I Unlove You (46 page)

“
At least all of this has helped
me understand your crazy way of thinking,
”
I say, standing up
and joining his CD flicking.

“
You
’
ll never understand
me, brother. Some people are too awesome to be
understood.
”
He slips a CD from a clear sleeve and winks.
“
Now, this
is more like it. This will get our blood boiling and ready for the
night ahead.
”

“
Let
’
s do
this.
”

“
That
’
s what
I
’
m talking about,
”
he says, planting both his hands on
my shoulders.
“
He
’
s back, ladies and gentleman.
He
’
s back, bigger and better than
ever.
”

Fiddling with more dials, he turns his attention back to
the mixer.
“
Oh, I forgot to tell you, this letter came for you
today.
”

He pulls it from his pocket and
places it in my palm. I sink. That lightness disappears and the
heaviness returns.

“
I must say,
I
’
m a little disturbed you
’
re getting mail sent
to my place. Does this mean you
’
ve officially moved
in?
”

I
stare at the envelope. I
’
m frozen to the
floor, my limbs unable to move. Heart racing, stomach churning,
those laughs from moments ago seem like distant memories
already.

“
You okay?
”
he asks, turning down the volume
before the song has chance to build.
“
What
’
s up with
you?
”

“
The letter,
”
I
whisper.

“
What about
it?
”

“
The envelope. The
handwriting.
”

“
What about
it?
”

“
It
’
s from
B
,
”
I say.

NOVEMBER 22
^nd
- JOEY
’
S PLACE:

November
20
^th

From a very lonely park
bench

Dear Aus,

It
seems so long since I last wrote to you. It seems longer since I
last saw you. Every time I try to sleep, I see your face the moment
I broke you. I hate knowing it was me who did that to you, the way
your eyes lost their light. The pale tones of your cheeks. Your
trembling upper lip. I recall each detail as though
you
’
re still in front of me, and although I expect nothing
but your resentment and distrust, I miss you.

I
don
’
t want to. I know I shouldn
’
t. I know I
don
’
t have the right to miss you, or write to you, or see
you. I thought about writing this letter weeks ago, but convinced
myself not to. I know this isn
’
t fair, but I
can
’
t forget about you because despite everything
I
’
ve done, I want you to know I love you, that
you
’
re the best thing to ever happen to
me.

I
’
m sure you
’
d like explanations
and answers, but I
’
m not sure
I
’
ll ever be able to give them to you. It
isn
’
t because I don
’
t trust you. I trust
you more than anyone, but I
’
m not sure I trust
myself to admit them. Out loud, they
’
re so real, but
hidden away, they remain secretive nightmares I can pretend
don
’
t exist.

I
know none of this makes sense, and that after you read this - if
you read this - you
’
ll only have more
questions. But I need you to know that I miss you and have always
loved you. I can
’
t stand the thought
of you believing my love was a lie, because although
I
’
ve lived much of my life as a lie, loving you
wasn
’
t one of them. I
’
ve wanted to share
the truth with you many times before, and I nearly have because I
trust you more than any other person I know.

Part of me still wants to tell you, but I
can
’
t. The world isn
’
t magical, Aus.
It
’
s real. If I told you everything when I first wanted
to, we would never have had what we had. So, please,
don
’
t hate me for keeping it from you. I wanted to protect
you. I wanted to protect us, but I guess in the end I
couldn
’
t.

And
I need to tell you this now before it
’
s too late, because
I don
’
t think I
’
ll stay in Leeds
much longer. I need to get away from here and start again. Nothing
feels the same anymore, and I doubt it ever will. Everything
reminds me of you. Everywhere I go reminds me of a time spent with
you.

I
haven
’
t told Mum yet. I like to think me leaving will
help her, finally set her free. But I
’
m scared, because if
I go, I go. There isn
’
t any way back, and
I know this. It
’
s for the best,
I
’
m sure it is. Not just for me, but for you, too. And
my mother. And him
…

I
shouldn
’
t tell you any of this, because why should you
care? You shouldn
’
t, but it still
seems familiar to share my worries and thoughts with you. I know
I
’
ve kept secrets, but I promise I
’
ve shared
more with you than anyone else in this world. I need you to know it
wasn
’
t a lie. I need you to know I loved you, and that
leaving you
…
my life aches. It
’
s ruined.
I
’
m ruined. I keep thinking about how unfair it all is,
and how everything could be different if only
…
But
what
’
s the point? What
’
s done is
done.

I
miss you. I miss you more than I ever thought possible.
I
’
ll love you forever.

But
you shouldn
’
t love me. You need
to let me go and live your life, and me leaving will help. I know
it will. Whatever you find out in the future, know my love for you
was real. I promise.

I miss you,
Ausdylan Elvis Ashford. It
’
s time to let
go.

The girl you used to
love,

B
x

I
’
ve read this five times already, my stomach
fluttering each time. In part, I want to tear it up, claw the
paper, and leave it on the floor. Yet my eyes well up, I yearn for
it, wish to smell the ink so I can taste her taste once more. Why
did she write this? How could she write this? What does she want
from me?

“
You going to
reply?
”
Joey asks, sitting on the arm of his couch, flicking
through the TV channels.

Perching on the edge of the cushion, I lean on my knees,
the handwritten letter shaking in my fingertips. Her handwritten
letter. Her handwriting. A letter from her, a special ritual
we
’
ve kept alive since we were thirteen. Text and email
and technology be damned, we wrote. We put pen to paper and it
meant something. But what does this mean?

“
I don
’
t
know,
”
I say, my throat dry.
“
I can
’
t. But
…
I
don
’
t know.
”

“
Notice how she
didn
’
t apologise?
”
he says, his gaze unmoved from the
television screen.

“
What do you
mean?
”

“
She never said sorry. The first
time she
’
s reached out to you after everything
she
’
s done, and she doesn
’
t apologise. If you
ask me, there
’
s something
seriously fucked up about that.
”

“
No, I suppose she
didn
’
t.
”

“
I
’
ve thought about
this a lot recently. How she
’
s never said
sorry.
”

“
That
’
s not
fair.
”

“
Really?
”
he says, switching
the TV off.
“
When? Name a time that girl ever apologised for
anything.
”

“
I don
’
t know.
She
’
s apologised to me, though.
”

“
I don
’
t think she
has. She turns things around and makes you think
she
’
s sorry without ever saying it. Remember the time she
tried to set me up with that awful friend of hers, Brit? I begged
her to leave it alone, but she pushed and pushed and pushed, until
I finally went out with her. Remember how dreadful it
was?
”

I nod, recalling the ranting and
moaning as he described every dull moment.

“
I was so angry at her.
“
I told
you,
”
I
said.
“
I told you I didn
’
t want anything to
do with her, but you insisted I
’
d have a good time.
Why do you set me up with your friends? Why do you try to fix
me?
””
He goes over to the kitchen counter, picks up a glass and
opens the half empty bottle of whisky.
“
The amount of times
I
’
ve apologised to her for messing around with some girl
she knows, or getting you into trouble
…

“
She
’
s a nice girl,
Joey,
”
she said.
“
Every guy I know fancies her, so I think this
says more about you.
”

“
Not the
point,
”
I told her.
“
I asked you to leave it
alone,
”
I said.
I
’
d had enough, and do you remember what she said to
me?
“
Fine. If you want to be angry at me, do so. But I think we
both know this is about you and your issues. Not
mine.
”

“
That
’
s what she
always does. Not just with me, with you, too. The time she broke
the neck of your guitar, and instead of apologising, smiled and
made fun of the situation; how you needed a new one anyway. Or when
she lost your wallet. Did she say sorry? Because I remember that
day, and all I remember are smiles and puppy-dog
eyes.
”
He punches the TV remote and turns it back on.
“
I
’
m telling
you, that girl
’
s never apologised
in her life. Not once.
”