(CONTENT WARNING: General unpleasantness)

*

The trouble with Maura is- I’ve worked this out over the last few years- she’s too scared to make a leap of faith.  I don’t know where it comes from- her family or an ex-boyfriend, maybe- but there’s a definite fear, holding her back from what she really wants to do.  Which is sad, obviously, but she ends up making it everyone else’s problem as well, and that’s just not cool.  There have to be limits somewhere, right?

I mean, look at me- I’m her friend.  I’m the guy at work who always makes her laugh.  She knows she can tell me anything, but she just won’t open up to me.  It’s like she doesn’t trust me at all.  Like she’s worried I’ll turn out to be just another user waiting to hurt her and leave her out in the cold.  That’s not me.  She should know that by now.

I should have known that things were going to go badly as soon as she started making that face.  That fake smile where they really want you to know it’s fake.  Like they want points for having the decency to smile, but they still want you to know they’re not actually smiling.  And I was trying to have an actual discussion with her.  To be honest, I was worried about her.  That was the main reason I’d asked to meet up with her that night.

So I was talking to her, frankly, about how I felt about some of her choices.  Some real self-destructive behaviour, distancing herself from the people who wanted to help her.  And the subject got around- quite naturally- to some of the guys she’d been seeing.

And I told her, quite honestly, that I thought that me and her would be good together.

I mean, is that such a crime?  It’s how I feel.  I was just stating a fact.

Anyway, the fake smile got wider and wider as she tried to think of an excuse.  “Oh, sorry, Andrew, I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.”  And I’m like, OK, then, what about the guy you went to the festival with last month?  It definitely looked like you were looking for a relationship then, so what’s changed?  And she ums and ahs, trying to think of an answer to that, but I’ve already got her answer for her.  The difference is- and I told her this, straight out- that she thinks a guy’s got to have a fancy car and a six-figure income to be the right one for her.

Of course, she tried to deny it, but the fact is, the guy from the festival didn’t even matter to me.  At the end of the day, he isn’t even around anymore.  He got what he wanted and then made himself scarce.  I’m the one that’s here.  I’m the one who’s offering her a future.

I told her, it’ll work.  I’m prepared to make a commitment.  I’ll see to it that she’s never unhappy.  She’ll never want for anything.  Us against the world.  You’d think that would sound good to her, right?  But she doesn’t even answer.

She just goes silent for a few seconds, then starts breathing funny.  Heavy and intense, like someone who’s about to throw up.  She’d turned pale, and her eyes weren’t focusing on anything.  And I’m looking around for somebody I can ask for help, because how do I know she’s not in danger?  How do I know she hasn’t taken something?         And that’s when she said, in a low, scratchy voice, “In one year’s time, we’ll be in a restaurant just like this one, and it’ll take us twenty minutes to decide what to order.  You’ll decide on yours quickly, and then you’ll tut and shake your head at everything I try to choose.  And when we’ve finally found something you think is healthy enough, you’ll call the waiter over and apologise for taking so long.  You’ll say, ‘She can be very indecisive.’”

Now, obviously, I had no idea what she was trying to do.  Some kind of performance art?  Needless to say, that is not what it would be like if the two of us were in a relationship.  Healthy eating is important to me, but I know where to draw the line.  Like I said, boundaries.

“In two years’ time, there will be a morning where I sleep in until eleven.  You’ll be so angry that you’ll drag me out of bed, naked, and parade me around the flat, showing me all the housework that needs doing and all the paperwork that needs to be completed.  You’ll make me clean the kitchen floor before you even let me get dressed.”

I don’t know where any of this was coming from.  Sick thoughts.  Look, you only need to talk to me for about five minutes to know that I am not that guy.  I’m the breakfast in bed, roses on our anniversary type.  Some people just can’t accept that.

“In three years’ time, you’ll trick me into having my cat put down…”

And I lost it.  I’m not proud of this, but I hit her.  I shouldn’t have done it, but, look, anyone who knows me knows how much I care about animals.  The thought of someone being cruel to them just drives me mad.  But I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry.

Anyway, she didn’t even seem to notice.  Her expression stayed the same- blank, slack, practically drooling- and she went on talking.  She went on talking.  Can you believe it?

“In four years’ time, I’ll need some major, life-saving surgery.  You’ll tell my family and the doctors that I’ll be fine recovering at home, that’s you’re going to take a month off work to take care of me.  But after the first week, you’ll start to lose interest.  You’ll pretend not to hear me calling.  One day, you’ll sneak out without telling me, because some of your friends are meeting up.  I’ll wait for you to come back, but eventually I’ll try and make it to the toilet on my own.  I’ll claw my way across the walls and make it most of the way there, but at the last moment, I’ll slip and hit my head on the side of the sink.  I’ll lie there for six hours in a pool of blood, and when you finally get home and find me, your first thought will be of how you can avoid being blamed.”

I suppose I must have been shouting quite loud by that point, because our waiter came by with what seemed like half the staff behind him.  They pulled me off her and dragged me to the little back room, where they made me stay until the police came.  They wouldn’t let me go over and speak to Maura, not even to make sure she was OK.

Since then, I’ve tried to get in touch with her, see what she has to say for herself, but she’s just not answering the phone.  To be honest, I’m just about done with her.  I mean, if you’re not interested, just say you’re not interested, OK?  No need to re-enact The Exorcist just to make your point.  Life’s hard enough without creating problems where there weren’t any.

The trouble with Maura is…  Well, just that.  She’s troubled.  And I’m not unsympathetic, but there comes a point where it’s too much.  Anyway, the moral of the story is, sometimes it’s just not meant to be.  But my philosophy is, the right girl for me is still out there somewhere, and sooner or later, I’ll find her.

The End