Photographs of Graves

I slipped out of his bed and into the night somewhere around three in the morning, walking the lamp-lit streets of Amsterdam in pensive silence. There were still a few busses running, but I waited before boarding one: I wanted to clear my head, and the way from Graves' house to Marion's was only a few blocks.

I really didn't want to fall in love. As a kid I'd always been that girl who was convinced that things like babies and marriage were evil and vowed by the time I was twelve that I was going to be a loveless old hag with a bunch of dogs. Since then I'd done it once by accident, falling hard for a boyfriend I was with for a year when I was sixteen before the whole thing exploded and I suffered my first heartbreak. Since then I'd been less of a “heart on my sleeve” kind of person: I knew that most relationships had to end, so I tried to ward off love. I'd tried to try the whole “I'm just going to stay away from the opposite sex” deal, but that resulted in me sleeping with my female best friend and the weird dynamic of repairing that confused relationship. So this made me quickly realize I liked sex too much to take the “never date again” approach. Oops.

Even though I'd said I'd stop wearing my heart on my sleeve, I was by nature a very honest person with a lot of passions, be it loyalty or anger. Sometimes I just couldn't bottle that up, no matter how hard I tried. I'd tried to be an automaton once: It ended very badly in my complete failure. I had a lot of emotions.

I kicked a pebble and it skittered across the pavement onto the road, under the wheels of a passing car.

I'm not that kind of girl I guess. I liked having control over myself. Love was giving part of yourself to someone else, which scared me shitless.

Yet I'd just slept with him again. Now, don't get me wrong: Past experience had clearly taught me that sex and love were nowhere near the same thing. I had slept with someone I didn't love multiple times. It was a life experience that I would probably repeat sometime in my life. Probably multiple times.

But this time was different. That L-word had crept into all of this without my realizing it.

“Well shit, Ari,” I grumbled, “You just fucked up your A-game, haven't you?”

I turned through the streets until I came up to the stone steps of Marion's apartment. I ascended, got out the spare key she had given me, and quietly unlocked the door and entered. Luckily for me the dogs slept with their master: I was able to enter in silence. I slid up to my room, avoiding the third stair which Marion had told us creaked, and sat into my bed as silently as I could.

“You do keep odd hours, Murphy.”

Ana was watching me, bright blue eyes watching me from under her thick blankets.

“Yeah,” I replied, pulling off my shoes and stripping my jacket and pants. I exchanged them for oversized sweats speckled with pictures of moose on them and a tank top.

“You are very pretty. I think you could have a tattoo still.” Ana said as she watched me redress. I snorted.

“I don't know what I would get. I'm not sure if I'd make as pretty of a canvas as you, Ana: I wasn't molded by the Russian gods out of high-quality plaster. I get things like acne and sunburns and stretch marks.”

“I think you would look nice with one.” Ana thought for a moment. “You seem unsettled. Did something happen with the man?”

“Something like that,” I sighed. I flopped down onto my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. It was rather chilly for a summer night. She got up and crossed the room, burrowing in next to me.

“Yeah, Ana?” I asked, making room.

“Was he bad at the sex?”

“Oh, no,” I waved my hand, “hell no. The sex was great. I just...” I sighed. “I mean, I'm here instead of at his place, aren't I? I spooked again. He dropped the L-word.”

“Is that a disease?”

“No. Honestly woman, what's up with you and diseases?” I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly very tired, “No, Ana, the other L-word: Love. I don't know what to do with it, so I snuck off.”

Ana was silent for a moment, pressing her forehead to my shoulder.

“You fear this word? Love? Yes?”

I nodded.

She thought.

“You should not fear a word. It is just a word, until it is proven. You need not fear this love until he has proven to you he says the truth. Many men, they lie. Many times after sex. I know this, I have experienced it. They say words they do not mean. They are less careful than women.”

Ana held tightly to my arm. She was trembling a bit.

“I fear men. They were unkind when I said that I liked women. They were unkind before then, but even more so. It was unfair. They were cruel. I fear men like you fear love. It is – it is – ”

She stopped talking as her words gave way to tears. Surprised I rolled to her, hugging her and telling her that she was safe. She seemed even smaller than me, burrowing into my shoulder and shaking violently. I stroked her hair, trying to get her to calm down.

“You're safe now, Ana, I'm here,” I soothed. “Now they're just words.”

Now they're just words. I kissed her forehead lightly, like I did for Zoe when she got upset.

Now they're just words.

But to us, we knew that they weren't.