I Unlove You (10 page)

“
Maybe.
”

“
You
’
ve always wanted to
kill him.
”

“
Maybe.
”
She smiles.
“
But not now. For a few
days we need to figure things out together,
okay?
”

I nod.

Lunging forwards, she wraps her
arms around me once more, a somewhat haunting silence falling
around us. I feel each beat of my heart shudder through my chest
and up through my ears, my head light and heavy all at once. Queasy
and tense, I tighten my grip around her back, but each move shoots
pain up my neck and across my shoulders. A few minutes ago we were
two barely-adults with all the time in the world to figure out each
other, ourselves, and the point of living a life of somewhat
importance.

Now
I
’
m a father, a purpose placed before me without
permission or warning. I
’
ve dreamt of this
moment so many times before, and so many others like it. It never
felt like this. I never felt like this.

MAY 12
^TH
- THE PUB:

The
last forty-eight hours reminds me of playing football at school. Or
should I say, the day after an intense match in summer. I ache all
over, my legs and arms throb with tension. My chest hurts, as
though my lungs and heart have been called into battle.
I
’
m tender and tired and bruised, the act of sitting a
conscious and difficult ordeal.

I
never enjoyed football. I only played because Joey insisted, and
the sad thing is he hated it more than me. That
’
s the
problem when you
’
re good at
something. You
’
re often left
without a choice, and in Joey
’
s case, our sports
teacher, Mr Wood, insisted, pleaded, and threatened our best player
to play.

I, on the other hand, never showed
anything above mere competence. Running around and falling over all
too often, I watched as Joey weaved in and out of defenders before
slotting the ball into the net. Cheers and hugs and whoops and
whistles, Joey meeting them all with a shrug and smirk.

“
Thank God,
”
he said, after a cup
final a few years ago.
“
Let
’
s get to the band
room and practice.
”
He draped his arm over me as I dripped in sweat.
He scored four goals that afternoon and couldn
’
t care
less.

I
doubt he remembers that game, although I do, because I feel the
same now as I did the day after that brutal match. Ever
since
B
shared our news, my stomach
’
s danced a dance it
can
’
t quite keep up to. I
’
m two steps behind
each thought, thinking about
B
, and then telling my
parents, and then money and houses and how the hell
we
’
ll cope.

Before I grasp one, another fret
tumbles forward and attacks my chest with another blow.

“
You should have seen her,
brother,
”
Joey says, leaning over the small pub table and grasping my
wrist.
“
She was filthy gorgeous.
”

“
Huh?
”
I say, bringing my attention back to
the present. I
’
ve sat across from
him for over ten minutes, and he hasn
’
t stopped talking
once.

“
The girl. From last
night.
”
He rolls his eyes, lifting his pint to his lips.
“
Haven
’
t you been
listening?
”

“
Oh, no. I mean, yeah. The girl
you met last night.
”

He
laughs and twists his pipe between his fingers.
“
What
’
s wrong with you
today? You sick?
”

“
No, I
’
m
fine.
”

“
You don
’
t look
it.
”

“
Cheers.
”

“
Well, you
don
’
t. You look like you haven
’
t slept in
days.
”

I
rub my neck and work my hand over my face, recalling my
mirror-induced shock earlier this morning. Sleeping becomes tough
when your insides dance all night, but it
’
s even harder
to come by when the girl you love rests peacefully to your left.
For an entire hour I watched her, dumfounded by her relaxed
state.

“
How are you so
calm?
”
I whispered, unsure whether I was annoyed at her peace or
my own panic.
“
Are you awake?
”
I said, testing her
resolve.

Not a peep. Not a sound. Not so
much a twitch of the nose.

Despite being surrounded by covers, and her legs and arms,
I
’
ve never felt so alone in my life. I
don
’
t think I drifted off once, and as soon as the alarm
clock beeped, I rushed to the bathroom and met a stranger staring
back. A somewhat familiar stranger who shared some of my
appearance, but in the same instance, none.

He had my chestnut eyes, but an
eerie string of red lightning strikes surrounded them.

My usually thin and nonchalant
eyebrows jutted out in several directions, assumingly from the
non-stop tossing and turning.

The skin around my eyes hangs in a
haunting manner, all dark, blotchy and cracked. My eyes are
normally my one saving grace on a face sporting goofy smiles and a
big bulky nose.

Shaking my head, I hopped into the shower, hoping water
would cleanse me, and although it did - easing my woes and haggard
appearance - there
’
s only so much magic
it can muster.

“
Fine,
”
Joey says, clenching his pipe
between his teeth.
“
Don
’
t you want to know what we got up to? Or should
I say, what she did to me?
”

“
What who did to
you?
”
I ask, my stomach churning further.

“
Last night
’
s filthy
gorgeous minx.
”

“
Absolutely
not.
“

“
Yeah you do. Trust
me.
”

“
Doesn
’
t she have a
name?
”

“
Of course she does.
It
’
s Jenna, or Sammie, or Gabrielle,
or
…
I
don
’
t know. Who cares? All that matters is her kinky
ways.
”

I sigh, incapable of listening to
his seedy affairs. I struggle at the best of times, but present
woes considered, I stand no chance.

“
There I was, minding my own
business behind the DJ booth, loading the next song and readying
myself for an onslaught of bass, when this leggy blonde saunters
over.
‘
I like your tattoos,
’
she said, eyeing me
up and down, and I swear to Bob Dylan himself, she undressed me
with her stare.
”
Placing his pipe on the table, he takes a deep
breath.
“
Finally, after all these years, I know what
it
’
s like to be on the receiving end of perversion. I
have no idea why women dislike it so much, because I bloody loved
it.
”

“
That
’
s great, Joey.
Congratulations.
“

“
Oh no, that
’
s merely
the beginning, brother. After she ogled me, she leaned closer and
curled her hair,
”
he says, stroking an imaginable mane.
“‘
What does
this one say?
’
she asked, referring to my Frank
Zappa quote, and
‘
what does this one mean?
’
she said, touching
my split-in-two rocking chair.
”

Pointing at various sections of
his arms, he continues to talk and laugh and smirk, although my
wayward attention is far too nomadic to focus. I know the story
behind each tattoo, even present for most artistic sessions. I like
to think I helped along the way, designing his apple tree and dove,
and helping decide which Donovan lyric to use.

I sometimes look at his ink-filled
arms and laugh how it all began. A rebellious act of defiance, with
a cartoon sketch of Bugs Bunny of all things. He never has been
able to explain why he chose Bugs, although I sense it has some
sort of meaning behind it.

“
And when she got me downstairs
in the old coat room, she fingered my hair like a horny hare, and
bit my shoulder until it bled.
”
He undoes his top two shirt buttons
and slides the fabric to one side.
“
Look at it! Look at
what the crazy nympho did to me. I tell you, I
’
ve had
some freaky nights before, but nothing like
this.
”

“
Joey, this is great, but can we
talk about
—“

“
No, no, I
’
m not done yet.
Because as kinky as she was at the club, her true colours showed as
soon as I took her back to my place.
‘
Oh wow, I love your
big apartment,
’
she said, staring at my
crotch.
‘
This view is to die for,
’
she whispered,
tearing my shirt open. Not unbuttoning it, oh no. Ripping them
off.
”
He laughs and bites his pipe.
“
I swear, everything
that came out of her mouth was a sexual innuendo. I barely said
anything all night, pinching myself, assuming I was in a porno or
being set up by one of the guys at the club.
”

“
Joey
—“

“
And then the craziness began:
on top, underneath, from behind, on the floor, against the wall,
upside down, hanging over the bed, food, shots
…
and I barely did a
thing the whole damn time.
”

“
Joey.
”

“
I
’
ve never been so
tender in my life. That crazy nymphomaniac ripped me to
shreds.
”

“
Come on, Joey.
Jesus!
”

“
And then, best of all, she left
on her own accord,
”
he says, looking past me and into the
distance.
“
When I woke up, she was gone.
”
He snaps his stare to
me.
“
It was the best damn night of my life.
”

I
sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“
Please, can we talk
about something else?
”

“
Oh come on,
Aus,
”
he huffs, picking up a beer mat and throwing it at my
chest.
“
Here I am, telling you about the greatest night of my life,
and you look suicidal. What? Didn
’
t my story have
enough missionary positions or cuddles?
”

“
Shut up.
”

“
I bet you love missionary,
don
’
t you? I bet that
’
s all you and
B
do. I can
picture it now.
‘
Yes Aus, just like that. Lay on top of me like a
salmon,
’”
he says with a soft tone.
“‘
Oh, I love how
you
’
re so gentle and careful with your
hands.
’”