I Love You to Death (2 page)

I work in a book café on Newbury Street. It’s good, because when we’re quiet, Robert the owner doesn’t care if we read some of the books, as long as the work gets done. Most of the time, I’m behind the counter making coffees, selling books, or taking food and drinks out to customers. New guy is strictly food prep. I think he might actually be a qualified chef, so god knows what he’s doing in this place. I haven’t felt the need to ask him.

There are four permanent staff working here, five if Robert stops by, which is rare. There are a bunch of casuals too, but they rotate often enough that I never bother getting to know them. But the permanent people are me, the new guy, Sarah who does ordering, stocks shelves and serves like me, and Liam, who washes dishes, cleans tables and does whatever else needs to be done. Sarah is fine, easy-going and I guess we’re friends in as much of a way as I’ll ever allow. Liam is a dickhead, who I try to ignore most of the time. I’ve never liked him and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon. He seems to talk to the new guy though. None of them know about me and my little problem, although Liam and Sarah obviously know about Sam. Sam used to come in most days to pick me up after work. He’d come in, browse the shelves if I was still working, maybe have a coffee, then when I walked out to go, he would stand up and kiss me, wrap his arm around my waist and whisper in my ear, "Let’s go home." God I miss that.

So when I finally come back, Sarah and Liam are sympathetic but noticeably distant. I’m sure they wonder what happened, it was strange, the circumstances surrounding Sam’s death, but Sarah at least is nice enough not to ask any questions. I appreciate her for that. I guess they’ve probably told the new guy too, he doesn’t ask me any questions either, just gives me those strange looks.

So now, here I am, back at work. Weeks after I lost Sam and still desperately trying to believe the words he left for me. Trying to live as he asked me to, but knowing really, I’m failing quite spectacularly.

∞

Today is Friday and the rain that’s been falling all week has finally stopped. When I arrive at work it’s only me and the new guy, who by now is no longer new guy, but Luke. We are now also on speaking terms or at least terms that don’t involve him just looking at me and me asking, "What?" in response. Now when I walk in, it’s more like –

"Hey Luke, want a coffee?"

To which I get. "Yep, long black, thanks Ash."

Then I make us both coffee, take his back to him and we get on with our day. We are usually the only ones in there for the first hour or so and we might chat some more, but it’s never anything heavy and it’s never anything personal. For that I’m extremely grateful.

Only today for some reason, something changes. Today when I take Luke his coffee, something startles him as I walk into the kitchen and his knife slips. It feels the same as any other morning, except today the knife slips. When it happens, it’s like watching it all unfold in slow motion and no matter how much I want to, I’m unable to turn away or stop it. I see the blood pool in his hand and reflected back in the shiny metal of the knife. I see drops fall to the floor, dark red stains on white tile and instantly my body reacts. My hands let go of the coffee mugs which fall and shatter at my feet. At the same time Luke says, "Shit," loudly and I feel the heat of the coffee on my legs. I ignore the burn because it’s not important right now.

This can’t be because of me, it’s too soon. This can’t be because of me.

I want to say something, anything, but it’s Luke who speaks first, turning and asking, "Ash, you okay?"

I glance down at his hand again, there’s a lot of blood and it’s hard to see how much damage he’s done to himself. I force myself to take a deep breath. I step over the hot coffee that’s now all over the floor and walk towards him.

"Ash?" he asks me again. "Are you okay?"

I nod my head before grabbing a towel and pressing it to his hand. I don’t look at his face, but keep my eyes on the towel. The blood isn’t soaking through yet and I hope that it won’t. If it doesn’t, it won’t be that serious. If it’s not that serious then Luke will be alright.

"I’m okay Ash, it’s okay," Luke says softly, closing his hand around the towel. "Just a hazard of the job," he continues, a small smile on his face as he bends down to look at me. "It’s not the first time I’ve done this."

This is as close as I’ve ever been to him and it’s making me uncomfortable. I should step away, but for some stupid reason, I do the complete opposite.

"You need to wash this cut," I say quietly as I pull him towards the sink.

I turn on the water, trying to get the temperature right before I gently move his hand under. I hear him wince as the warm water washes over the cut but he doesn’t pull away. I keep my eyes away from his face but find myself watching our hands, my fingers as they gently wash away the blood. His blood is on my hands now and I can’t help but think how true that could be, how very likely.

I have to move away, the sight of that cut and the blood is more than I can stomach right now. I rinse my hands quickly, I feel sick and I have to get away from him. The blood, I can’t stand it. His closeness, I can’t stand it. I need to get away from him but before I can, it happens. Suddenly I’m forced forward as I throw up into the sink. It happens before I can stop it. I taste the bile in my throat, feel my stomach as it clenches, forcing whatever’s in there out and I don’t even think about the fact Luke’s standing right next to me. It hits me before I can move and before I know what’s happening, I’m being sick in the sink.

"Ash, are you okay?" Luke asks me again, for what feels like the hundredth time.

I can’t answer him. I spit out the remnants of my stomach and hold my mouth under the water. I have to rinse a couple of times to clean it out and it’s only when I finally lift my head, do I realise that Luke is holding my hair back. That he’s been holding my hair back while I throw up. His other hand clutches the towel again, but I can’t see any more blood. I finally lift my eyes to his face and look at him. I must look like shit.

"Ash," he says gently, still holding my hair.

I hold a hand to my mouth, my breath must be awful. "Sorry," I mumble.

His hand releases my hair, lightly brushing it down my back as he does. "It’s alright," he says. "Come and sit down."

I yank some paper towel from the dispenser and wipe my mouth. "I’ll get you another coffee," I say as I move away from him.

"It’s alright Ash, don’t worry about the coffee, just sit down for a second," he says, reaching for my arm.

I quickly back away from him and go out the front to make us more coffee. My heart is pounding, pounding at the sight of all that blood, at the closeness of Luke, at touching his hands, at him touching me. There’s never been blood before; I’ve never had to see that. But he is okay, I tell myself. It doesn’t happen like this, it never has. I shake my head, trying to clear it and walk back out to the kitchen with fresh cups of coffee for both of us. My hands are gripping the hot mugs to stop them from shaking.

When I walk in, I see Luke trying to bandage his hand. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Do you need help?"

He smiles at me then, gesturing with his other hand and saying, "It’s all good Ash, really, just sit down for a second."

I walk toward him, putting our coffees on the counter this time and take the bandage from his hand. "Ash…" he says. He’s standing close to me again, watching as I now bandage up his hand, completely oblivious to the fact that I don’t want to be anywhere near him. I have to force myself to stand here and try to still my hands as they gently wrap the bandage around his.
Why am I doing this?

"Do you think you need stitches?" I ask him quietly.

He laughs softly and I feel his breath across my face. It sends a shiver through me and my stomach clenches.

"No, it’s fine. Are you sure you’re alright though?" he asks gently.

I finally answer without looking at him. "Yeah, it’s just the blood, too much blood."

"I can get it," he says quietly, and I hear the concern in his voice.

"I’m almost done," I say quickly. When I finally tie off the bandage, I step back immediately. My hip bangs into the counter and I reach for my coffee, inadvertently picking up his.

"Shit!" I breathe out. "How do you drink this stuff, it tastes disgusting?" I like my coffee with a lot of milk.

He laughs at me now, his face softening. "You need to put sugar in it, one big one should do." He moves away from me and I watch as he flexes his bandaged hand, testing it and then stirs in some sugar before handing the cup back to me. We watch each other across the top of the mug and I see his eyes drop to my mouth as I take a sip. I don’t want to be this close to him.

"Better?" he asks.

"Better yes, still not sure how you drink it though." I hand the cup back to him.

"Finish it," he says softly, "you’ll like it by the end." Luke picks up my mug with his other hand, the one that isn’t cut and takes a sip of my coffee now.

And just like that, we’ve shared something.

Just like that, I know something personal about him and he knows something personal about me. Okay, it’s only coffee, it’s not deeply personal, but I still shouldn’t be doing this. I should turn and walk away. I have work to do and so does Luke, although really, I know it’s more than that. But in silent agreement, we both stand there finishing each other’s coffees. Luke is now drinking my coffee as he watches me and I’m leaning against the counter trying to work out why I can’t just walk away.

∞

I first met Sam at a funeral. I know, a bad omen, but like I said, back then I wasn’t as clued in to my little issue as I am now. It was my neighbour and best friend Nate’s funeral. He wasn’t the first death I caused, but like all of them, his death was caused by me. The strange thing is how much his death changed other things, but in ways I never expected.

Nate and I had become really close over the last few years, bonding over a shared admiration for my older brother’s friends, which led to Nate admitting to me that he liked boys better than girls. I think I was the first person he told and it somehow allowed us to connect and become good friends. I was glad to have him to talk to; happy he was someone I could be myself with. He was just relieved to have someone who accepted him for who he was. Plus, there was none of that, I like you, but you don’t like me shit between us. We were just friends.

We hung out a lot, even though we didn’t go to school together. Nate was hoping to go to college after school and I wasn’t entirely sure what I planned to do. He was really smart and would occasionally help me with my school work. So we spent a lot of time together, him helping me and me usually pretending I understood what he was talking about. In amongst all that, he eventually told me he was gay and confessed to wanting to get to know me after he saw my brother’s friends coming around.

I laughed at first, explaining that I was pretty sure they were all straight. In the end it didn’t really matter whether they were or not, what mattered was that Nate and I became friends.

The night Nate died, was because of me. He’d come home for the weekend, bringing his latest boyfriend with him and they’d taken me out dancing to a new club in town. I’d been the one to suggest it. I’d been bugging Nate to take me there ever since it opened. As always he’d obliged, neither Nate nor Alex minding if I tagged along. In the end it had been a disaster.

When we left the club sometime after 1am, we were all drunk. We shouldn’t have been, given we were only nineteen, but we all had fake IDs. What it meant was when we ran into a bunch of rednecks who seemed intent on yelling obscenities at me, Nate felt the need to step in and protect me. Of course people like that seem to have this inbuilt detector for someone who is different to them and they immediately recognised that Nate was gay and therefore in their eyes, likely to try and molest them in some way.

That was when their attention turned from me to him.

We tried to stop it, we really did. Alex and I tried everything, but there were just too many of them. And they all went after Nate. By the time I ran to find someone, Nate had probably already suffered the cerebral haemorrhage that killed him. One day later they turned off his life support and he was pronounced dead.

I struggled to face both Alex and Nate’s family after that. I felt so responsible for what had happened. If I’d never asked him to take me out, if we’d never left when I suggested we go somewhere else, if I’d never worn that outfit, maybe those assholes would’ve missed us. Maybe they would’ve walked by if I wasn’t there and Nate would still be alive.

I missed my best friend so badly, but the guilt I felt for what had happened, was overwhelming.

Nate’s funeral was a pretty big event in the end. At college he was very popular, out and proud and had a lot of friends. I remember noticing how good they all looked, even in mourning they managed to look good. I also remember thinking how funny Nate would find it, that even now I was getting annoyed at how many good looking guys were gay.

"What, so you can have them all but I can’t?" he’d always ask me, a smile on his face.

"No, that’s not what I meant and you know it," I’d say, throwing something at him. "What I meant is all gay men are pretty and hardly any straight men are, so why do you get them all and I don’t?"

He would just laugh again and say to me, "Trust me Ash, there’s someone out there for you and he’ll be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life!"

I’d hoped he was right, but when I first saw Sam at the funeral, the only thing I thought was he had to be gay, because he was just so good looking.

Afterwards, there’d been a wake at Nate’s parent’s house. I didn’t really want to go because I didn’t know many of the people; Nate had left Providence and made so many friends. So instead, I sat on my own front porch and watched them all come and pay their respects to his family.

I was watching them when Sam came up to me.

"You don’t want to come and join us?" he’d asked, standing at the bottom of the steps in a black suit and tie, which he’d loosened along with undoing the top button of his shirt.