Damon & Elaine

The Dreaded Sound of the Alarm

We laid still like two sleeping pillars. It almost as if this is all a ruse. It can't be real. Having a hard time fathoming that this is the last time I will watch the rise and fall of his chest in the pale morning light, urges me to hold on tight and feel the rhythm of his thumping heartbeat beneath his ribcage. I didn't think it could possibly beat harder and faster than mine is right now. But it is, and I feel his sense of urgency and panic, as we're running out of time, and there is nothing you can do except watch the time slip between your fingers like sand in an hourglass.

No one has said anything for over an hour. There are no words that will make this pain go away. A pain that I didn't think I would feel- to this magnitude at least. It was only going to be eight months. Eight months that was well in the future, and 'not worth stressing over'. Eight months that 'we could handle'. Eight months that would 'maybe be healthy for us'. We had convinced each other that maybe space would do us good, space would put a stop to our fights, it would teach us to go without.

But being logical, eight months meant that our relationship was to go on hold. Damon was going to be doing the most intense world tour of his career, and I was going to be spending a few months in Morocco doing an all-consuming workshop. It was time we grew up and got realistic. Our love was intense and all-consuming, but it came at a cost, it was affecting both of our careers (that insisted on making our lives virtually incompatible, pulling us in completely opposite directions). We both needed to be doing different things, and this clearly wasn't our time. Time apart had put to much stress on our relationship in the past, and put cracks between us that we couldn't fix. We had betrayed each other, and as a result, said things we didn't mean. Perhaps we were just immature, but regardless we both knew that this time apart may be good to regain our own personal strength, but our relationship would not be able to withstand it, and sometimes you have to make sacrifices.

He finally peeled his stare away from the plain white ceiling and his head rolled to the side, his tear-filled eyes glistening slightly in the emerging dawn break. My hearts in a slow somersault as all I want to do is hold him and comfort him, but I cannot physically get any closer and my mouth cannot say the words my brain wants me to say, because they're not true. "It's going to be okay" would be lying. I can't convince someone that it will be okay if I don't believe it myself. This morning, only physical touch translates.

Damon brought his hand to my cheek, caressing my skin lightly, wiping away tears that I didn't even realise were there- I had gotten used to the feeling of my face being damp, but his hands felt warm against my skin. The cool English frost has crept through the cracks again tonight and I can almost hear a faint buzzing in our bedroom, like that of a fridge, but I'm convinced my minds playing tricks on me and my ears are just ringing from a lack of hydration and sleep. The windows are thick with condensation, and on his face, I can see shadows of droplets trickle and melt away as the sun rises, a painful reminder that soon Damon will go, and I will stay.

My mind slips away momentarily as I imagine us making toast in our pajamas when we get up, Damon would lick the peanut butter off the knife like a grot, and I'd make some silly joke patting his bum and kissing his ear. It's cringey I know, but it's us. Then I am jolted back to reality and I see his packed suitcase at the end of the bed, with the clothes he's going to wear on the flight over laid out on the chair. When the alarm goes off, it will be time for Damon to leave, and he will sling his bags over his shoulder and walk out the door and there will be nothing left of him in this flat.

I won't have any way to contact him, his cellphone will be typically unreachable, and there will be no sort of itinerary for me to follow up and call hotels. I told Damon not to call me either, at least not for the first month. We each have to pretend the other doesn't exist for some time if we are going to have any chance at this. The only way of hearing news will be through the tabloids, or begging our mutual friends to give some sort of update; but despite the fact that we are still madly in love with one another, this is a breakup, and you can't just harass your exes friends for information.

I don't know how much time we have left. It could be two minutes, it could be an hour, but I don't dare to check. I'm more interested in the way in which the glow from across the street is cast across Damons face, illuminating his skin, highlighting those piercing blue eyes that I have looked to for comfort and reassurance for a few years now. He presses his forehead to mine and his hair feels soft and fluffy against me, its a comfort, but every moment where I feel myself melting away and feeling safe in his arms I catch myself and want to cry.

Suddenly there are lips on mine. I didn't expect this at all which is odd since I haven't taken my eyes off him all night. But for the last time I let myself melt away, and this time I don't catch myself. Damon engulfed me in his warm, tired embrace at 6:28 AM. His lips were full and soft, as usual and the sweet distinct taste of his mouth ached on my tongue as I squinted my eyes shut and tears forced through my lids and dribbled down my cheek, getting lost in the salty mix of Damons tears that soon became apparent due to his trembling body, his chest heaving with the hitch of his breath. I held him, wrapping my arms around his neck, as he nestled into me, holding onto my waist like a floatation device at a shipwreck. He didn't have the strength for anything else.

The sound that I have been dreading for the past few months has finally pierced my ears. I want nothing more than to be deaf at this moment. Damon does not move, and lies there still like a sleeping stone. We hold each other, our slow deep breaths in unison, and I study his face in the morning light one last time... His feathery hair, button nose, warm skin, blue eyes, lashes, ears, lips, chin- I feel like I need take in every inch of him before he fades into a memory. The alarm is still buzzing and no one has moved, my eyes flick toward it, trying to make it stop subconsciously signaling to him to say -turn that thing off you lazy fuck-  as I do most early mornings. But I'm struggling to get the words out, the moment that alarm goes off it's the end for him and I.

His morning voice is low, and crackles slightly. He says quietly:

"If we just pretend we don't hear it we can stay like this forever".