I Unlove You (31 page)

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Authors: Matthew Turner

Tags: #coming of age, #love story, #literary fiction, #contemporary romance, #new adult, #mature young adult

BOOK: I Unlove You
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Don

t,

I say, lifting both
our hands.

I

ll always love you and I always have. But until
now
…”
I sigh, closing my eyes to calm my thoughts.

I guess
I

ve never understood how much I need you; how much I
need this, but I do. I can

t imagine life
without you,
B
.

I look at her tummy, our son resting, waiting for
us.

The moment I saw you, I knew you were different. You made
me feel different. I

ve always felt
different around you; better and stronger and braver. As soon as I
kissed you, I knew I

d never let go, and
I haven

t. I can

t. And I know we
didn

t plan this, but this
…”
I say, glancing
between her face and stomach.

This is the plan. This
has always been the plan.


I want to marry you,
B
. I want
us to be a real family. A whole family. Marry me. Please. Let me
spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to
me.

I
plotted and planned this moment growing up. Within my teenage mind,
I perfected it to the minutest detail, hiding the ring somewhere
special, surprising her at a time she suspected but not, and
ensuring the memory became enshrined between us so we could
treasure it forever. Not like this. Not on a normal night in a
normal bed, with no ring or carefully crafted poem. This
isn

t right, but it

s the right moment,
for I couldn

t keep the words
in.

They wanted to break free as soon
as I first held her hand, laying patiently somewhere deep within
me, waiting for their moment to surge to the surface. Not gradual
or planned, but an eruption of everything I have to
give.

My
shoulders relax and my neck eases, a longing sigh hissing free.
There

s no doubt she

ll say yes, for she
has to say yes, she needs to. Together, we

re perfect,
alone, we

re incomplete. I

ve considered this
moment so many times, and not once does she say no. So, why does
she wait? Why does she look at me like this, instead of smiling and
bundling herself into me? Why do my shoulders tense again, and my
neck follow suit with each torturous second?

Five seconds

a minute

an hour, I can

t tell. Time pauses,
awaiting her move. She looks at me, but with those darting pupils
reserved for her mother. Parting lips, I see her mouth, but not
like when she smiles.


Marry me?

she whispers, closing her
eyes.

Marry
me?

she repeats, gritting her teeth.

Aus, did you just ask
me to marry you?

I nod, holding my breath as my
chest thumps and thumps.


Why?

she removes her hands
from my numb palms, wiping them across her forehead.

Why would
you ask me to marry you?

she continues, her voice low and in
control.

This is insane. Like we don

t have enough to
worry about already,

she says, more to herself than to me.

Why would
you ask me that, Aus?


I

I

I
don

t know,

I stutter.

I love you. I love you
so much,
B
, and we

re having a baby
together, and I can

t think of anything
that would make me happier than marrying you.

My throat dry, I rub
my own forehead, unsure how or why I

m having to answer a
question right now.

I don

t understand why
I
wouldn

t
ask you to marry me. We

re happy. We
love each other. We

re having a
son.

Pushing herself further away from me, she sits flush
against the wall with her legs bundled into her arms.

Do you not
think we have enough to worry about without a wedding too?
It

s bad enough you don

t stop talking about
finding a house, but marriage
…”


We don

t have to get
married now, or even think about it. It makes sense, right?
Don

t you think it makes sense to get
engaged?


To who? Your
parents?


What have my parents got to do
with this? I want to marry you because I love you,
B
.

I scrunch the
bedsheets in my hands, scratching them and balling them into
fists.

I just want us to be a family.


We are a family. We
don

t need to get married in order to be a
family.


I know we
don

t, but

this is what people do.


What people? Not everyone is
like your parents, Aus. You might like the idea of a
happy-ever-after existence, but it doesn

t exist in the
real world. Your parents are the exception, not the bloody
rule.

Swallowing a breath, I fold my arms and hold myself
tightly.

I don

t know why you keep
mentioning my parents. This has nothing to do with
them.


The hell it does. Your father
can

t wait to get us married. He probably wants to walk me
down the aisle, seen as I don

t have anyone else
to.

I

m empty. Light-headed with a heavy head, I
struggle to stay upright.

B
, how could you say that? My father loves you, but
he

d never expect anything
—“


Marriage is part of your plan,
Aus. Not mine,

she says, her tone marred with bitterness and disdain.
I

ve never heard her like this, not when we argue or
drunkenly fight. Each syllable shoots me down.

I

ve never once said I
want to get married. Just because I

m pregnant
doesn

t change that. Just because
it

s what

everyone else

does
doesn

t change it, either. We

re together.
Nothing has to change.

She stands up and springs off the
bed, striding towards the mirror and her old white
desk.


I don

t know what to
say,

I stutter again, my throat dry and coarse.

I know
you

ve never spoken highly about marriage, but I never
thought you felt like this. This isn

t you,
B
. I

ve never
seen
—“


This is me.
I

m telling you how I feel, Aus. If you
don

t want to listen to me that

s your problem.
Not mine.


Okay,

I sigh.

Let

s start again.
I

m confused right now, and
—“


No, Aus,

she shouts.

No. You think you know
me and know what I want, but you clearly don

t. If you
did, you wouldn

t propose to me in
my fucking bedroom. Don

t you think I have
enough to worry about? Do you really feel the need to own me?
Don

t you trust me? Does marrying me make you feel like a
man? Does it make you feel worthy, Aus?


What the hell are you talking
about?

I say, anger bubbling to the surface.

And what do you mean,
I don

t know you? I know you,
B
. I
don

t know what this is all about, so how about we stop
before we say something we can

t take
back?


You clearly
don

t, because if you did, you wouldn

t feel
the need to pressure me into marriage and houses, and happy little
families and stupid ideals. And stop before we say something we
can

t take back? I think it

s a little late for
that. You

ve already said far too much.

I
take a few steps toward her and the picture of the two of us when
we were fourteen, happy and perfect as one.

Please, can we just
calm down for a few minutes? We

re both stressed
and
—“


Shut up,

she screams, throwing
the jewellery box I bought her for her nineteenth birthday. It
crashes against the wall by the door, its ringing clash forcing
shivers up my spine.

This isn

t about hormones or
anything like that. I swear, Aus, if that

s the next
thing that comes out of your mouth, I

ll kill
you.

Tensing her fists, she sticks out her chest and straightens
her back.

Would you like to know what a stressful time was? You
acting like a precious little child for weeks on end, abandoning me
when I needed you the most. You said it yourself, right? You think
proposing makes up for that? You think a bunch of empty promises
matter? How can I trust you? Why would I?


B
…”
I whisper, my eyes aching and
prickling around the edges.

I

m sorry. You

re right.
I shouldn

t have asked you right now. Not after the last
few months. Not now. I didn

t plan to, I
just

I

m sorry, let

s talk about this
properly.

She
relaxes, dropping her shoulders and easing her chest. Closing her
eyes, she sighs. The light flows through the open window, casting
half her face in intense sunlight, and the other in a shadowed
silhouette. She

s still
B
. My
B
. A familiar
B
, but one
I

ve
never seen.

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