I Love You to Death (12 page)

"Sounds good Ash," Dad said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to him.

"I’ll get him to look into it," I replied, putting my arm around Dad’s waist.

We walked along in silence for a while until eventually Dad said, "So you’re pretty serious about this guy then huh?"

I looked up at him, smiling as I said, "Yeah I am Dad, I really am."

Dad kissed the top of my head again. "It’s good to see you so happy Ash and as long as he’s taking good care of you, then I’m happy. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll have me to deal with!" he replied.

I laughed, squeezing my arm tighter around him as I said, "He does Dad. Sam really does take good care of me."

We continued walking until the realisation of actually having left home and moved out, finally struck me. Faced with a sudden fear, I turned to Dad and said, "Promise you’ll come up right? I mean, promise you’ll visit regularly? Just because I left home, doesn’t mean I never want to see you Dad."

I was incredibly close to my Dad, always had been and leaving home to be with Sam had been difficult for only that reason. Plus by then Seth was long gone and I worried about my Dad being at home alone.

Pressing a kiss to my temple, Dad simply said, "Anytime you want me to Ash, anytime at all kiddo."

I wish I’d known this trip would be the last time ever.

Around five that night Dad decided he’d head home. We were going to this party and he didn’t want to get in our way. So we made plans for him to come up again, I wrote down the directions for him, told him to call me if he got lost and we went our separate ways.

Somehow he missed the turn-off onto the I-95.

He ended up in Dorchester and when he stopped to ask for directions, instead got car jacked.

They had a baseball bat apparently.

They took his car, his wallet, his phone and watch.

Defensive bruises indicated my Dad had fought back. I would have expected him to, but you can’t compete with a baseball bat. You can’t compete with aggressive violence or a drug-fucked gang of kids who have nothing to lose. Nobody even tried to stop them apparently, nobody did anything.

They left him lying there on the side of the road. Slowly bleeding to death from the bashing he’d received. I don’t know who called the police in the end, maybe they just drove by and found him, but in that neighbourhood nobody had even tried to stop it.

But it was me who’d begged him to drive to Boston. It was me who’d let him drive home that night. I’d written the directions for him. I’d missed his call when he got lost.

I’d killed him.

Seth came home for the funeral, so did his fiancée Lara. They arranged everything. It was the first time I’d been back to Providence in ages. I remember lying on Dad’s bed, looking at all of his things; the photo of him and Mom beside his bed, a pile of his clothes which were still on the floor, waiting to be washed. A picture of Dad, me and Seth by the window. I remember lying there looking at all of these things and wishing I’d never asked him to come to Boston to see me. Wishing I could’ve just come back to get my own stuff like a grown up. There was even a part of me wishing I’d never left at all.

"Ash smash, you need to get up," Seth said quietly as he walked into Dad’s room.

I didn’t say anything.

"Smash?" he asked as he climbed onto the bed and lay down beside me. I rolled over into his arms and he wrapped them around me and held me as I cried and cried. I cried as my big brother tried to comfort me, tried to tell me that everything would be okay.

"It was my fault Seth, my fault this happened." I choked out through my tears.

Seth pulled me up and made me look at him. "No Ash, this was not your fault."

I wished he could understand. I wished I could make him understand. I’d never told him this before. Never told him how I knew I was responsible for all of this.

"I begged him to come to Boston Seth," I cried. "Begged him to drive up and see us. If he hadn’t done that, he never would have gotten lost, never would have been killed. It was my fault Seth, all my fucking fault."

Seth pulled me into a hug again, quietly telling me, "This was no one’s fault but the men who did this Ash, you know that."

But I knew better.

The funeral was excruciating. I spent the whole time being held up by Sam. He kept his arms wrapped around me and didn’t once let go. I don’t know what he was thinking, but he never let me go. I didn’t talk to anyone because I couldn’t find anything to say. The only thing I wanted was to beg for my Dad to come back.

Afterwards Sam and Lara helped me clean out the house. Seth stayed for as long as possible, but after a week he needed to leave, the military doing him no favours despite our loss. Even after he and then Lara left, Sam stayed on and helped me.

Together we cleaned out my Dad’s house, packing up all of his things, packing up his whole life. We put the house up for sale shortly afterwards, Seth and I splitting everything, but it was Sam who helped me sort it all out. We stayed in Providence for five more days after the funeral and it was the longest I’d been back since I’d left to be with Sam.

I was very angry about everything during that time and Sam tried desperately to talk to me about it. But I couldn’t, didn’t want to and it’s probably the longest and most uncomfortable period of time Sam and I ever endured together. On the last day we were there though, Sam came over to give me something.

"What?" I asked him, barely able to look him in the eye.

Sam’s fingers gently tilted my chin up so I had to look at him. "Ash, I’m sorry," he said quietly.

"For what?" I asked, surprised.

Sam’s face was a mixture of sadness and regret as he said, "For our fight, for your Dad, for everything babe, for everything. I’m really sorry."

"Sam..." was all I could say, pulling him into a hug. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s me who’s sorry, sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you these last few days. I’m really sorry Sam."

Sam stood with his arms wrapped around me as he spoke into my hair. "You don’t have anything to be sorry for either babe, but I don’t ever want to fight like that again. I don’t ever want to fight about anything, okay?"

"Me neither Sam, me neither," I whispered.

Sam pulled back a little, brushing my hair back from my face. "I’m sorry about that night babe. I’m sorry I was such an ass to you, and I won’t ever pressure you to try with people again okay, I promise."

I smiled sadly at him, knowing he still didn’t believe any of this was my fault, but this was his concession to me. I don’t know if he felt guilty about our fight that night, but I hoped he didn’t think I blamed him for what happened. I really didn’t, none of it was his fault. Eventually Sam lowered his head as he took my hand and gently placed something in it. When I opened it to see what it was, all of my anger finally melted away.

"Where did you find this?" I asked him.

"Seth did," Sam explained. "He thought maybe you’d want it as a memory of your Dad. Something for you to keep."

I was crying again now as I slipped the silver wedding ring that used to belong to my Dad, but which he hardly ever wore, onto the thumb of my right hand.

"Thank you Sam," I said through my tears. "Thank you."

"Anything for you babe, you know that," Sam answered pulling me into another hug. "Anything for you."

When we finally left Providence and went back home to Boston, Sam and I were in a much better place. I didn’t ever want to go back there again and after that day, Sam and I never did fight like we had that night. And just like he promised, Sam never tried to get me to make friends again. It still didn’t change anything that’d happened though, how could it? But deep down I’m pretty sure Sam knew, knew what I was thinking. Deep down he knew I blamed myself and part of that blame came from our fight. He never said anything more, but he was always there for me, and now, I needed him more than ever.

∞

I’m so angry when I get home.

So fucking angry.

I flick on some music. The same CD is still in there. The sound of Luke’s voice and music comes through the speakers and I’m briefly reminded of the way it made me feel when I saw them weeks ago. I wish I could go back to that feeling, to that one night of feeling nothing but pure happiness and escape. The feeling of drowning in his music and his voice.

But tonight I can’t.

Tonight all I feel is anger. Anger at everything I’ve lost and everything I’m forced to push away. Anger at whatever it was that made me this way, anger for just being me.

I walk to the fridge and take out a beer. I drink the first one standing there with the fridge door open, so I grab a second and just keep going. It’s only when I’m on my third that I stop and shut the door. I should eat something but I can’t be bothered, so I just keep drinking. Slowly the alcohol starts to make a dent. Slowly I stop feeling the raw pain of today as it gets pushed to the side, drowned in the alcohol that’s now flooding my system. Slowly the gentle numbness of drunken oblivion starts to have an effect.

Slowly I start to feel less of anything. Slowly I start to feel nothing at all.

I’m really drunk when I finally turn on my computer. I know this is a stupid idea. Even in my current condition, I know that. There are five emails from Luke but I don’t bother opening any of them. I barely even remember sending this to him, the message sent notice I see on the screen the next morning, the only clue to what I’ve done.

But sure enough when I go searching through my sent box later on, this is what I find.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: [NONE]

I’m sorry.

Sorry for acting like that, like this. Sorry for being so pissed today.

Sorry for taking it out on you.

Sorry for all of it.

I can’t explain it. I fuck up everything. It’s better if you just stay away from me.

God, I really am fucking pathetic.

Extrasensory perception, commonly known as a sixth sense

∞

Playlist
:

1. A modern myth – 30 Seconds to Mars

2. Fall at your feet – Boy & Bear

3. Infinite arms – Band of Horses

∞

Being alone is now a fact of life for me. When I was a kid, back when the teasing was really bad, all I ever wanted was to just be left alone. All I ever wanted was to be able to run and hide from everyone. Live in make believe worlds where I could escape the reality of the one I lived in. A place where everyone was nice to me, where I didn’t have to worry about being shy, where I didn’t have to worry about anything, especially people dying.

Of course now I’ve been forced into some kind of exile, I wish for the opposite. I crave human interaction and I crave human touch.

I want to have friends again. I really want my family back. I long to be in love and have someone love me back. I want Sam here; I want to have Sam love me again.

But none of that can happen now. And I know it’s part of why I was so angry yesterday. It’s the reason for who I am, the way I act and for so many of the things that I’m forced to do now.

It’s funny the things you wish for.

When you get them, you never want them anymore. And you’d do anything to take them back.

∞

I haven’t looked at my emails since I sent that message to Luke last night. There are six more sitting unopened in reply from him now. I don’t want to know, don’t want to see what he might have sent back to me. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking, what he thinks about me or any of the things Liam said. What he thinks about any of the things I said in the stupid drunken email I sent him last night.

I’m so pathetic.

I call in sick to work today. I don’t want to be around anyone, I want to wallow alone in my own self-pity, but most of all I don’t want anyone to see me like this.

Because today is my birthday. Today I’m twenty-six years old and I’m all alone. It’s now six months since Sam died and it’s the most alone I’ve ever been in my life, because now, I have absolutely no one. I’m so completely alone and I feel so incredibly lonely, all the time. I wish I had the courage to end it, to give up and find a way out of all this shit. I really wish I could just make this all stop.

I’m so tired of being angry all the time, so tired of pushing everyone away and I’m so tired of being alone. So very tired of everything, but especially being me.

Last night when I finally got home after the day from hell, I drank myself into oblivion, eventually passing out fully clothed on top of my bed. I obviously didn’t shut the blinds because it’s the early morning sun that somehow finds its way into my room and wakes me up today, wakes me before the nightmare even has a chance to. A pounding head ache and a mouth that feels like the bottom of a bird cage are what greet me.
Happy birthday Ash
I think to myself,
one of your best
.

I spend the morning in bed reading Sam’s letter and sleeping. I don’t cry anymore because I know it won’t change anything, won’t bring him back. Besides, I don’t think I have any more tears left inside me now. Instead I re-read the words he left and wonder if they will ever change how I’m feeling, whether they will ever change anything at all. The paper is so worn, the creases blurring some of the words he wrote, a small hole in the centre from folding and unfolding it over and over again. One day it will completely fall apart and then I will have nothing of his to read anymore.

Around lunch time I finally drag myself up and into the shower. I know I need to go out and get food before the stores close. I don’t want to go anywhere, but it’ll be easier if I just go now, before it gets too busy. In any case, I really need to get more alcohol after last night’s effort, because I know I’m going to need it again tonight. I need it right now in fact.