Page 2 of Monarch
“Sure, let’s talk.” I rearrange my body so more of it’s on the bed and facing Lexi. They don’t swing their leg up to mirror my posture. In fact, they don’t even look at me. But they do start talking.
“I’m leaving,” they say with the same sternness they used to order me to the floor. It felt a little odd earlier. Now, it’s utterly misplaced.
“What?”
“I’m leaving. The UK. I’m going to Amsterdam. In a week.”
I wait for the punchline. For them to invite me to join them. That this is their Christmas present for me. But it doesn’t come.
“What do you mean you’re going to Amsterdam?”
“Yeah, there’s like a group of artist-anarchists there, and a place just opened up in their warehouse studio living space. I’ve beenfriends with a few of them on Instagram for, like, forever. And so they are giving me the bed and the studio space.”
A bit more clarity returns to my mind. Not a lot, but a bit. I’m still all shallow breaths and thumping heartbeat.
“Well, when will you be back?” I ask.
And this is the moment Lexi decides to look at me. They turn those dark-rimmed eyes – like they’re wearing permanent eyeliner – on me, and without blinking or revealing anything, they say, “I’m not coming back. I’m moving to live there. For good. And I need to break up with you to do so.”
Roos – Six Months Ago
I know I’m dreaming because I have boobs. Bigger ones than I’ve ever imagined having. They’re perky but natural, and they move as I move. They are mine and they are real and I love not just the shape of them or the feel of them but how they make me feel. Like a more confident version of myself.
There are other signs I’m dreaming. Lex is smiling, for one thing. I haven’t seen xem do that in a long time. Smirks, half-grins, sneaky pouts, sure. But a big smile that bears teeth and love and joy? It’s been a while.
In my dream, we’re holding hands and walking through tulip fields, which is funny because that’s the landscape I grew up surrounded by, and it’s the very environment I raced to escape as soon as I hit eighteen. And Lex wouldn’t be seen dead doing such a touristy, cheesy, predictable thing. Even though I know – okay, suspect – that nature heavily influences xir work, there’s no way xe would prance around the tulips with me, both of us wearing pretty summer dresses like we are in my dream.
I often wonder if my dreams have meaning, and somewhere in my slumber, I start to wonder the same thing. Is this what I really want with Lex? Do I want xem to hold my hand and dance among the flowers with me? Do I want xem to be with only me? Do I want to be with only xem?
The tulips are changing now in my dream. They morph into little creatures I’ve never seen before, but I start to feel their sharp teeth or maybe pointed claws nip at my ankles. Lex drops my hand, and I mourn the loss instantly. I thrash around, trying to find xem, but xe’s gone. I can’t see xem.
The creatures start to climb up my legs, and my whole body gets itchy as I try to fight them off. This physical restlessness, this visceral discomfort with my own body, is too familiar, too painful, and I want it to stop. I want to stop dreaming, and even though I’ll lose my bigger boobs, I force myself to wake up.
It takes me a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room, looking for shadows to place myself. The streetlight from outside filters through the curtains, and I see the chair near the corner by my bed, covered with my clothes as it always is. I trace the shadowy outline of a glass of water on the bedside table, next to my phone, and the four – no, five – romance novels I’m currently reading. Satisfied I’m where I’m supposed to be, I roll over and reach out for Lex. But xe’s not there. That side of my bed is empty, and the sheets aren’t even warm. Xe’s been gone a while.
This isn’t unusual. Xe doesn’t always stay the night, and xe hadn’t made me any promises last night as we fell into bed together and fucked until we were so exhausted sleep was the only option. But I had hoped xe would stay. I always hope xe will stay.
I roll back and reach for my phone. Maybe xe left me a message. Maybe xe felt struck by the muse or whatever the fuck it is that has xem getting up in the middle of the night and heading over to xir studio to paint until xe has a headache and a UTI. But there’s nothingon my phone. I do find out, however, that it’s just gone four in the morning.
Needing to pee, I get up go to the bathroom. I leave the lights off, hoping that will help me go back to sleep once I’m back in bed, but as I’m washing my hands afterwards, I knock the glass soap dispenser off the side of the sink, and it shatters all around my feet.
“Shit!” I say before stretching to switch the light on. Bending down, I pick up the biggest, sharpest shards of glass and use a towel to roughly sweep the rest into a pile that I will deal with in the morning. My plan is then to jump out of my small bathroom and go back to bed, but that’s not what happens.
As I straighten up, I see that my mirror is covered in writing. Lipstick writing. I curse Lex internally for doing it again and using my best MAC lipstick. Xe has done this more than a few times, leaving xir crude version of love notes for me. ‘Fuck you for being so hot.’ ‘I’m still so wet.’ ‘Be naked and hungry for me when I get home.’
But then I actually read the words written in my favourite shade of red. And then I read them again, and that’s when I realise how MAC Ruby Woo lipstick is almost the same shade of red as blood, especially the first drops to emerge out of a cut.
‘It’s not you, it’s me. Thanks for the memories.’
It has to be a joke. I forget all about jumping over invisible shards of glass, and I race back to my bedroom and switch on the main light. I retrieve my phone and call Lex’s number.
It rings three times, then just stops.
I text xemand it sends but isn’t delivered. I stare at the screen, waiting for it to give me the two ticks, but I already know I could sit here and look at it for a week and it wouldn’t change.
Fuck, xe’s really left me.
Again.
