Broken Soles

“Not even a kiss goodbye” my lips coyly poised as he leaned forward and took hold of the handle. The heat of his breath intimate against my face. The door opened out onto a gravel yard. A pathway made by the back and forth tracking of different comers and goers lay ahead. “Happy Valentine’s Day” he laughed. The sarcasm in his voice nudged me into taking that first step.

Outside was wet and grey. The sky reflecting the path in front of me. Shallow puddles turning my usual walk into a damp obstacle course. “Happy Valentine’s Day” I hastily murmured under my breathe. The crisp air bit at my nose. My face burning at the cold, shrill wind pushing past. A shiver crawled slowly through me. I wanted to turn back. I wanted to run to him, plead that he let me come back in. Ask him for one more night. My pride was not past that at this stage. One more night in a bed that I had got so used to lying in. The room was bare. There was nothing welcoming about it but to me it had become the safety net that I had grown accustomed to.

But that is not how this worked. I arrived. I stayed as long as I was told to. I left.  

The rain was getting heavier with each step I took. Each droplet fuller than the one before. They trailed and slid down my cheeks. They filtered off into the individual patches of dry skin that checkered at parts of my face. “Hope this is the last time I see you around here” came a voice behind me. I turned briefly to see Caela reaching out a neighbouring window. Her hand frantically waving towards me. We didn’t know each other all that well but had made small talk from time to time as I came and went. I waved back hoping that this was the last time but also knowing that I always ended up right back here, especially at this time of year.

I continued down the stoney track and towards the gates. I could see the taxi lights blinkering between the silver sheets of rain. It kissed and hugged at my skin. My shirt almost see-through by the time I reached the gates. I always dressed for my arrival but never thought about my departure. I lived in the now and still hadn’t learnt to think about the after. My jeans soaked through, scratching and sticking to my legs as I walked. Water from the ground seeped through my boots. My socks now almost completely drowned. I could feel the nipping of a small stone or two that had managed to penetrate through the cracked, broken soles.

The path from the door to the gate wasn’t that long. My steps, small and hesitant, made fifty yards seem like a marathon. I never understood why he couldn’t order the taxi to the door. The walk and eventual wait at the gate were always excruciating. Everything seemed slower as you felt all eyes were on you. I stopped and moved the gravel back and forth below my feet. The gates slowly rumbled open. My body now completely drenched. My hair licked at my face as the wind whistled past again. My skin was numb with pain. As the gate pulled further back, the effervescent yellow glow from the top-light of the taxi came into focus. This driver was the first to pick me up from here and not be looking, gawking at my walk of shame. As I opened the door, my heart began to thud loudly in my chest. I recognised the eyes staring back at me from the rear-view mirror. His face was stern. His eyes turned back towards the road and focused dead ahead. I was surprised he didn’t turn to the loud hammering of my heart pounding deep against my chest cavity. I pulled the door behind me, mumbling some silly excuse of an apology about soaking the back seat. As I tried to speak my address, he continued to look ahead only moving to loudly tap at a screen in front of him. PASSENGER DETAILS it read. It had all my information sitting there. I took that as a ‘No talking’ gesture. My eyes flicked quickly towards his reflection in the rear-view mirror and down to the floor. Little trickles of warm water seeped from the cracked and split soles of my tired boots, leaving miniature streams of grey water on the mat.

He proceeded to pull away from the gates and out onto the busy carriageway beside us. I reached for my bag. Pushing a hairbrush and some loose silver and copper coins aside, I lifted my moisturiser. Clumsily opening it, my wet fingers slipped on the smooth plastic clasp grappling for grip. I kneaded the mostly empty pouch, willing there to be some remnants left clinging to the container walls. I managed to push out a small grape sized white blob onto the palm of my hand then proceeded to smother it across my damp face, massaging it between the groves and creases that contoured my tired skin. The rough patches of dryness pulling at my fingertips, crying out for that little bit of extra attention. I pushed and pulled the little bit of cream that remained on my fingertips across my hands and up my forearms. A bitter sting nipped at me as I massaged it into the warm pink marks spitefully hugging around my wrists. Reminiscences of the night before. ‘Fuck him’ I thought. He had squeezed the handcuffs slightly tighter this time, just enough to allow me that little bit of freedom to move but so that when I did their cold, rigid form pulled at my skin on my wrists. And he knew exactly what he was doing. His laugh this morning showed me he knew this time he left marks. Every time I looked at them, caught sight of them out of the side of my eye or felt them ache and burn when I mistakenly touched them, I would see his snide smile peering down at me. Thinking he was better than me.

The rain outside had started to ease and I could see the buildings and shops of the city had started to come into view. Their ghostly silhouettes and softened lights smearing themselves within the wet drips of rain slipping down the windows.

Red light. Silence. Green light.

Red light. Silence. I glanced towards the rear-view mirror. Dark eyes caught me off guard. He was staring back at me. This time he did not turn away. I quickly looked back towards the street and out the window focusing on anywhere but inside the taxi. My heart piercing in my chest again. I tried slowing my breathing. I could feel a warm hum wrap itself around my ears, slowly creeping towards my cheeks. Distraction, I need to avoid my feelings. I concentrated, hard. People walking in and out of shop doors. Men clutching bunches of roses. Women holding small gift bags in their hands. My eyes acclimatising to the hazy view through rain beaten windows. “Valentines Day Meal Deal” read a sign plastered across the front window of the local chippie. Each person oblivious to the stories around them. Rushing to their next appointment. Ticking off the boxes from their daily to do list. Life becoming just a series of endless appointments.

Green light. Thank God I thought. The driver’s eyes now back on the road. I hadn’t seen him in years. The last words he said to me were so filled with anger and rage yet overwhelmingly tinged with bitter disappointment. I can’t remember the last words I spoke to him. I didn’t care back then though. Part of me regrets it, part of me wants to break down crying and apologise. The lump in my throat won’t let me.

The car turned off down a side street and came to a stop on the road beside a row of terrace houses. Each one identical to the next.

“Strand Police Station to Brighton Crescent. £38” came his low, unemotional voice. He didn’t move though. His eyes did not meet mine in the rearview mirror this time. Unclipping my seatbelt, I reached forward ever so slightly, leaning a little into the front of the taxi. Still, he did not move. I quickly dropped the payment onto the passenger seat and pulled at the door handle.

Stepping out onto the pavement, the wind and rain greeted me like an old friend. Cooling my body that was now flushing with a sickening heat. “Thanks Dad.” I closed the taxi door behind me and walked towards Number 10.