Page 112 of Monarch
“I should have run away from you the moment I saw you, Roos van Dijk, but then I heard you laugh and I thought to myself, well, if she can laugh like that with all she’s dealing with, maybe there’s hope for me too?
“And I became addicted to that hope. I started to think it could save me, thatyoucould save me. For the first time ever, I thought about telling someone about what had happened to me. I knew you’d listen so brilliantly. I knew you’d know exactly what to say. I knew you’d hold me in your arms just like you are now. That’s why I kept coming back to you. Fucking with you, but also fucking with myself. I thought I deserved you. I wanted that safety I felt with you, but that feeling of deserving you, deserving your security. It never lasted. And it shouldn’t have because I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve you.”
My voice cracks, and my throat feels so very dry, but I’m not going to stop talking now.
“You know when you hear people say that in movies or one of those romance novels you like,roosje, I used to think, what a fucking cop out. That’s just an excuse to fuck around or to end a relationship they don’t want, but I know in my bones I didn’t deserve you, not back then. I always put my art first, and I pretended to be someone I’m not. I made you think that I was the one helping you in our relationship, when in reality, you were the one saving me from total destruction.
Roos is crying again, or maybe she didn’t stop. Six months ago, I would have cursed at myself for making her cry, and I would have run away to stop myself from doing it again. Now, I’m looking up at her and feeling honoured to share this moment with her.
“It’s taken me the last six months to try and figure out if I deserve you now,” I turn to Mari, “you both.”
“And?” Roos prompts with a sniff.
“I think I deserve a chance,” I say, feeling both deeply selfish and painfully vulnerable in one breath. “I think I deserve the opportunity to ask and to prove myself.”
“Why now?” Mari asks.
I cough out a cheerless laugh, and it makes my already sore jaw ache even more. “I went home. I faced my demon. And I killed him.”
It feels like someone has sucked all the air out of the room.
“Lex, what…” Roos begins, her eyes wide.
“You’re not fucking serious?” Mari splutters.
“Yes, and no.” I shrug. “I went home. I told my mother and my grandmother and my brothers. And then we all confronted him. Bodi, my oldest brother, punched him in the head, and he tripped and fell. He’d aged a lot in the last ten years, and he never looked after himself very well. He went down like a sad sack of potatoes. None of us helped him get up. He stayed down, and my mother told him he had to leave immediately. My grandmother spat on him, said something in Romani that I understood but he didn’t, and honestly, I think the shock of that, plus the hit and the fall, was what did it. I never felt much love for my grandma growing up because I feared she knew and had never stopped him, but in that moment, as she cursed him – and I don’t mean that she swore at him, I mean she really did curse him – I found some love for her.”
“What happened next?” Roos asks in a fragile whisper.
But when I speak my voice is louder and stronger than it’s been all night, even with my jaw still aching from the gag. Even with my mouth feeling dry and dehydrated.
“He started to clutch his chest, and he went this strange shade of grey, almost blueish. We all watched it happen. And none of us moved. Not one of us. We all stood in a circle in our back garden as he gasped and groaned and wheezed out his last breaths.”
“Fuck,” Mari whispers.
“My God.” Roos has her hand over her mouth.
“I kept waiting to feel sorry for him,” I say, staring straight up at the ceiling, but in my mind’s eye I can see his feeble body slumped on the floor. “He looked so small and so old and frail. So pathetic. And look at me. I’ve done okay. I don’t have to worry about money. I have thiswhole lifein one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Maybe in some ways, I owe him thanks because if he hadn’t started coming into my room at night, I would have never thrown myself into my art and…and…” I trail off as heat and tears land in my eyes. “But then I think about six-year-old me lying in bed in xir He-Man pyjama top and My Little Pony knickers, thinking that xe has just had the most perfect birthday and he came in and ruined it, ruined xem, ruined me.”
I let my tears fall down the sides of my face.
“Not that I don’t accept responsibility for my own fuck-ups. That’s also why I stayed away longer after the funeral. I came back here because Amsterdam is my home, but I deliberately stayed mostly in my studio and in that neighbourhood because I needed time. I needed to fully own what I’d done to you both. And what I’d done to myself. I went to fucking therapy more often. Started telling Sarah shit I should have told her a year ago. She had me read all these fucking books about trauma and CSA and fucked-up families. I forced myself to try and sleep better. I cooked for myself, which I have never, ever done. I know that sounds strange because I cookedfor us three all those times, but I never thought it was worth it, just for me. But part of this journey for me has been about figuring out that I am worth good home-cooked food, and care, and love. Self-love and self-care. And I’m not talking about face masks and bubble baths and fucking affirmations. I’m talking about knowing your faults and owning your mistakes, and loving yourself anyway. I’m talking about saying sorry to yourself and taking time to really accept that apology. I’m talking about really believing you are worthy of the kind of love you both have to offer me. Even if you don’t want to give that to me anymore, I needed to get to a place where I believe I’m worth it.”
Roos’ inhale is audibly sharp before she speaks. “And do you think you are?”
I look at her, and for the first time that evening, I see that she has changed. There’s an ease in her face I hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes sparkle and there’s more colour in her cheeks. The time has been good to her. Mari is good to her. I know then that if I never saw them again – if that’s their choice – I could still find some happiness in knowing they have each other.
“I think I am, yes,” I say, feeling both audacious and courageous. And exhausted. I have never felt this tired, and I am somebody who once upon a time often stayed awake for three days straight partying and drinking and forgetting who I was. I feel like I have talked for a week, but there is still so much more to say. The club is going to close soon, and Roos and Mari will want to head home. I told myself not to expect an invitation back with them. I told myself to keep my expectations low. I know this is going to be a marathon, not a sprint, and I’ve done nothing for the last six months but train myself for that.
“I think you are too,” Roos says softly, and then she lifts her eyes and looks across me at Mari.
“What do you think, Mari?”
I turn my head to Mari, who is studying me with a deep frown. They looked confused and pained, and I think I’ve said too much. I’ve assumed too much by stating myself worthy of their love. What I’ve confessed, what I kept secret from Mari – it’s too much of a betrayal. They are questioning the entirety of our friendship and relationship. They are seeing me with brand new eyes, and they don’t know what to do with me.
And why should they even worry about it? If the emails I’ve received from Roos were anything to go by, they are happy, too. Roos and Mari have made a life together. Maybe there’s simply no room in it for me. That’s something I not only will accept and respect; it’s something I’ll celebrate. The two people I love most in the world finding each other and living life with each other? Little else has greater potential to make me happy for the rest of my life.
“Mari?” Roos prompts.
