I Unlove You (37 page)

“
You
’
re
wrong,
”
I
said.
“
I knew her. I still do.
”

“
I know you do, but you love her
so much. All you
’
ve ever seen is her
perfection. She
’
s like a damn sister
to me, but
…
I don
’
t know, everyone has
secrets. I guess she has more than most.
”

My
head continues to spin throughout each day, questioning, searching
for answers and clues. My head
’
s as chaotic as it
was a few months ago, but for different reasons. Thinking of him
scared me, whereas now not picturing his face does. Six months ago
everything was normal, but if what
’
s in that
folder
’
s true, nothing ever has been.

I
read it all the night Joey showed it to me, my mind numb by the
third page. I didn
’
t want to believe a
word. I wanted to lurch towards Joey and tell him he was wrong,
tell him to stop putting his own issues on to me. I wanted to, but
couldn
’
t, because everything added up: the emails, the
messages, the dates, times and locations.

Each page presented forgotten memories, everyday normalcy
of
B
venturing to Manchester for a fashion show or going to a
gig with a friend. Late night sewing and drafting new designs, and
canceled dates because her mother needed a hand. Simple snippets of
life where I didn
’
t bat an eyelid, but
that folder shared another story.

When I read the emails and messages she sent to random
strangers, I heard her voice, the words and style and tone - the
same she used in the letters she
’
s sent to me over
the years.

“
Tell Barry to dig
deeper,
”
I said a few days later.
“
I need to know for
sure. This isn
’
t enough. I need to
know why she would do this. Why would she go on dating sites like
these when she loved me? Why would she fuck strangers? Why, Joe?
Why?
”

“
That
’
s not a good
idea,
”
he said, walking away.

“
I can
’
t live like this. I
need to know for sure.
”

“
You
’
ve read the same as
me, brother. Do you really need more? Does it matter what her
reasons were?
”

“
Yes. There has to be an
explanation. She wouldn
’
t just do this.
There
’
s has to be a reason. Maybe
she
’
s in trouble or
—”

“
Come on, Aus. I know this
isn
’
t easy to come to terms with, but
there
’
s no good explanation for any of
this.
”

“
I need to know,
Joey.
”

“
No, you don
’
t.
”

“
Joey
—“

“
Stop it. I
’
m not
asking him.
”

“
Fine, give me his
number.
”

He walked into the kitchen,
heading straight for his blessed bottle of whisky.

“
Joey, give me his
number.
”

“
No way. I know this is hard,
but
—“

“
How do we know
he
’
s telling the truth? How don
’
t you know he
hasn
’
t made all this up?
”

“
Are you insane? Why would he do
that?
”

“
Hackers like to mess with
people.
”

“
Come on, he
wouldn
’
t do something like that.
”

“
How do you
know?
”

“
I know, okay.
He
’
s a good guy.
”

“
He
’
s a worthless stoner
who wastes away his days.
”

Stepping towards me, he slumped.
“
Brother, please stop
this. I know it
’
s hard, but you have
to let this go. Whatever exists beyond what we know
isn
’
t worth knowing. Believe me. There
’
s no good
from shit like this. Maybe she gets a kick out of it, or maybe
she
’
s scared, or maybe she
’
s got a split
personality or something. Who cares? Does it matter? It
doesn
’
t make any of it less real or horrible. It still
makes her a gigantic, lying bitch.
”

“
Fuck you, Joe,
”
I yelled, my eyes
filling with tears.
“
I can
’
t let this go. I
can
’
t accept it. I just can
’
t, okay?
”

“
I know, I
know,
”
he said.
“
Don
’
t you think I know better than most? I know this
pain, remember, and although she wasn
’
t my girlfriend,
she
’
s the only one I trusted, so this breaks my heart,
too. Whatever the truth is, it doesn
’
t change the fact
the baby isn
’
t yours. She still
lied. She still broke you. She was still in that club fucking that
stranger.
”

“
But
…
but
—“

“
What could she say that would
make everything okay?
”

“
I don
’
t know, but
there has to be more
—“

“
No, Aus. There
doesn
’
t have to be more. Sometimes, people are just
shit. I didn
’
t think
I
’
d come across anyone as bad as my mother, but I guess
I was wrong.
”

“
Joey, I
’
m sorry but I
can
’
t
—“

“
Don
’
t ask me to look
into this anymore. Please. I won
’
t do it. Barry
won
’
t do it. You shouldn
’
t, either.
I
’
m here for you and will do whatever you need me to do,
but promise me you
’
ll leave this
alone.
”

Looking into his own glassy eyes,
I walked out of his apartment door.

We
’
ve seen each other since, but
don
’
t say much above the standard
hello
and
how
’
s your
day
. I sense he knows
I
’
m here or somewhere as equally ill-advised, but I also
think he understands.

The
ground beneath me dry, I still feel damp and wet as its chill
creeps further up my body. Pushing my half empty hip flask to my
lips, I sup on a mouthful of scotch, its harsh tones burning me
from the inside out. I usually hate harsh whisky, but my gentler
tipple doesn
’
t quite get the job
done on a dank and cold night like this.

For a few brief seconds it creates
a furnace within my body, the alcohol massaging my pain into a mere
annoyance.

It
doesn
’
t rid the physical agony, nor the emotional
worry and turmoil, but it helps. It helps more than the pills,
which the doctor prescribed more of after I pleaded with him to
take the panic, anxiety and pain away. He held my hand and said it
would be okay, that these new pills are stronger
…
that
they
’
d help
…
that I
’
d get through
this
…
but it
’
s too great, and
they don
’
t help enough; the whisky, on the other hand,
does help. A short-term solution, I know, and not the right answer.
But it helps
now
.
It
’
s what I need, now.

I
suppose there
’
s no difference
between drinking alone at home and here in this ditch, but it seems
less pitiful here. I didn
’
t mean to come here
the first time, and haven
’
t wanted to since.
An inner yearning brings me, leaving the station with my head down
and somehow ending up in front of her house.

When I first came and realised where I
’
d ended
up, I froze before her garden path, wondering whether to walk up it
and knock on the door. Part of me wanted to. Part of me wanted to
see her. Part of me wanted to listen to her and ask her to explain,
to believe her, hug her and put all this behind
us.

But
I couldn
’
t move. Shaking under my jacket as the wind beat
me, I slipped back into the shadows.
Is this where Joey waited
, I thought.
Where
was the car? Which street did it park on? Will it arrive
tonight?

An
hour slipped by, and then another, and before I knew it, the sky
lightened and the birds chirped into life. For the first time in
weeks, minutes didn
’
t seem like hours. I
didn
’
t know what I
’
d find.
I
’
m not sure I wanted to see her leave or not, and
I
’
m still not sure now. I fell to the
cold
’
s numbness that night, unprepared for a night in the
gutter. I went to work the next day wearing the same clothes, and
for some reason, returned to this hole in the
shadows.

Returning in the dark and leaving at the sight of dawn,
I
’
ve yet to see her or her mother. I like to think this
is a good sign. I can
’
t help but care for
her and the child within, and so long as she
’
s in that
house, she
’
s removed from the
dangers of what she may have got herself into. Whereas, if she left
right now and climbed into a strange car
…
I
don
’
t know what I
’
d
do.

Even if she left to run and escape
her woes, how could I know what she was running towards?

Unscrewing the hip flask, I push
it to my mouth and picture my fifteenth birthday when Joey gave it
to me.

“
I bought the same
one,
”
he said.
“
We can take it to gigs and sneak it into
school.
”
He smiled, wild and mischievous and far too cocky for
someone so young.
“
You
’
re my brother, Aus. I love
you.
”

It
’
s the only time he
’
s said it to me, and
it
’
s the day he began calling me brother. Barely a day
goes by that he doesn
’
t have that hip
flask on him, his far tattier and haggard than mine. The metal rim
is rusty, whereas mine remains clean. The black leather on his,
worn, and his initials hard to see; but mine, clear to read:
A. E. A.