Wish You'd Disappear

I could have gotten lost in it. The warm familiar colour of his skin, like melted butterscotch ripple, smooth and consistent under the dim lights behind the bar. His flesh coloured pout moving with apologies but they would never be enough.

“I know I made a huge mistake” in his husky, tired voice and of course “I’ve changed,” a sentence I was all too familiar with.

His body was dressed up in a warm fitted black jacket; the collar came up to hide his chin when he faced his drink. Something about him looked much different than the last time I had seen him. Perhaps it was the calm look on his features at the bar as opposed to the frantic look he had during our last encounter. When I walked out on him with the vow to leave Montreal. I’m not quite sure he believed me then but sitting in a bar in Toronto four months later he had to have proven it to him.

What I remember most about my time with Carey is the feeling of his warm breath on my shoulder as we slept, the indent from his body and the smell of his cologne where he had rested on my white sheets, the stray butter knife always on the counter when I woke up—caked in both peanut butter and jam. Late night burgers downtown, chased with a pint of beer. Talk of horses and rodeos and roping. Drunk renditions of country songs complete with his own version of that twang.

My hand reached for the comfort of my wine glass. The sharp red merlot burned down my throat to reside in my stomach. My veins carried the intoxicating feeling through my limbs. The bar stool was uncomfortable and my body ached to touch him. The only way to stop myself was the memories. Flashes of lewd text messages and late nights alone, the feeling of the first tears as I told him it was over, and the many more that followed once I left.

“What did you ask me to come here for?” I asked trying to keep patient with him.

Earlier that day he had walked right into my workplace. How he found the salon I worked in I’ll never know. He left a letter for me with our receptionist Jill and all it had said was that he was in the city playing that night and he would like to meet me. The place written on the page was a bar across from his hotel, and underneath that a time. Messy scrawl, the type of writing remembered from grade school tests rushed to be finished. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just throw it out then and there and while I sat at the bar I regretted my decision not to do so.

“I missed you Lee. A couple of weeks ago I found out you were in Toronto so when I heard we were playing at the ACC I knew I had to come find you.”

“I thought I made it pretty clear I didn’t want to be found.”

A sly smirk accompanied a quick response, “and yet you’re here.”

His large hands hugged his glass of Rye Whiskey and music softly filled every inch of the room. It was almost completely empty in terms of patrons. Across the bar sat a man by himself, tie undone and collar askew. There was a couple in their thirties at one of the tables having a loud debate in the quiet room. But for some reason I felt like Carey and I were the center of attention.

“Well, your letter was kind of ominous. I guess I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Give me a chance to make it up to you. We were friends once.”

Puppy dog brown eyes looked at me, always able to make me feel guilt when it shouldn’t have rested on me. The power that Carey Price possessed over me, to this day has never been rivalled, not even close.

“We failed terribly at being friends.”

I was getting nervous. Nervous that I might let him in again. That I might forgive him and then he would hurt me. Even being friends with him I felt would be a struggle for my sanity. He left me craving more but needing less.

As he turned a bit in his seat to face me better, and rested his arm on the bar, a whiff of his familiar cologne splashed over me. Soaking me in the memory of driving home from games and spending days in bed, wrapped in his shirts.

“Just stay with me a little while. I can keep my hands to myself and restrain from remarking on how beautiful you look tonight if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

The corner of his mouth stretched up into a smirk. Typical cocky Carey. Only even in the moment when he was making cocky remarks it seemed slightly different than in the past. Perhaps it was the rough season he was having, or that he didn’t want to push his luck but it endeared him to me.

The yellow of the light touched his cheek, shadows danced around the hollows and valleys as he spoke. Was he different? Had he changed? It was hard to pay attention to every word. He never was one for words. I could understand more from the look in his eyes than the words he chose at times. He couldn’t hide when he was proud of something even when he tried to be humble. Every story he told to impress me I could see the motives. But he also asked questions. More engaging than I remember. He asked how I liked Toronto and my new job. He caught me up to speed on P.K. and Hal and Patches. His hair sat like a soft plume of dark I wanted my hands in. When he had removed his jacket I was reminded of the lines of his muscles. The ones I used to trace wrapped around me.

Something sparked in his eyes. He noticed something. Without though I responded. A smile, a nervous bite of the lip and I reached out to him. I was drowning in the hazy feeling the alcohol brought and the nostalgia of our past and I grabbed him like a life line tossed to me.

My long fingers submerged in his bed of hair and I took his head in my hands. His ears resting in the curves of my palms. I took the lead towards a heated kiss. The fact that he had cheated on me was so removed from me, like a story that had been told to me and only experienced second hand. I didn’t have to love him in that moment but more than anything I wanted him. Our lips fit together in a moment that had been built up towards since I saw him step into the bar. Each glass of wine and laugh or smile was another step towards a destination. The destination was closure. Closure that came long after we paid the barman and stumbled out into the snowy Toronto streets. We both had our eyes set on the hotel across the street. Carey’s hotel, where his teammates rested in their beds for the early trip home the next day.

We waited as cars raced through the grey slush on the street in front of us, our warmest assets the hands we clasped together. In my life I have never held onto someone has tightly as I held onto him in that moment. It was as if it were all a dream and Carey would float away, the Toronto landscape would disappear and I’d wake up in bed. Only that didn’t happen. The Christmas lights burned brightly along the streets as we waited for a gap in the continuous traffic.

When Carey looked at me his breath came out in misty puffs of warmth. His normally pale lips grew rosy along with the tip of his nose. He was smiling, and that made me smile, even as the cold nipped my cheeks.

The line of cars built up as the traffic slowed down in congestion. We took the opportunity to run through the slushy street and weave through the stationary cars. Inside we shook the flakes of snow off of us and rushed to the elevator.

The trip from the lobby to the boys’ floor was filled with stolen kisses. Cold hands against cold cheeks, thick jackets creating an irritating barrier between us.

Carey and I had to be quiet as we tip toed into his room, which was attached to P.K.’s. He couldn’t see us because of the bathroom between us but if we made any noise he’d hear it. As we struggled to kiss and strip and make it to the bed in silence I thanked our luck that he seemed to be a pretty heavy sleeper. His snoring made for an amusing background soundtrack to our feverish escapades. When he got especially loud we’d have to pause and I’d laugh into the crook of Carey’s neck. I could feel his chin in my hair when I did and I could tell he was smiling. The small action reminded me very much of the feeling of right before he used to tell me he loved me. Not that it mattered anymore.

Something about Carey’s touch felt so familiar yet completely new. It was the same thick thumbs stroking my chin but the gesture wasn’t one he used before. I could feel that he had missed me and I could feel the regret. Every movement was apologetic but that’s not what I wanted.

I rolled on top of him and directed my fingers to the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Every one sloppily struggled with, eyes shut, lips against the trail of his neck, a familiar route like the way one takes home. But he stopped me. Large fingers encircled the wrist of the hand that had pushed his shirt open.

“Wait,” was cautiously murmured against the corner of my mouth. And I stopped, if only out of surprise.

The moment hung unchanging and still. I searched his eyes to read them. More guilt and apologies swam about the brown.

“I don’t think we should do this,” his lips had moved to my ear to whisper. “It’s just one more reason for you to hate me.”

And I had to pull away to look at his eyes again. Beneath me his body lay flat on the large comforter. He was in darkness save the moonlight. In the cool light he looked completely different than at the bar.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have every reason to hate me after what I did and tomorrow with my going back to Montreal you’ll have a fresh reason to hate me but I don’t want you to hate me anymore. I know I fucked up but I don’t want to fuck up again.”

I pulled away from him, suddenly feeling the coolness of the room against my exposed stomach.
“So it’s okay for you to do it with some brunette from the arena but not me? I’m sure you never stopped her.”

The anger gained steam as I spoke. The result was that I didn’t notice the volume of my words as Carey looked up at me, clearly confused as to what to do.

Even the fuzzy feeling of the alcohol coursing through my veins did nothing to lighten my hurt. I hugged my shirt to my chest without putting it on and got off the bed. The carpet felt scratchier against the soles of my feet than it had on my way in. The room seemed smaller. I wanted out of it.

“It’s not like that Lisa. I just want to do the right thing. I don’t want to leave you feeling like I wanted to see you just for sex. I get the feeling you kinda missed me and I know I missed the hell out of you.”

There was a part of me that perhaps wanted to believe him but I found it so hard. Not when the previous wrongdoing was so fresh in my mind.

“Carey?” A groggy voice interrupted, flicking the small plastic light switch and blanketing the room in light.

In the limited light I hadn’t noticed the mess we had made or the state of Carey’s hair from nervously running his hand through it as he spoke. But those observations didn’t matter as I stood under the gaze of Carey’s teammate.

“Oh—wow—Lisa. Hi. I’m sorry guys, I didn’t—I’ll just go back to my part of the room.”

The last straw, I angrily took my shirt and pulled it over my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m leaving.”

“Lisa!” Carey ignored P.K. as he jumped out of bed and tried to do up his shirt. My jacket lay on the floor half hidden between the dresser and bed. “Don’t go. Just let me explain what I meant.”

The statement seemed eerily familiar. I could remember when I told him I was leaving Montreal. His reaction? “Don’t go. Just let me explain!”

“It doesn’t matter Carey. It was a stupid mistake coming to meet you here. The past should be left in the past.”

The coat felt heavy as I slipped it on. It weighed on me with the truth that I would have to leave now. In the fresh light it seemed like a completely different room, even as I was going to leave it. Better I realize that this was a mistake now than waking up to this wallpaper in the morning.

A hand gently took my arm and turned me around. He was always so much taller than me, looking up at him made me feel weak. But whether that was because his frame was so much bigger than mine or the fact that I knew I had a soft spot that stopped me from denying him was a mystery.

“I’m going to be back in Toronto in a few months. I want to see you again. Please?”

“Are you kidding me?”

His roommate had retreated back to his area but I’m sure he could hear every word until that point. Carey’s body moved closer to mine. Cologne swept over me, hands slid my jacket back off my shoulders so it hit the ground with a thud. How dare he? Wasn’t he just telling me to back off?

“I don’t want to just have you this one night. I want to be back in your life again.”

“That can’t happen. I live in Toronto now and I don’t think I could ever trust you again.”

His arms wrapped around me, “But are you sure?”

It was hard to admit but I knew the answer, “Actually yeah. I know I can never trust you again. But I wanted tonight. And hell, in a few months I might even want that night too. But you can’t be a permanent fixture in my life.”

“Are you saying I can have you a few times a year when I’m in town or not at all? We can’t work something out.”

Tears were growing behind my eyes. I hated admitting defeat. It had been months since I had walked out on him but only now was realizing the damage he had done and the permanency of the break.

“We can’t.”

His lips touched the skin on my forehead slowly. One kiss followed by another, slightly lower and lower down to my cheek like each one carried with it some healing power. I felt comforted by the action, even as tears threatened to fall.

“But I love you.” He breathed against my flesh, arms securing me where I was. My heart swelled and dropped, the first tear slowly descended down my cheek only to be picked up by the tip of his nose nudged towards it.

“But you threw that away.”

Another agonizingly slow and gentle kiss, this time directly on my lips. As if it would speed things up my arms grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. Another tear escaped.

“I’m an idiot.” He stumbled backwards, pulling me with him to turn off the light.

“You’re an idiot.” I agreed before his tongue occupied my mouth. Once again we made it back to the bed only this time he didn’t stop me.

When I woke the next morning our limbs were entwined like vines against lattice. It made it difficult to peel away from him undetected. After changing I went to the washroom where I left him a little note written on the mirror in my taupey pink lipstick. I didn’t have a pen or paper. Then I went to leave. P.K. was still sleeping as I tiptoed out of the washroom and grabbed my jacket. I took one look about the still room and soaked up the moment to record in my memories and then left. As I slipped out into the Toronto street and the sun reflected brightly on the freshly fallen white snow I wondered if he’d remember how to find me, or if he’d even bother with my note. Only time would tell.

Phone numbers will complicate things.
When you come back to T.O. you know where to find me.
~Lisa