I Unlove You (38 page)

I
’
m sure he knows I
’
m here. He knows
what it
’
s like to be let down by someone you love and
not understand why. I never did appreciate his fondness for his hip
flask, and why he savoured each sip of whisky from it as if it was
his last, but I do now.

It
’
s a comfort knowing it
’
s here, ready
to take away the pain if I choose to take it no more. Empowering in
a way, the only thing I truly have control of right
now.

I
take another swig, its inferno warming my insides for a few brief
seconds. My bum remains damp and cold, my torso, arms, and legs on
their way. The wind isn
’
t strong down here,
although the creaking of branches tells a different story. No rain
right now, but the air feels damp. Two small lamps illuminate her
house, one in her mother
’
s room, the other in
hers.

It
looks so lonely surrounded by the other houses, each one lit with
larger lights and porch lights, and shadows as people stride from
one end of a room to the other. I know she
’
s in there, but
I don
’
t know what she thinks. I assumed I did, but I
know, deep down, I never have. There
’
s too much doubt.
There
’
s so much I
’
ve
missed.

Ever since this all happened, it
’
s felt like a dream
I
’
ve been waiting to wake up from. Maybe
it
’
s the other way round, and I
’
ve finally
woken up.

NOVEMBER 4
^TH
- THE BAND ROOM:

I
look at a past version of myself, one of the band
room
’
s numerous posters showcasing my expressionless face
and Joey
’
s seducing smirk. Always the lead singer,
Joey
’
s comfort in front of the camera grew with each new
shoot, gig, and song. Whereas me, the perpetual bassist, sits in
his shadow, refusing to smile and reluctantly look at the camera.
We
’
ve gone through a few drummers and guitarists over the
years, but Joey and I remain the contrasting
constants.

Them leaving isn
’
t always
Joey
’
s fault, but it
’
s often the case.
This particular poster, from when we were fifteen, maybe sixteen
years-old, features Dan and Ben, as well as Joey and myself.
Although Dan was a terrible drummer, he always got his hands on
beer and other substances a teenager craves. I consider Ben our
most talented of guitarists, but it didn
’
t take long for
him and Joey to despise one another.

Only with us five months, Joey stole three girls from him
during this period. He entices people to love him with such ease at
first, yet it doesn
’
t take long for him
to do something
…
say something
…
simply be who he is
and drive people away.
B
and me, the only ones to stick with
him, no matter what. Now the number
’
s halved, I
’
m not
sure I
’
m enough. I
’
m unsure I can class
myself as whole, because I certainly don
’
t look like it
anymore.

I
slide my fingers over my teenage cheeks, across the same messy hair
with loops and curls colliding into each other. The same big nose
and pale skin. A non-smile, just like in every picture I take. I
find it near impossible to smile with a camera pointed at me, but
during occasional, accidental moments my smile shines through -
always with
B
, and always perfect in its imperfect snapshot of
time.

I
can
’
t stop thinking about her. I hate it. I hate how she
pops into my head every opportunity she gets.
She
’
s part of so many memories I fear I have none of my
own, my mind defaulting to her each time it wanders. I hate it.
I
’
m beginning to hate her.

I
lift my warm bottle of beer to my lips and sip the somewhat
soothing taste. A joint perched between index and middle finger, I
slip it into my mouth and inhale. Mixing with the aftertaste of
beer, my throat hums. Until a few days ago, I
hadn
’
t smoked for over three years. Never a habit. Never
something that agreed with me.

Where it used to perk up Joey and
B
, it sent me into a
soothing slumber.

“
You need to try
it,
”
Joey said when we were thirteen.
“
It feels cool.
It
’
s weird. It
’
s different to
beer.
”

I
never cared for it, and neither did Joey after a while.
B
, on the
other hand, became fixated for a couple of years, smoking every
opportunity she had, although never a full joint; a social thing,
an evening thing, a harmless escape.

I
haven
’
t seen her smoke for a few years, but maybe she
never stopped. Maybe she smoked more and more until it manifested
into just another secret. Something else she hid from me. Something
else she hid from everyone.

Sitting in the old couch that
’
s housed far too
many people over the years, I lean back and puff once more. Head
buzzing and whirling, I close my eyes and breathe in and out,
gentle, soothing movements of the chest. I hate how I think about
her, but maybe it
’
s getting easier. I
haven
’
t been to her house for nearly a week, after
all.

It
’
s cold, far too cold to spend entire nights
sitting in the dirt, but I
’
m not sure this is
the reason I stopped. I still want to see her, but I
don
’
t. The thought of watching her leave in the middle of
the night pains me, and I
’
m not sure how
I
’
d handle it. The longer I wait and watch and wonder,
the greater the chance that pain becomes reality.

I
settle further back into the couch
’
s cushion, inhaling
another breath of smoke as my head spins a little faster. A rattle
of metal on wood clatters behind me before the old door to this
hell-hole of a room crashes against the wall.

“
I figured you might be
here,
”
Joey says, striding past me to stand in front of a stack of
music magazines.
“
You alone?
”

“
Who would I be here
with?
”

“
I don
’
t know. I
suppose I hoped you might be here with a girl.
”

“
Why?
”

“
Because why else would you come
here on your own? Hardly a luxurious setting.
”

“
I thought you loved it
here.
”

“
I do, but I come here to play
music or have fun. And never on my own, might I
add.
”

“
Sorry to
disappoint.
”

“
Are you smoking
weed?
”

I nod. Joey sits beside me and
inspects my fingers.

“
Since when do you smoke without
me?
”
he says, reaching for it and pushing it to his lips.
“
Oh, yes,
this is a good idea. It
’
s years since we
smoked together.
”
He closes his eyes and smiles.
“
I must say, I
didn
’
t expect to see you smoking. Should I be
worried?
”

“
I wouldn
’
t say
I
’
m smoking. I just figured I
’
d get some as
it may help me sleep.
”

“
And?
”

“
I don
’
t
know.
”
I sigh and reclaim the joint.
“
It
’
s all a
mess.
”

“
I know. You
can
’
t isolate yourself like this, though. You live with
me, but I
’
ve barely seen you in weeks. I figured you might
be spending time at home, but
…”

“
What?
”

“
Your dad called me. Again. He
says he hasn
’
t seen you for a
fortnight. He
’
s worried about
you.
”

Picking up a fresh bottle of warm beer, I twist it in my
fingers and scratch the dry label.
“
I
’
m fine. I just need
time on my own. You should be happy, I
’
m hardly fun to
be around at the minute.
”

“
I don
’
t know.
You
’
re drinking and smoking and hanging out in the band
room. Add a few girls into this picture and I
’
d say my
dream
’
s come true.
”

“
That
’
s your
dream?
”

“
For you to be cool? Yes. Yes it
is.
”

I
laugh, the unfamiliar sensation hard to bear.
“
I suppose this is your
ultimate dream.
”

“
What
’
s
that?
”

“
Me being
single.
”

“
Hey,
”
he says, perching on the end of the
couch.
“
I
’
d never wish something like this. I hate
this.
”
Standing up, he walks towards the drum set.
“
I know I
haven
’
t been here for you these last few weeks, and
I
’
m sorry about that. It
’
s hit me hard, but
it
’
s no excuse because you need me and
…
I
don
’
t know
…
I want you to know I
’
m here if you
need to talk.
”

“
It
’
s
fine,
”
I
say.
“
I
’
m fine. I mean, I will be.
”

“
I know you will, but
I
’
m serious about you not doing this on your own.
I
’
m here. I promise.
”

“
I know you are, but I want to
be on my own at the
—”

“
You need people around you.
Whether you want it or not.
”
Picking up a drumstick, he looks
away.
“
I
’
m not sure where you
’
ve been these
last couple of weeks, and whatever it is you
’
ve done
is fine. You need to do what you need to do, but at the same time
you need to know I
’
m here, and I need
to tell you I
’
m sorry for not
being here sooner. We
’
re going to get
through this. Together. You hear me?
”