Free The Same Woman by Thea Lim

sorry, and everything would be okay?”
    â€œNo, but I didn’t expect to get the silent treatment!”
    â€œI’m not giving you the silent treatment.” Her voice warbled and he realised she was crying. He knelt down next to the couch. He followed the line of her spine with his finger in apology.
    â€œDon’t cry, Ruby.”
    â€œI’m just so tired. I don’t want to talk about it. It stresses me out.”
    â€œWhy? Why are you so tired?”
    Like hopelessly knotted shoelace, Ruby’s mind was bound to what Nal had said yesterday.
You didn’t sugg est that he go and find someone to replace you with
. With agonising clarity, the months of miserable fuzz had been replaced with words for exactly what Tariq had done wrong.
    â€œYou replaced me,” she said into the couch cushion.
    â€œWhat? What did you say?” She felt his breath stroking her neck. His tiniest movements could still undo her. They still reminded her ofhow much they had loved each other.
    After it ended on New Year’s Day, she had tried to forget how much they loved each other. But her heart was addicted to the memory, hopelessly hopeful that it could get that love back. She was dragged back to Tariq by her bleating heart, full of memories and hope, but maybe not sense.
    Love doesn’t keep one shape, it shifts. Their love didn’t end but it warped, from the pressure of things she had suggested and things he had done and things neither of them could say. That old love was something that she and her heart could see, but not have. It was like looking at a photograph of someone who had died.
    Blindly she put her arms out for the warm body. She pulled him towards her. But even as she pressed her soggy face into his lap, she was overwhelmed by the chasm between then and now, and the sense that Ruby-and-Tariq was gone forever.
    â€œRuby, what is wrong?”
    â€œI just want to be with you.”
    â€œRuby, I don’t know what to do with you. One minute you’re telling me to go away, the next minute you want to be with me.” She quickly withdrew her arms.
    â€œPlease Tariq.” Her crying turned into shaking. “I just think I should go to sleep. When I get up I’ll feel better.”
    He left her alone.
    On the walk to the bar Ruby was grumpy because she had gotten up late, and didn’t have enough time to get gussied. She was also grumpy that it mattered to her how she looked. Tariq took her hand and squeezed it, she squeezed back, but this crumb of affection didn’t assure him that everything was okay.
    The bar was decorated like a hunting den. A mounted moose’s head hung over the draft taps, and paintings of deer and rabbits frolicking healthily plastered the walls. Instead of regular white light, the light bulbs were all painted a deep fleshy red colour. Under what Tariq hoped was a replica of a rifle, Ruby squealed happily to see her friends and her face turned round with smiles. Tariq said hello to everyone, and tried not to look aggravated, but she squandered her affection on her friends and then had none left for him. He walked away, heading to the bar to get a drink.
    Octavia was unwrapping the little pile of birthday presents that her friends had placed at her table. She unwrapped a black box with a cellophane front that revealed tens of tiny little pasta bits shaped like penises.
    â€œWhoohoo!” Isi cried, “Penis pasta!”
    â€œIsi, you’re only supposed to give people penis pasta at bachelor parties,” Octavia protested.
    â€œYeah, but they’re made of organic spelt! This is an anytime gift!”
    It was reggae night and the DJ played slowed down beats that copied the rhythm of a heart. “Pour Ruby into the pitcher!” Octavia ordered, drunken and mangling language into strange images. Someone gave Ruby a pint. The dim light and the liquor dulled Ruby’s grief and she was glad. She smiled at distant