then me – the eleventh wheel. A record, surely.
On the weathered lounge by the shoreline, I was jammed between two couples and the slobbery sounds of their respective pashing. I sunk back into their shadows and pretended to green out. My vision blurred and softly followed the foamy dregs of waves that lapped at my feet. In the distinct smell of sea salt and mildew, unclear and hazy, I was submerged. Voices travelled over from people approaching behind us and the headline was issued; she’s a hot girl. Weird she’s the only one here without a root but.
I felt mould growing over my skin as I began to decay with the old lounge.
***
I suppose that’s why, the next weekend, they brought Charlie - a boy and nothing more. Though he was charming and spoke in a smooth voice, sweet like nectar, his constant flirting was more like cough syrup. He didn’t seem particularly smart, either.
Still, I did it. It wasn’t pleasant. I was dry and bored. While he moved over the top of me, he would bite his lip in a way he thought was seductive, though it made me cringe. When I looked back into his eyes, I would fantasize about my vibrator, or myself, or nothing.
Like a cult of cupids, they kept inviting Charlie to every ritualistic beach party. I was subtly directed to sleep with him and they always pushed us to share a tent. I couldn’t help but feel as though I had inadvertently joined a sex club. When I mentioned this to Charlie, he laughed.
Though I had never disliked his company, I started to actually enjoy seeing the boy. I was grateful to not sit alone on the mouldy lounge anymore. While my friends inhaled each other's lips, I could rest my head on someone’s shoulder. I stopped feeling smothered by the hyperawareness of my loneliness. The world was softer, like Charlie was a buffer between it and me.
I began to actively seek Charlie’s companionship. I found comfort in his simplicity. Charlie liked motorbikes. Charlie’s parents got a divorce five years ago. Charlie liked extra chicken salt on his hot chips. He wasn’t intelligent in the same way I was, but he was a plumber and told amusing stories about unsuspecting objects found in human faeces. Everything about his life was easy to understand. Perfectly average, he was the template for how a person should be. Sometimes he would stare at me for too long and I would feel unsettled.
Charlie told me he felt sad because he was falling in love with me.
I winced.
***
Two months later, we laid entangled on a picnic blanket by the riverbank. Summer was ending and the impending onset of Autumnal frost nipped at the heels of late afternoons. Charlie picked daisies for me and asked why I didn’t love him back. I told him I didn’t know.
The air turned heavy as he broke. Loving you… It’s like wading through cold water. I’m beginning to cramp.
His words were loaded with exhaustion. I looked away when he continued. I’m waiting for you to warm but you never do. You make me feel alone and mouldy.
His tone wavered. I felt defiant.
Okay. Don’t wait for me then.
Charlie’s face hardened before it crumpled. Eyebrows drawn in, his lips wrinkled and sunk as his chin morphed unnaturally. Each second was bloated with bitterness and regret. I had not meant for the sharpness of my words to lacerate him. I waited for him to say something.
Charlie put on his coat in silence and did not look at me again. Though I stung with guilt, it was relieving to watch him leave. His motorbike barked when he aggressively twisted the throttle. Charlie took everything but the daisies.
I carried the flowers down the riverbank and knelt by the water's edge. I tore the heads from the stems and placed the daisies in the river. The sinking sun cast a muted light as they floated away on the lowering tide, petals flat in an open embrace to the sky. Each daisy that blurred into the horizon and disappeared was a reclamation of myself.
Though Charlie had been a welcomed distraction, I had missed the clarity of lonesome thoughts. I did not want his warmth and obscurity. Crouched beneath the darkening sky, I watched the water alone.
Josie Banner is a writer from Bellingen, NSW, who currently resides in Naarm/Melbourne. As a child, Josie would craft creepy poems to disturb those around her. Now, she writes fiction and nonfiction, favouring short stories featuring rude protagonists and unpleasant interactions. Josie’s first publication, Sarabande, can be located in the anthology Writing Art by the Bowen Street Press.