I Unlove You (2 page)

I
’
m not sure who I am anymore. I may not remember
last night, but I remember everything else. All those moments I
wish I couldn
’
t. All those times I
wish were different.

Heaving myself onto my knees, I
struggle to my feet and stumble towards the chipped and broken
sink. Head spinning and body swaying, I cling to the porcelain with
all my might.

“
Shit,
”
I sigh, starring at the apparent man
looking back: red-eyed, with puffy cheeks, bruised forehead and
grazed chin. My hair loops around itself into knotted strands. My
nose, blue and tender, even larger and more crooked than usual.
Despite feeling frozen and shivering, I drip with sweat. I have
chapped lips and cracked skin, and patchy stubble breaking through
the surface.

“
You did it,
B
,
”
I say, my eyes welling like they
have so often of late.
“
You
’
ve broken me. You
did this. I loved you and trusted you so much, but
you
’
ve broken me.
”
I shake my head and wipe away the
tears bulging in the corner of my eyes.
“
I hate you,
B
. I hate you.
”

MAY 6
^TH
- THE BENCH OUTSIDE WORK:

I love Yorkshire in May. We
struggle through wet and windy winters, blustery and damp autumns,
less than inspiring summers, but May brings warmth and sunshine and
an optimistic dream that maybe, just maybe, our long overdue
heatwave will come to play.

It
rarely materialises, of course, but May is a month
I
’
ll always treasure.

This is why I sit outside on my lunch break instead of at
my desk. I
’
m a fully-grown
working man of six months, university already a somewhat dimming
memory, and this is the first time I
’
ve done anything
remotely exciting during my lunch break.
B
’
s
homemade feta cheese
salad is delicious as always; my coffee
’
s strong,
working its magic; and my limited edition Alan Moore collection
sits on my lap. I couldn
’
t ask for more than
good food, good drink, and good reading on a sunny day like this.
Combined with the fresh smell of nature in spring,
it
’
s difficult to resist leaning back with a
smile.

I
say nature, but Leeds
’
city centre offers little of it.
Instead of chirping birds, the rumble of footfall and cars, and
idle chatter about reality TV shows, celebrity gossip, and who in
the office is the bitchiest, rings true. I can
’
t say I
dreamt of graphic design growing up, nor did I go to university
with the hope of finding a standard job with a less than standard
wage. Despite this, I
’
m rather content
with the nine-to-five life. I may not create art on my own terms,
or draw and paint as I please, but I spend each day designing,
tinkering, and creating things that are seen and used in the real
world.

As
I take a mouthful of salad, a chunk of cheese escapes and falls to
my beaten brogues that I stole from my father
’
s
wardrobe. I can
’
t imagine he
’
s worn
them for thirty years, but they
’
re among my most
treasured footwear. I hate new shoes. I hate most new clothing. It
takes time for fabric to loosen and relax, whereas secondhand
shopping takes care of this issue.

I
remember my second interview for this job, mere weeks after
graduation, and the anxiety swirling within me, not because of the
interview itself, but the potential conformity I
’
d have to
adhere to.
“
Are the clothes I wear now okay for this
job?
”
I asked Tony, worried I
’
d have to venture
into Leeds on a Saturday afternoon and buy new suits, ties and
shirts. The prospect made me dizzy, but thankfully he smiled and
shook his head.

“
Don
’
t worry. Your
clothes are fine,
”
said my soon-to-be boss.

Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and take a deep
breath of fresh air. I may be stuck in the centre of a city, but
the linger of flowers and cut grass tickles my nose. I can
practically place myself in a park, laid on a blanket as Simon and
Garfunkel serenade Joey,
B
and me. Like I say, I love Yorkshire
in May. It houses so many memories.

It
’
s when my father taught me how to play the
guitar, siting beside the canal as he shared tales of when he and
Joey
’
s father were my age.
“
If you hold it like
this,
”
he said, twisting my fingers into a G chord,
“
you
’
ll be able to play
the chorus for
Wonderwall
.
”
Mouth agape, I shook
my head.
“
Really, Dad? You think I can?
”

“
Sure thing,
kiddo,
”
he said, ruffling my hair.
“
Soon,
you
’
ll be able to play anything you
like.
”

It
’
s when Joey and I bunked off school when we were
fourteen, so we could catch Richard Ashcroft play an intimate gig
in Manchester. It
’
s not often my
mother loses her temper, but she fumed that night when she had to
pick us up after we missed the last train home.

“
I can
’
t believe the two of
you,
”
she said, muttering in the driver
’
s seat.
“
What if
something had happened? And skipping school like
that
…”
She huffed and puffed.
“
If you ever do
something like this again
…”
She never did finish that
sentence.

It
’
s also the time of year I first read The
Watchmen. What began as a trip to the park to draw and sketch
resulted in an afternoon of reading it cover-to-cover twice.
“
Amazing,
”
I mumbled over and over.
“
Incredible!
”

I
’
d always liked comics, but fell in love with
them as I discovered one new graphic novel after
another.

And
May is the month
B
and I first kissed, transforming our friendship
into something more.
“
I wondered when you
’
d finally pluck
up the courage,
”
she said, licking her upper lip.

“
I
…
well
…
you could have done it too,
”
I
stammered.

Shaking her head, she stroked my upper arm.
“
No, I
didn
’
t want to take it away from you.
”
I may only have been
fifteen, but during that moment I knew I
’
d spend the
rest of my days with her.

Smiling, I open my eyes and look across the flow of bodies
rushing past my bench. In such a dash are the
city
’
s busy-bodies, running to and from work, ensuring they
make this meeting and that. I hope I never become so entwined in
this world that I lose the magic of May. I like this job, I think,
but not enough to lose
this
.

Snapping me out of my reminiscing
grin, my brick-like phone vibrates inside my tatty corduroy pocket.
I sigh, reaching in to retrieve the object I hate so much, and use
so little.

“
Hi, Joey,
”
I say, not needing to
check the name on the screen. Only a few people have my number, and
only Joey calls it.

“
Ausdylan Elvis Ashford. How are
you, brother?
”
he says, practically singing my name down the
phone.

“
I
’
m good, Joseph.
Enjoying my lunch break in this lovely sunshine. What about
you?
”

“
First of all, I find it very
sad you have a lunch break. Life
’
s a lunch break. And
second, I
’
ve had an amazing morning and have good
news.
”

“
That so?
”
I ask, sliding a
chunk of cheese into my mouth.

“
Sure have. I met a fantastic
band, and we
’
ve been drinking
since nine this morning. I
’
m pretty sure
I
’
ve seduced them into signing with me for their next
EP. I
’
ve sent you a link to their stuff. Speaking of
which, have you listened to that playlist yet?
”

“
Playlist?
”

“
The playlist I sent you the
other day.
”

I say nothing as I place another
chunk of feta on my tongue.

“
On Spotify.
”

“
What
’
s Spotify
again?
”

He
groans.
“
I installed it on your computer last
week.
”

I
laugh.
“
Yeah.
I
’
ve not opened it.
”

“
You live in an age of amazing
technology, Aus. You literally have access to millions of songs,
whenever and wherever you like. Yet you insist on using a phone as
old as us, and can
’
t even bring
yourself to click on a green icon your best friend went to the
trouble of installing for you.
”

Leaning on my knees, I stroke my thighs that are encased in
vintage corduroy that
’
s almost bare in
patches.
“
What can I say? I spend all day working on a computer. I
learned how to use Photoshop, didn
’
t I? What more do
you want?
”

“
That doesn
’
t count.
It
’
s your job. This is music. Our passion. Our
everything, remember?
”

I say nothing again, sipping
coffee instead.

“
You
’
re
impossible,
”
he sighs.

“
Not impossible. Simple.
It
’
s the simple life for me, you know
this.
”

“
Whatever. Just promise me
you
’
ll check it out when you get back to that god-awful
office of yours.
”

“
Okay.
”

“
Because there are lots of
people who come to me for new music, and here I am sending it to
you out of the goodness of my heart.
”

“
I said okay, didn
’
t I?
”
I say, sipping more
coffee.

“
Just make sure you do. Oh, and
that brings me to more good news.
”

“
You mean Spotify
wasn
’
t the good news?
”

“
Do you want to hear it or
not?
”