When I Was Invisible by Dorothy Koomson

each syllable a sword that slashed another part of me and produced large, quiet tears.
    He really hadn’t understood why I was sobbing: I’d been crying because he had done this thing – I couldn’t pretend it was anything other than what it was – which meant I wasn’t allowed to love him. But I did. I loved him so much.
    When I’d heard the shower spurt on, I had got up, grabbed my jacket and left the flat. Without really knowing where I’d been going, I had walked down to the river, still hiding behind huge sunglasses as the tears continued to stream down my face. This was the money shot the photographers would love to have: me leaving the house in tears, proof that all was still not well in the world of Todd and Nikky. At the river, I’d turned towards the Tube station, walking slowly with my head down. With every step, the tears had slowed, with every movement away from the flat, away from Todd, a real calmness had descended upon me. My phone had begun ringing in my pocket and I’d known it would be Todd. I had virtually no one else to call me.
    By the time I had got to the Tube station my phone had rung at least twenty times; each time I had let it go to voicemail. Normally, there’d be hell to pay for not answering – he’d ask me and ask me and ask me what I was doing that meant I couldn’t answer the phone; why did I disrespect him by ignoring him; who was I with, what was his name, how long had I been fucking him … On and on and on he would go until I’d be quivering, wondering if I
had
been doing something, if I
was
behaving in a way that was disrespectful. In the gaps between rings, I’d stood outside the Tube station entrance, taken the phone out of my pocket and switched it off to go underground. I hadn’t switched it on again and I didn’t really care what the consequences would be.
    Once my trip down Memory Lane had halted at this park bench, I had felt totally calm. Totally calm, totally alone – just some girl, sitting on a bench, looking sad because she’d had a row with her fiancé. I closed my eyes, tried to call up a song that would play through my mind and take me away from it all. Run-DMC’s ‘It’s Like That’ began. Its heavy beat was like a balm, it dampened down all the raw edges of my nerves, helped me to think. Helped me to see the reality of the situation: I had nowhere to go.
    I had nowhere else and it was getting dark. Eventually, when the dark and the cold had merged to create night, I got up and started the long journey back.
    The moment the flat’s front door shut behind me he was there, I was in his arms, he was holding me so close I could barely breathe. ‘I didn’t mean for you to leave, you big silly,’ he said. ‘Where the hell have you been? I didn’t mean for you to actually go – I thought it would stop you crying. I didn’t think you’d take me so literally. When have I ever meant anything like that? I’ve been calling you. I was so worried. Where the fuck have you been?’
    He paused then, his monologue over, and I was meant to take up the loose end he had left for me.
    â€˜Just around,’ I said quietly. I wanted him off me, away from me, but I couldn’t say that. I had nowhere else to go, no parents to reach out to, so I had to accept all of this, didn’t I? It wasn’t like he was going to change, it wasn’t like I had any other option.
    He finally let me go, but took my hand instead and led me through to the living room and to the sofa. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘that we should set the date for the wedding.’
    Married?
Married?
After the past few days, after today, he thought that was a good idea?
    â€˜Nikky, I’ve been a dick to you recently. I’m under so much pressure at the club and I’m not dealing with it very well. I shouldn’t take it out on you but I do.