The Art of Forgiving - A Uni File Short (The Uni Files)

Acknowledgments

This is the surprise
Christmas story I decided to write on a whim. I have my Jane Austen loving
friend Louise to thank for inspiring this Christmas short. I always wanted to write
it, but it was stuck in the back of my mind hidden behind too many other
storylines. I received an email from her a while back and something she said
worked like a magic key and unlocked the story from its hiding place. I then
set about capturing Ben’s Christmas story like I was being chased by the hounds
of hell before it could disappear again. I listened to Three Door’s Down “Here
Without
You,” about fifty times getting it right. I hope it
was worth it.

Thank you.

A.B

For

AW

For inspiring me with your bravery

Copyright
©
2013 Anna Bloom

All rights reserved

Thank you for purchasing this eBook. Please keep this book in its
complete original form with the exception of quotes used in reviews. No alteration
of content is allowed. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or
distributed via the internet without the author’s permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living
or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The
characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously.

New Adult Contemporary Romance: This book is not recommended to anyone
under the age of sixteen due to strong language and scenes of a sexual nature.

Cover Design by Shirer Burkett

Christmas Eve

The call that saves
Christmas arrives at ten.

I am sitting like a sad fuck by myself because mum announced this
afternoon that she does not want me around. It seems that I am ruining everyone
else’s ‘Season to be Merry’ by moping about the house, singing ballads, and
drinking whiskey.

Instead of joining in the
festive cheer downstairs
I’m
up in my room, pretending
to play guitar. I say pretending, because
I’m
really staring at the ceiling wondering just what
Delilah
McCannon
is doing. Lilah
McCannon
:
A.K.A The Girl of my Dreams isn
’t with me, which she should be. Technically she is
not even talking to me.

Nope, I made sure that I wasn’t going to be spending Christmas with
Lilah weeks ago when she found me passed out with Becky, from our history
degree, lying next to me on my bed. It’s ironic really because Mum always
taught me to never leave a girl stranded and if you can help someone you
should. So I did, and the only person I did not help was myself. I’ve come to
the conclusion that helping people sucks.

Lilah has not spoken to me since. Not one word. Okay she did send me a
one worded text, but that is all in weeks. I, in turn am giving her some ‘space,’
as I have been advised to do by our mutual friends. Giving someone ‘space’
sucks too.

It’s killing me - a whole lot of ‘Death by Lilah
McCannon
Ignoring Me.’

Now, what I have really wanted to do is
march
straight into her room, and get myself right into her space, preferably
initiating some skin on skin contact. I want to tell her that we just need to
stop messing about. That I want to ask her to marry me but I can’t the whole
damn time we are ignoring each other. Asking someone to marry you while they are
not talking to you is physically impossible. Well, if not impossible; it
definitely has embarrassment written all over it.

“Lilah, I have been madly in love with you since the first time I ever
saw you, will you marry me?”

To which she would reply. . .
Nothing.
Although I guess she may slam a door in my face which in many ways is more
of an answer than I would want.

Lilah hasn’t come back to our shared Halls of Residence dorm since the
day of The Black Underwear, as I like to call the disastrous day when Lilah
barged into my room and found Becky Brown-Roots face down on my bed dressed
only in a thong. And whilst I have been loitering in the hallway at her flat in
Putney, she has never technically opened the door to me. So I haven’t been able
to speak to her. Touch her. Kiss her. Have sex with her. Definitely, definitely
not have sex with her. And damn, I miss that bad. I have spent a lifetime
running away from girls and all types of physical contact (unless completely
shit-faced and not able to control my bodily functions).

Two and a bit months ago Lilah opened up my mind to just how it can be
with someone and now I can’t stop thinking abou
t it. In a few short weeks I
’
ve turned into a
stereotypical, sex obsessed Neanderthal specimen of the male species with the
single word
‘
Sex
’
running through my head on average every thirty
seconds. The slight difference being that I only want to have sex with
her.
And I want to only have sex
with her forever.

Fuck. Need to stop thinking about it. It’s making it worse.

I have got a huge decision to make and I don’t feel that I can make it
without talking to her first. I can’t visualise my future without Lilah in it,
so how am I supposed to make crazy big life choices without discussing them
with her?

The band has been offered the chance to go to the States next summer to
make an album. So that would mean leaving her. Not that we are together right
now, but I have a semi-formed plan in place where I intend to wear her down
until she finally gives in and accepts the inevitable – that we are just meant
to be together. There is no way I will be able to do that if I’m not in the
country annoying her by following her around and pestering her. What I really
want to do is ask her to come with me.
 

My phone starts to ring and I instantly think ‘Lilah!’

Of course it’s not. But it is the other
McCannon
.

Tristan, Lilah’s brother, is the last person I am expecting to hear from
the night before Christmas. It’s fair to say the
McCannon
twins don’t get on well.

“Fancy Christmas dinner?” Is Tristan’s opening line.

“What do you mean?”

“Delilah’s cooking Christmas dinner.” He leaves his words dangling and
there is a moment of silence whilst I wait for him to clarify just what it is
he is suggesting. “If Lil’s cooking then I think we should gate-crash.”

Lilah. Lilah. Lilah.

Lilah is cooking? Really?

“She hates me. There is no way she will let me in.” I sigh and glare up
at the ceiling just for the hell of it.

“And you listen to her because?”

I have to think about this.
Why do
I listen to her?
Why don’t I just march in there and get right into her
space and make her kiss me so I can feel the ‘Lilah Effect’ just one more time.
“I’m in Dorset.” This is my explanation as to why I can’t go.
Fuck, why did I come back to Dorset?

“So am I you knob head. Give me your address and pack a bag. Then we are
going to get Meredith.”

“Really?”

“Really. Come on Ben, I’m driving around Lyme Regis like an idiot. I’m
going to get stopped by the police for curb crawling soon.”

Fifteen minutes later he is at the door. Obviously, Mum makes him come
in and have a cup of tea. No one can escape that. But as soon as we can we dash
for the car, me with just my guitar and a change of clothes. The next stop is
Suffolk to pick up Meredith, Tristan’s girlfriend and Lilah’s best friend. The
stop after that is Lilah herself.

This is it. I am going to make Lilah forgive me, and I am also going to
ask her to come to the States with me. Well, I am going to try to – if she lets
me in the door.

Christmas Day

We are pulling into the underground parking at a huge swanky block of
flats in Putney. It’s been a strained journey from Suffolk. Tristan and I had
to stay overnight in a B&B in the end, which cost Tristan a small fortune what
with it being Christmas Eve. Meredith’s Dad went completely mental when we
turned up on the door step asking if Meredith fancied coming on a Christmas
adventure. Meredith’s Dad opened up the door probably expecting some carollers,
and instead found two men in their mid-twenties trying to whisk his teenage
daughter away for Christmas. It’s hardly surprising he went nuts.

We backtracked and went to the B&B. Meredith called Tristan at six
this morning and said she was ready to leave. She has not said a word the whole
way, but instead has clutched Tristan’s hand tightly. I keep glancing at their
touch and feeling this insane stab of jealousy. I so wish it was Lilah and I
off on a Christmas adventure, grabbing hands like we never want to let go.

It’s okay. In two minutes I’ll be upstairs breathing the same air as her
and it will take every shred of my self-restraint to not grab her, kiss her and
carry her off to the bedroom.

Outside the car we all stop because there is a terrible noise filling
the garage. It sounds like it is coming through one of the air vents in the
garage ceiling.

“Jesus, do you think there is an injured cat somewhere?” Meredith says.
She casts her eyes about the dim parking lot and I join her looking for the
animal.

“Nah,” Tristan says, “That, my friends, is Lilah singing. Welcome to my
world.”

I tune my ears back into the noise. No way. There is no way the love of
my life makes that sort of noise.
Is
there
? Bloody hell, I don’t think I have ever heard her sing before. It’s
truly awful, but at the same time it makes me want to get my hands on her even
more. I want to be upstairs right now, listening to her sing.

I march towards the lift and press the call button. Nothing happens. I
press again and then again.

“It takes about five minutes,” Tristan informs me. I give a little ‘tsk’
of annoyance and start marching towards the stairs.

“What’s his deal?” I hear Meredith whisper to Tristan. It’s only the
second time she has spoken since we left her parents farmhouse.

“I would imagine he wants to get laid,” Tristan replies. I don’t bother
to turn and offer him a rude gesture. Instead, I push through the door to the
stairwell.

Lilah lives in the Penthouse and, well, that would normally be a killer
but I have determination combined with desperation on my side and I take the
stairs two at a time.

The lift opens just as I come hauling through the door.

“You really are a dick,” Tristan says. There is a serious level of
disdain in his voice, but I have my head down between my knees trying to catch
my breath and can’t come up with a suitably witty response. He starts to get
the key ready to slide into the lock.

“Hold on a minute,” I gasp. “There is no way I want her to see me
looking like this.”

Meredith giggles and tucks her arm through Tristan’s. Obviously we have
now cleared enough space between her and her parents for her to start to relax
a little.

The burning in my lungs is just starting to lessen when the painfully
tuneless singing picks up again.
What on
earth is that? Avril
Lavigne
as she has never sounded
before?
I start to grin, I can’t help myself.

“Open the bloody door, Trist.”

“Hold on, hold on. I think I’d better go in first, just in case she
throws something and it damages your rock star face.” He elbows me back out of
the way again. I concede but I don’t want to. I want to be the first through
that door.

She is still singing away as we pad down the hallway. I leave my guitar
case by the door just in case I am booted out again, sharpish. I am smiling
like a bloody idiot as we walk towards the kitchen. Lilah is in the kitchen? It
must be true, she
is
going to attempt
a Christmas dinner.

“Got room for a few more, Avril? You know your singing can be heard from
all the way down in the car park right?” Tristan calls, ducking around the
door. Something clatters to the ground and there is a moment of deathly
silence.

That’s it. That is the limit of separation I can take. I start to walk
towards the door, but Meredith gives me a cheeky look and ducks right in front
of me.
The
cow
. Now I am the last one coming through.

Lilah is standing there covered in vegetable peelings, her mouth hanging
open in surprise.
She looks at
me, her mouth still open for at least ten seconds. That’s ten seconds of me
wanting real bad to kiss her.
Real bad.
To stop myself from launching at her and borderline assaulting her I offer her
a grin and a shoulder shrug. After all, I am not sure how a full on vegetable
peel covered snog will be received. A shrug is safer in the circumstances. She
hesitates towards me, and for the briefest second I see her glance at the bin.