Page 31 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
He squints, confused. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Have you moved on?”
“No,” he says very quickly with a shake of his head.
“Do you still love me?” I ask with every hope that all the stars in the sky tonight are feeling particularly wishful.
Arthur sighs, hides a smile behind his hand before muttering, “Never stopped.”
“I don’t want to go through the whole apology thing with you, it doesn’t feel right.”
“So what do you want?”
He glances up at me with clear earthy eyes that I still find myself getting lost in. “Anything, Phoebs,” he says with a sincerity that sounds like a promise—one that he’ll actually keep this time.
“Just tell me where you went, what you did.”
“Okay,” he nods. “I went up to Scotland, checked into a rehab facility for about six months, detoxed, had therapy. After that, I knew I couldn’t come back to you. I didn’t feel ready. So Grandad let me stay in the house up there. Enrolled into the RAF as a reserve soldier, continued therapy. And then one day, I woke up and I knew it was right for me to come back.”
I stare at him in shock. He looks like my Arthur, sounds like my Arthur, even smells just like him but my Arthur would never voluntarily enroll into the forces.
“Look, Phoebs,” he swallows, reaches for my hand. “That me, the one you looked after for so many fucking years? He’s gone. Forget about him, alright? The only version of methat I need you to see is the one sitting right here. The one who will die trying to make it up to you. Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of the shit I put you through but I remember some of it—that night in your bathroom with the mirror,” he nods at me. There’s still some evidence of that night, just a little red scar no more than five centimetres. “That shouldn’t have happened but it did and I’m fucking sorry.”
I sniff. Didn’t realise I had started to cry.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I believe you and I forgive you.”
Glance up into the dark sky, The Nightmare appears like the Cheshire Cat, laughing at me. I get up, walk over to the edge.
“But,” I tell him, unable to look him in the face. “I can’t be with you, Arthur, because I’m not where you are. I’m not in the place you’re at right now and I’m not sure I ever will be.”
It physically hurts to tell him but I know Dr.Kane would be proud of me kind of telling him…?
That, and it’s the truth. He’s come back and he’s matured, he’s aware, he’s grown up. And if I thought I found him attractive in school, I was wrong because this version of him was the one I’d dream up while he was passed out beside me. I think I’m just happy because he’s happy? That I know he can be happy without me so if anything did happen, he’d be okay. I love him now because he loves himself which makes my loving him just a little bit easier.
I’m not really thinking about myself anymore. He said he needed to let me move on but actually, I think I’m the one who needs to let him go before I turn back time and we find ourselves back to where we started.
Dr.Kane once told me that I loved Arthur just as much as I hated myself which was harsh to hear but also, I don’t think I’ve stopped hating myself. If anything, I hate myself more. I can’t open him up and pour all of my content into him. What good does that do anyone?
It’s different for me, though. When I hate, I hurt myself. When Arthur hates, he hurts himself and everyone else around him. I can deal with the despair inside of my chest—Arthur cannot.
Until I love myself, I can’t love him.
“Phoebs,” Arthur starts, walking up behind me. “What are you talking about?”
I don’t bother to wipe my tears as I face him. “If I asked you to sleep with me tonight, would you?”
He freezes, looks at me the same way I used to look at him, pulls back a bit. “No, I wouldn’t—I couldn’t.”
I didn’t ask him because I wanted to, I asked him to prove something. “Exactly.”
He shakes his head, eyebrows pinched. “What are you talking about?”
Take a deep breath, tuck my hair behind my ears, wipe my tears. “Tell me what you learned while you were gone.”
He nods, leans against the wall. “I taught myself three languages—Russian, Greek and Finnish. Tried to solve a couple murders—didn’t get very far—but mostly, I spent a lot of time playing chess by myself. Tried to play Monopoly on my own, as well—didn’t work, don’t recommend. Definitely a three player game.”
I laugh. “Do you still like butterflies?” I ask in a small voice.
