Page 78 of The Tape Job
Once I’m in her room, that familiar scent of Chanel fills my lungs, and I can’t help but take a deep breath. Her room, seeped in darkness the last time I was here, looks so Vicky with the light on. It’s painted white with accents in rose gold and, of course, aqua. Ever since I’ve known Vicky, she’s been obsessed with anything sitting between green and blue hues.
I take my phone out and snap a few pictures, to make sure I can set everything to how it was when I got here. I don’t know how much digging I’ll need to do. Vicky isn’t likely to notice if something has moved a few centimetres, but she will know if something is hugely out of place.
I take my shoes off and leave them next to the shoe rack to the left of her door, allowing myself just a moment to picture her wearing a pair of the heels she’s got lined up.
Glancing around, I check her desk first. Primarily used for makeup, she has a box open at the end of the counter full of various colour pallets and brushes. Her hairdryer sits next to a mirror propped against the wall, and there’s a stack of papers towards the far end of the desk. I carefully skim through them. There’re various bits of junk mail mainly, however, at the very bottom I find two notices for payment. I toss the papers on top of my shoes to take home.
I try her drawers next. Though, would she put mail in her underwear drawer? It’s unlikely, but it doesn’t hurt to check. I tug on a handle, and Vicky’s collection of personal items come into view. I can’t help but reach in and feel the material of a few familiar pairs, the fabric feeling incredible against the roughness of my fingers. I search for the teal panties she has, which has a certain effect on me that I can’t describe. I’m disappointed when I don’t find them, but Ido find something that causes my heart to pound loudly. Blood pumps through my ears when I find a whole wad of ticket stubs—Marlies ticket stubs. Flicking through them confirms she attended a lot of my games. There’s even one as recent as the April just gone. Well, more than one. In fact, there’s stubs for all the games directly after the season ended here. As I look through them, I realise after everything we’ve been through—fucking around with our feelings, her calling things off, me calling things off, Vicky still came to see me. A bitter taste fills my mouth. Why wouldn’t she tell me she was there? If I’d known she was there… I guess I don’t know what I’d have done, but still.
I place the stubs back where I found them and push the drawer shut. I rummage through the rest of the unit but nothing of interest is to be found. Moving on to her closet, I’m not surprised to see a long row of shoes along the floor. I need to clear some pairs to reach a box of what appears to be papers, hidden at the back. I carefully rearrange them and reach for the container, sliding it out gently. Bingo. I look through and see a few bills and statements. I scoop them all up, putting them with the others to sort through later in the comfort of my bedroom. But when I push the box back in place, I spot a more familiar container labelled ‘Memories,’ in Vicky’s cursive handwriting on the front. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but pull the box towards me.
Taking the lid off, I glance inside tentatively, as if something is going to jump out at me. But I break into a smile because the box is full of photos and random objects, which may be considered crap to anyone else, but to Vicky and me, they’re priceless. My eyes cloud with the danger of tears as I rummage through the box as if I’m looking for a lost item. There’s photo after photo of me and Vicky and a fair few of Vicky and my mom. Lots of me playing hockey, and even more candid shots of me living my life, with Vicky right by my side. There are photos I didn’t even realise existed. Photosof us, and recollections that were just fragments in my mind until now.
At the very bottom of the box, there’s the puck from the first goal I scored with Vicky as my girlfriend. The rubber, partially worn on one side. A roll of tape: white. A broken stick blade, taped in true Vicky style with some doodles I did; her head resting on the shoulder of my sweaty jersey as I drew. All in this one box, lives a showcase of my life with Vicky.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, throwing me back to the here and now. I ignore it, using it as a sign to hurry the fuck up. I put the boxes back and line the shoes up, just like I found them. But as I stand up, and start to close the door to her closet, I spot a row of my old hockey sweaters.
I reach out and touch the first of the Boston-U jerseys. It’s probably been worn by Vicky more than me, but in a single moment, it’s as if a mini-movie of my college years plays back in quick-time. Mostly of Vicky beaming at me, or her cheeks red from the cold as we skated together, or her body pressed up against mine, sometimes naked, sometimes not. But there’s no denying that she’s in my head. No scratch that, my soul.
Tears fill my eyes as I realise there’s no one else I’d rather share these moments with. Even in difficult times, things felt perfect. It didn’t matter because I had Vicky and Vicky had me.
But now? Vicky’s decisions and her inability to let me love her fully has got us to this point. Friends. And heartbreak. Heartbreak: something else of mine reserved just for Vicky. Because there’s no one else I’d ever let in enough to break my heart and I’d let Vicky break my heart a million times over if necessary. Because, I loved her then, and I love her now. I can’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t love her.
I don’t know what to do with this revelation but I’m sobbing as I hurry to put my runners back on beforecollecting all the papers. I take a moment to compose myself, using the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe away the tears. I’m just about to leave when I spot Vicky’s laundry basket right next to her desk. There’s a pair of teal panties right on top and the image of Vicky wearing them pops into my head, just as I feel my dick swell in my jeans.
Shoving them into my back pocket, I’m out of there with a plan to go straight home, pay Vicky’s bills, then get acquainted with her panties again.
Vicky
Cold weather is fine, but rain that feels like needles hitting your face is not. Especially when I’m supposed to be standing outside for eighty whole minutes. And in bad lighting.
Dean met us in the rugby clubhouse and introduced me to the guy organising the evening. I naively thought I could stand inside, taking advantage of whatever shelter I could. But I quickly realised the building was about three hundred yards from the rugby pitch.
Johnny and I stand out in the cold, our winter coats zipped up to our throats as I hope to catch a good enough shot.
“Do you even know the rules, Vic?” Johnny asks, hopping on the spot.
“Do you?”
“I’m not the one getting involved,” he says. He didn’t have to come but he changed his mind at the last minute.
“I’m hardly getting involved. I’m just taking some pictures. It’s paid work.”
“Have you thought anymore about what you’re going to do after Ryan moves out?” he asks as I make a tactical choice and switch lenses.
“Start an ‘OnlyFans’” I joke, but looking at Johnny’s face tells me he doesn’t find it funny at all. “I am kidding, you know. No need to be so serious.”
“Well, I’ve told you. You’re welcome to stay at my place. I know you probably don’t want to, but it’ll buy you some time to figure it out.”
“Thanks,John.”
He seems overly chirpy tonight, but it’s short-lived. His mood changes pretty much straight away when he pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.
“Right, Johnny, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? Because—”
“It’s nothing. Dad has been asking me if you’ve begged me for money yet. I think he’s expecting you to lean on me since you’re refusing his help.”
“I hope you told him I’m doing absolutely fine?” Johnny knew I had to list some of my things for sale, but I didn’t tell him that the buyer of my shoe collection was Liam.
