‘What I want to know is, right, where are their teeth? Why does no one on Jeremy kyle have teeth? A bunch of toothless degenerates, the lot of ’em! They come on, you think ‘ere you go, they open their mouths, and no teeth. Where have all their teeth gone?’
Moments like this made Her realise what a remarkable invention the telephone was. Lying in different beds, in different houses, their lives were almost unrecognisable from the time they were together, yet it felt as if no time has passed at all. They had too many memories, ones that Her probably remembered all too well. Every detail, like when Him asked the boys to buy some Walkers Sensations, which were immediately forgotten once Him kissed Her. Deep-fried potato slithers were the last thing on their minds.
3 hours. Catching up and reminiscing about when exactly this whole mess started. Stifling laughter in the dead of night, for fear of waking up respective parents with out of place guffaws. The power of one phone call, pulled Her back to Him. And for those stolen three hours Her was Him’s. And Him was Her’s.
Her used to think it was ok, that in those concentrated moments with Him, she could claim possession, those silent hours punctuated with them, were sacred. But when those birds started chirping, it was natures reminder that their time was up. And with the rising sun came a harsh, severing reality, all too bright for Her’s hazy, hooded, sleepless eyes.
But things had changed now. As things always do. We have to change, we must grow thicker skins and force our heavy feet on, away from the ones that we long to fall into. And now Her’s lighter limbs reminded Her of that weighty pain, the pain she’d come to crave. Back then.
And this phone call, this 1am chinwag, reminded Her of how far she’d come. How very different she was now because what once would have thrown Her into a heartbroken heap, limp, immovable and unbelieving, made Her smile.
Because it was all to clear that Him missed Her. Them. Together. And what they could have had. And this string of power, tugged at the corners of Her’s mouth, warming Her’s heart because she hadn’t been imagining it.
And maybe, just maybe they were made for each other.
But then Her remembered that guns were made for killing and bombs were made solely for destruction. Him was made to teach Her that she deserved more than stolen moments, more than second best and false protestations of ‘I love you’.
Those words were not Him’s to say.
‘Don’t taint that future uttering for me, you’ve broken enough.’ Her’s heart protested.
For Her would rather be alone than feel that dull thud of an ache again.