I Unlove You (56 page)

“
It
’
s okay. I think this
one should remain between
B
and me,
”
I whisper as he
stands up.

Nodding, he turns and walks away, out of the
pub
’
s large doors and into the winter
’
s evening
where Harriet awaits. A new chapter for him, as well as for
me.

I pick the envelope up and twist
it in my fingers, my chest beating and fingertips
shaking.

Taking a deep breath, I tear it
open and remove the glossy card inside. No paper. No note. A single
photograph of a tiny baby boy wrapped in a blue blanket. Wearing a
white hat with blue spots dotted all over it, his hands rest on his
chest slightly below his chin; his eyes are closed, he looks fast
asleep.

Everything but his head, hands,
and upper chest is hidden below the blanket. I looked at this boy
mere months ago, as he lay inside his mother and grew each day. My
son, but not. He never will be, but gazing at the photograph, I
need him.

I
dreamt about this boy, and imagined holding him moments after he
entered the world. I read the baby books and listened to my
father
’
s stories, preparing myself to fall in love the
minute I laid eyes on him. He isn
’
t mine, so I
shouldn
’
t love him, but I do.

He
shares
B
’
s
nose, and the way his upper lip rounds at the top reminds
me of her. Having spent so many hours losing myself in her face,
it
’
s impossible not to see her in him. What others
features does he share with her?

Does he have her eyes, or some other guy
’
s?

Tears drip down each of my cheeks. They
’
re not
for her, they
’
re for him. I love
him, and wish to hold him, to kiss his lips and tiny toes. I want
to be there for him, because I spent so many nights dreaming about
him. Even after she broke me, I continued to fall asleep with him
on my mind; I
’
d wake up to the
thought of him and who he
’
ll grow up to
be.

Skin blotchy and red, he
’
s new and fresh; a
few hours old, maybe, or possibly less. I hope
B
’
s
mother was there, and
I hope this perfect boy helps bridge the gap between them that her
father created.

His fingertips round at the edges;
he clings to his white vest. He lies so still and peaceful, unaware
of where he is, what to expect, and everything else the world has
in store for him - the good, and the bad.

My
eyes sting, but for the first time in a long time, it
isn
’
t painful. They
’
re happy tears,
tears of relief. He
’
s here, and
he
’
s safe, and despite everything she
’
s done, I
wish I could hold her and say,
“
Well done. You did it.
You protected him. Everything will be fine.
”

Twisting the card in my hand, I
drop it as soon as I see.

Dylan E Ashworth

Born
27
^th
December at 6:03am

He
may not share my ears, hair or goofy nose, but he shares part of my
name. Not hers or mine, but his. A new name for a new person, and
one free from the past. Whatever happened between his mother and me
is unimportant. What that man did to
B
, irrelevant.

His
life starts now, and my past
…
and
B
’
s
past
…
and his grandma
’
s
…
and
Joey
’
s
…
they hold no bearing on the adventure before him.
It
’
s his to explore and enjoy.

I
want to be part of it, but at the same time, I
don
’
t. How can I? I
’
d hurt him and
prevent him from moving forward, because each time I look at him,
I
’
ll see her. He
’
ll remind me of what
she did. Of who she is. Of who she isn
’
t.

I
want to forgive, but I can
’
t. I
’
m not sure
I
’
m ready to, and I fear I never will.
It
’
s easy to say, and with hindsight, maybe
it
’
s easy to do, but in the moment
…
right here, right
now
…
to forgive her? Could she forgive her father? Could Joey
forgive his mother?

Maybe forgiveness allows us to forget, but maybe
we
’
re not supposed to forget it all. Maybe
we
’
re destined to live our lives with certain hauntings,
and it isn
’
t about forgetting,
forgiving, or pushing deep down, but accepting and moving on bit by
bit.

I
slump in my stool, closing my eyes and seeing him in the dark void.
I need him. I love him. I want to hold him and whisper in his
ear,
“
I love you. I always will.
”

Not just today, every
day.

Opening my eyes, I search the pub. So many familiar faces,
hiding stories and secrets deep below. People I
’
ve spoken
to, but do not know. Old men on stools and guys leaning against the
bar; a group of women on benches, and a couple in the corner either
side of a guitar.

Me,
alone, in the middle of it all, behind a table meant for four. A
glossy piece of card in one hand, an empty envelope in the other. I
read her handwriting and try to focus on the happy times. The times
we read to each other. The times we sat in this pub, talking and
lounging, wasting away the hours. The times we lay in bed,
dreaming, loving, being
…

So many good times, and not that
long ago. Nothing but good times.

I
want to cling to them and only think of them, but I
can
’
t. It would be a lie, just like she
’
s lived
most of her life. In the same vein Joey has, forcing down his fears
and assuming he
’
d
forgotten.

I
haven
’
t forgotten.

Tears continue down my cheek as I drop both envelope and
photograph. I reach into my old satchel and pull out a pen and
notebook. I tear out a page and lay it flat on the table. I stare
at it for a while
…

I need closure; I need to say
goodbye.

There
’
s so much I could
say, maybe things I should say, but I
’
m fearful of saying
anything at all. I need to say something, if not for me, her, or
us
…
for
him
.

He
deserves my tears. He
’
s earned my love. I
do love him, and with pen perched between fingers, I place it
against the paper. Not long ago, this was my home, to write, create
and express. So much has changed, but I
’
m still me.
I
’
ll always be me.
B
will always be
B
. This little boy will
always be who he
’
ll
be.

With a flick of the wrist I begin,
like I have so many times in the past.

Dear
B
,

THE END

- - - - - - - -

YOU JUST SPENT 7 HOURS READING
THIS BOOK. . .

…
after I spent 300+ hours
(
over a two year
period
) writing, editing, and
preparing these pages. I think a lot of writers and readers take
this for granted, assuming the experience we have with each other
is all about the book
…
this story
…
these characters
…
but I believe it goes
much deeper than this.

At
the moment, I
’
ve written a book
and you
’
ve read it. That
’
s it. That is all.
Wouldn
’
t it be magical if we delver further down the
rabbit hole together, spoke to each other, got to know one another
and develop a friendship. This is what I believe, and this is what
I wish to focus on in the future:
transforming the relationship between reader and writer
into something memorable and full of meaning.

I
don
’
t desire to look at you as a reader, rather a friend
in waiting.

So,
I could spend a few moments writing about myself now, or sharing
some behind-the-scene insights into I Unlove. I could, but I
won
’
t. Instead
I
invite you to be part of this journey with me.
I invite you to transform a simple reading of a
book into an exciting, lasting, and memorable
experience.

In
return I
’
ll share everything with you:
this writing process, the publishing
journey, my worries and all
…

And
encourage you to be part of as much as you wish:
editing, designing, future
ideas
…

As
we strive into the future, I believe everything about books will
change. At the moment it feels like the publishing industry is
broken. The more avid readers I meet, the more people I see who
desire more from the books they read. They want to feel closer to
the authors they love, and as a writer I
’
d love to be
closer to you.

Does such an avid reader sound
like you?

If
it does, I encourage you to turn this journey of mine into
ours
. I don
’
t want to do it on
my own any longer, so if you want to be part of the future and join
a community of people like you, please consider:

LEAVING ME A
TIP

you
’
ve just read this
book for free, so if you enjoyed it and value the books you read,
please consider purchasing a virtual coffee or sending me a
glorious high-five :)

or

JOINING OUR GREAT COMMUNITY

like I say this isn
’
t my journey,
it
’
s
ours
. Will you be
part of it?

As
well as joining a community of like-minded-avid-readers,
befriending me and beginning a beautiful friendship, and receiving
regular updates and behind-the-scene insights into this writing
& publishing journey, I
’
ll send you the
prequel to
I Unlove You
for Free.

Spread across 30 intimate letters between Aus and B,
The Letters of Ausdylan &
Beatrice
reveal a further
insight into their lives and relationship - as well as a few key
moments that play a large role in the main novel. If you
enjoyed
I Unlove You
, you
’
ll adore these
letters :)

Thank you for reading this book. Thank you for taking a
chance on me. Thank you for being part of
this
, and thank
you for being you. I look forward to getting to know you better
very soon.