KILLIAN
I was being an ass. I knew I was, but Stella stirred something in me that I couldn't begin to control.
I forced my shoulders to relax, the tension having built within them over the last hour and settling as hard knots at the base of my neck. At least the storm had abated as we left the city and began to needle through the longer, narrower roads towards Bloemfontein. Currently, we had pulled into a petrol station while the sun began to set behind ominously looming dark clouds on the horizon, the air damp and humid outside.
Stella emerged from the sliding doors of the station shop, her arms laden with parcels. What the hell had she bought? No wonder she had been gone for so long.
Something by Def Leppard poured through the stereo and I grunted my vexation, promptly configuring it to my Bluetooth so that I wouldn't have to endure the next few hours listening to whatever torture she was inflicting upon me.
Even while I did this, I found it almost impossible to keep my gaze averted from the woman striding with a familiar skip in her step across the puddled tarmac. She was dressed appallingly and smelt like wet dog, but there was something captivating about Stella. There always had been.
She was not conventionally pretty, more quirky and cute with her large tortoise-shell glasses and huge cerulean eyes. Her hair was always dyed some sort of colour as she claimed that her brown locks were boring. When we had been dating, a variety of colours had been experimented with- bright greens and blues, pinks and purples not excluded. Presently, she seemed to be content with a solid black- though this highlighted the brightness of her eyes and the paleness of her skin. She had knotted it in a messy bun at the crown of her head and it tilted and bobbed precariously to one side as she trotted towards the excessively large SUV I had rented for the week.
Her attire was not appropriate for the summer- her long-sleeved thermals rolled up to her elbows and tucked into her snug-fitting jeans, the large pair of Ugg boots on her feet. Despite her layers, very little hid the allure of her curves.
I had always found her appealing- her wide hips and soft thighs, her slightly out-turned gait as she walked, everything about her really- but having her in such close proximity to me was making it difficult to recall everything that had happened between us all those years ago.
She had left.
Without an explanation.
Without giving us a chance.
It hadn't taken me very long to leave the country and settle in Dublin after Stella had left all those years ago. The pain had been acute- losing her felt as if a part of me had been amputated, lost forever- and it had taken me years to heal, to even contemplate another relationship with any other woman again. And even when I had, I knew that something had been missing.
Nothing would ever compare to what I had with Stella. And I supposed I still resented her for snatching it away from me without so much as a goodbye or thank you.
Awkwardly, she nudged open the driver's side door and dumped the bags on the seat. "I bought you a coffee," she told me, brandishing the takeaway cup in front of my nose until I was forced to take it from her.
"Thanks."
"And padkos*, of course." She rummaged curiously through the parcels and withdrew a packet of crisps, chocolate slabs and a few pastries.
"Bloemfontein is about two hours away," I pointed out dryly.
Stella shrugged, tossing most of the junk food into the console between us before clambering into the vehicle and shutting the door. "I'm exhausted. I need to eat to keep myself alert."
"I reckon you just want to snack regardless of the reason."
She turned the ignition and her lips twisted with a smile in my direction. "Guilty."
The four-wheel drive purred into life, and she manoeuvred it from the station, merging seamlessly once more onto the motorway. Almost immediately she burnt her tongue on her coffee and spilt some of the piping hot liquid down the front of her breasts and onto her crotch. "Bastard!" she yelped, twisting uncomfortably in her seat.
I refused to find her amusing, instead taking her coffee and placing it into the holder between us before she inflicted more damage, and handed her a few napkins from the parcels to blot away her mess. She always had been a bit of a klutz- a curious dichotomy considering the years she had dedicated to ballet classes.
But that was neither here nor there and I forced myself to not think about her, of the girl I had met during our first year of university and of the woman she had become now. It would do neither of us any good this week, especially not me.
"Thanks," she grumbled.
Content to allow silence to settle between us until absolutely necessary, I reclined against my seat and flicked through my phone. There were several matters of correspondence I could tackle through my apps alone, as well as confirmation of the resort in the Maldives Amber had booked us into after the wedding. It was, unfortunately, non-refundable and would set me back the entire total of the booking were I to cancel, but since I was no longer with Amber, I was going alone.
It was the Maldives, after all... and I had the time off work- time I had not taken for myself in three years. I cast a surreptitious glance towards Stella, who was thrumming her fingers against the steering and humming along to a 90's grunge rock song. I suspected that after this week with her, I would need all the R & R I could get.
"So where do you wanna stay when we get to Bloem?" she piped up suddenly, snapping her fingers over something on the dash so that the headlights on the front of the car turned on.
My head jerked up at that. "What do you mean? Didn't you book somewhere?"
She snorted. "Nope. Figured I'd just find somewhere as I drive."
"Are you kidding me right now, Stella?"
She averted her gaze for a moment from the road and pinned me with a look of wide-eyed incredulity. "What? There will be plenty of places."
"Of what repute?"
She snorted again, a slightly put out sound. "And anyway, if I had, were you expecting to bunk down with me tonight? You need your own room."
"I would have booked with the property while we were driving had you made a reservation," I retorted. It was an effort to not feel annoyed- I hardly left anything up to design. I needed a plan and purpose like one needed oxygen or water to survive.
"Oh, loosen up. There will be a quaint little bed and breakfast in no time."
"Stella, the last time you pulled this on us we ended up in a scene from The Hills Have Eyes. The toilet was in the middle of the room."
Her grin was irrepressible. "It was an experience, wasn't it?"
Ignoring her, I swiped the screen of my phone and brought up the application I used to book accommodation whenever I needed to travel. "I'll book us something now. Something... decent."
"God, you're even more tight-arsed than before. It's just for the night, Killian. What's the worst that could happen?"
I glared at her. "Have you got serious memory loss or something?"
She waggled her forefinger under my nose. "You cannot blame me for everything you did in varsity!"
"Oh for- look, there's a bed and breakfast on here- a small farmhouse with good ratings. I'll book us in there for the night."
"Fine." Stella shrugged. "As long as it has a bath or a shower and a bed, I don't care where we stay. I have a week's worth of dog to scrub off."
I fervently ignored the image those words procured as I made the booking on my phone. Stella wasn't the only one in dire need of a bed or a scrubbing- I had spent the last day on a plane, sweating profusely as tremors wracked my body, until finally landing in Johannesburg only to find that I had been pickpocketed while weaving through queues at the airport.
Stella was quiet for a moment, but I could feel her gaze linger on my phone before returning to the road. "Sadie told me your wallet was stolen. How are you going to pay for the accommodation if you don't have anything on you?"
"The marvels of modern technology," I snarked, tapping the screen of the device meaningfully. "Sorted out the problem with the cards with a few taps and a phone call to the bank."
I received a glare for my tone. "Pity no such thing available for sorting out your drivers, huh?"
I chose to ignore her, sure that she was making some sort of jibe at me. Unfortunately, the licence had posed the biggest problem, since I was almost irrationally averse to flying the short distance between Johannesburg and Port Alfred.
As a political analyst, my entire life was dedicated to analysing data and statistics to compile reports on my findings- seeking and explaining the most logical outcome of a policy, suggesting changes to implementations. My reports were published, my findings broadcast on news platforms across the world.
Logically I knew that the chances of me perishing on a flight were slim- only 452 people had died last year and of that only 8 onboard the actual aircraft. The numbers were miniscule in comparison to literally any other means of death or harm, and as an intellectual I knew that.
Yet I couldn't step foot on a domestic flight that spanned all of one hour.
I had called Sipho immediately with my problem. My best friend knew why I had aversions to the flight, and soon it had been posited that Stella could solve everything... unless I simply got on the damn plane.
I couldn't do it.
And so Stella had to drive us to Port Alfred... because she loved long drives and loud music and had inadvertently flown in from Mongolia a few hours after I had landed from Ireland. Stella, who feared nothing and grinned at the horizon while flashes of lightning bloomed and ricocheted through the pillows of black before us as if she welcomed the chaos and unpredictability of an electric storm.
"God, they played this all the time at the Tiger," Stella said, almost to herself. My thoughts screeched to a halt and I glanced at her. It took me a moment to realise she was talking about the song playing through the radio- an old Alice in Chains tune.
I grunted my assent. "You spent way too much time at that pool bar."
"As if you weren't with me most of the time."
I refused to smile at the recollection; her tipsy, missing all her shots in a game of pool at one of our favourite haunts during university. Back then, she was the girl with torn jeans and converse, a ratty t-shirt sporting some grunge band's logo, bold eyeliner, and dark lipstick. Our friendship had blossomed through our taste in music and other inane things most young adolescents found appealing in their early twenties.
"Those jeans you always used to wear... with-"
"The knee-tear and blood stain?" The corner of her lip curled into her cheek. "Still got 'em."
I snorted my begrudging admiration at that. "I had to drag you out of that mosh pit."
"It was worth it." She chuckled softly. "I wouldn't get another chance to see Hog Hoggidy Hog live again! I can still wear those with pride."
"Couldn't wear that as a teacher though."
"Yeah, well, luckily things changed after..." Her words faded into silence, thick tension in their wake, but I knew what she meant.
After she left.
There had always been something impetuous and volatile about her—her change in careers and...feelings for me...indicative of that.
Still, I couldn't help being a little impressed with what she had achieved. I was proud of her, though I would not let her know it. Every article, every blogpost, every piece of writing she had produced and published after we broke up, I had absorbed.
She was never meant to be a teacher, which is what she had been when we were together. No, I thought, she had flourished as a freelancer, dancing to her own tune... it smarted, however, that it had taken her leaving me to do so.
Soon, we were both mired in our own exhaustion to do little else other than study the dark road outside as we neared the metropolis of Bloemfontein. The city's lights began to gradually wink on the black horizon, growing prolifically in number until thousands ignited the shadows as we neared. I configured the GPS in the car to the bed and breakfast we would spend the night in and, wordlessly, Stella nodded in a way that articulated her own weariness and continued to drive on.
She looked exhausted- her hair tousled and unkempt, her skin sallow with dark rings under her eyes.
I ran my hand over the side of my face, barely stifling a groan. Thoughts of her were possessing me, it seemed, and I blamed it on the fatigue. The sooner I found a shower and a bed, the better.
A problem emerged sooner than I would have liked it to.
"What do you mean you do not have any card machines?" I asked, confounded.
"Kills, it's fine," Stella said, her voice weary as she tried to placate the elderly woman at reception of the farmhouse bed and breakfast with a kind smile. "I'll sort this out-"
"Stella, it's the twenty-first century-"
"We have card machines," the tiny old lady pointed out in a sweet Afrikaans accent, "but they do not... take phones."
"It's a digital wallet," I pointed out emphatically, "for contactless payments. If you have that machine, it should be able to do it!"
The old woman gave me a look as if she thought I were quite mad.
Stella touched my arm briefly, and my skin burned for it. It was a subconscious response that caused me to jerk away from her touch and her hand dropped to her side. She blinked for a moment, her expression clearing, and then she swiped her roughly hewn bangs from her forehead. "I need a bed and I need one fast. Let me just pay for the rooms. You can sort me out later-"
"Room," the other woman corrected sweetly. "For the room, you have booked."
If either of us was exhausted prior to that announcement, we both shot up as alert as if a grenade had been tossed into the dimly lit, poorly decorated reception hall of the small farmhouse.
"No, I booked for two adults, two rooms," I said hastily, flipping my thumb over the screen of my phone to confirm the booking for my own peace of mind.
"Impossible. We do not have two rooms available this evening," the woman explained with an amicable smile.
"This is completely-"
"Two beds, yes?" Stella clarified, talking over my outraged vocalisation. She swayed slightly, her shoulder bumping into my bicep, and that alone compelled me to stifle my indignant tirade- Stella was about to collapse on a rug that probably hadn't been vacuumed this century.
The old woman nodded, an enthusiastic smile wrinkling her cheeks. "Twin beds."
Stella grinned drowsily and tossed her backpack to her front, rummaging through the pockets until she procured her purse- some faded Disney design on the front. Sensing she was about to stumble, I reached out and held her elbow, coaxing the money from her fingers and setting it on the counter for the proprietor, after which we were successfully checked in and given a key attached to what could only be described as a painted rock.
The farmhouse was small, the rooms a series of cottages and bungalows sprawled in a semi-circle about a manicured lawn lit up with solar lights wedged into the earth. It was tacky- yet quaint- and when I found our room, it was passable.
Tiny, but passable.
In fact, it was so tiny, our twin beds were almost pushed together to allow for space to manoeuvre around them.
Without preamble, Stella dumped her sorry-looking bags on the closest bed and slumped back on the garish cover.
I couldn't help feeling a tug of sympathy for her considering the state she seemed to be in. Tactfully, I placed my luggage in the designated place and jerked my chin towards a door that I assumed was the ensuite bathroom. "You can shower first," I said. "You look like you need the rest more than me."
A small smile tugged at her lips, but she refrained from commenting as she pulled at her backpack. An array of clothing and toiletries suddenly littered her side of the tiny room in a disorderly mess. My fingers itched- it had been something I'd endured a long time ago, forgivable because I had loved her, but if she had any notion at present that her actions were irking me, I couldn't tell.
Knowing her, she probably did.
She disappeared into the bathroom with an audible sigh, the door clicking shut behind her, and soon the muffled movements from within the shower were the only sounds that filled the room.
I wouldn't think about Stella in there, and forced my mind to keep busy by sorting through my luggage- arranging what clothes I would need now, and what I would use in the morning as we completed the rest of the journey to Port Alfred.
These I folded into coordinated piles atop a table beside my bed, along with my toiletry bag, and when that was done, I located my chargers and ensured my devices were plugged in- should I need them later.
When Stella emerged a considerable time later, I had planted myself on my bed with my e-reader. She sidled past the bed, her hair wrapped up in a towel, a set of winter pyjamas covering her frame that would not serve her well in the escalating temperature of the tiny room.
"All yours," she mumbled around a yawn, dumping the contents of her bed onto the floor and sliding under the sheets. The damp towel was next, unwound from her head to be tossed with not a care in the world to land on the carpet.
I bit back a reprimand- Stella could do what she liked, it wasn't any of my business whether she was a slovenly heathen or not. Instead, I ignored the turmoil of her side of the room and entered the bathroom.
It, too, was an utter shit show.
Traces of Stella left everywhere.
Her shampoos, conditioners, body wash and so on littered the shower floor, a lingering floral scent permeating the steam she had left behind. On the small countertop there were hair bands, not to mention hair- in fact, there was hair everywhere. Long dark strands curled on the tiles at my feet, the walls of the shower as if she was partaking in her own personal art mosaic, sprawling from the brush atop the cistern. A pile of her laundry lay in a heap in one corner, a white lacy bra atop it all-
I almost groaned aloud, turning only the cold faucet on in the shower. Christ help me, but it seemed as if I would never be able to rid myself of the pieces of the woman I had spent years trying to forget.
Tomorrow, I reasoned, it would be better. Tomorrow, we would be surrounded by our friends and Stella's presence would be diluted. Tomorrow I would stop noticing so much about her, stop being forced to remember every little quirk that had made me come alive.
When I had finished and re-entered the room, my ears immediately picked up on her resounding snores. I found her face smashed against the pillow, her mouth open and her wet hair a wild halo around her. She lay on her stomach, her neck twisted towards me, and I sighed.
Our beds were close together, so it was easy enough for me to reach over and nudge her onto her side, adjusting her position so that she would be more comfortable.
I was not doing it for her benefit, I told myself. I was doing it for mine. To save my ear drums and sanity.
That could only be it.