The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  Oh, blimey! She has started her countdown.

  12.35 p.m.

  I walk out to find Ben standing in the hallway.

  The traitors must have let him sneak in whilst I was in my vodka induced zombie coma. He looks terrible, but I know I look far worse.

  I feel tired, really tired and very drunk. Not a great combination when one is trying to maintain an emotionally even keel.

  “Ben, don’t bother,” I say before he can get a word in.

  “Lilah, will you please let me explain? I know it looked the very worst type of bad, but I promise you nothing happened at all. Becky tried to kiss me, but I told her no. She got a bit crazy and stripped off and then she passed out, she was completely bladdered.”

  “That does not explain why she was in your room in the first place, Ben. Or why you didn’t just walk away from her.”

  This is my main point, the bit I cannot get my head around. Why was she even there, and if she was there, why was he?

  “I know,” he says, looking sheepish. “She kind of made out that she had nowhere else to go and I foolishly fell for it. I didn’t know she was going to do that.”

  I look at him in disbelief. “Seriously? You didn't think that she was going to do that?”

  I walk into the kitchen to pour a hefty measure of Tristan’s Stolichnaya. I don’t bother with ice or mix. That is for wimps.

  “So why did you not just come and knock on my door, come and find me?”

  The blues scan my face, possibly looking for any sign of forgiveness. He won’t find any. Ever.

  “I was drunk, and when I didn’t hear from you all night I thought you might have changed your mind.” He says the words quietly.

  I wish that I could believe what he is saying, but I don’t.

  He must be lying.

  “So the really great news is that John and I split up last night, so cheers to that!” I raise the glass in a mock solute and knock the vodka back.

  It burns.

  Burn = Good.

  Ben looks at me evenly. “That is good, Lilah. You know I am in love with you, right?”

  He steps towards me but I freeze.

  “Thing is Ben, I do not know what I feel for you anymore, hell I do not even know what I felt. All I know is that I think most men are wankers, and then I met you and thought you weren’t. Now I think you are,” I tell him, knocking back another swig of the good stuff.

  This stops Ben in his tracks. “I can’t believe that you think I am lying.”

  “This has just made me realise lots of stuff. I mean let’s be honest, you’re in a band that is starting to get successful. It's not like you are going to be short of female attention. I think it's better that we don’t start anything more permanent between us. I am sure eventually you will meet someone much better than me, and I don’t want to wait around for that to happen.”

  My words are harsh, but I got it out, the bit that hurts the most. Eventually someone better than me will come along, and he will be gone. That is just the way it works. It is exactly what I have done to John, and it is exactly what Ben will do to me.

  It feels like someone has stolen my lungs.

  He stares at me in complete shock. “You think I will do that?”

  “I think it will be hard for you to resist.”

  The blues drill into me, hard and unflinching. “Then obviously we have made a mistake. It's a good thing we realised now before moving on to the next level.”

  I want to ask him what the next level would have been, but I bite my tongue to stop myself.

  He turns on his heel and walks out of the door. Out of the door and away from me. I watch the door swing shut with a sense of dread settling on my stomach. What am I doing?

  Meredith and Tristan stare at me like I am crazy, which I very well may be.

  “You know he loves you?” Tristan asks.

  Yeah, right. Like he knows the first thing about love.

  “Get lost, Tristan,” I shout as I slam back into my room.

  Taylor Swift is singing, "I Knew You Were Trouble." And whilst it is rather annoying, I am inclined to agree with her.

  12th November

  Class was awful. I drank a half a bottle of vodka just to get there, which is bit like having a Bloody Mary for breakfast, but without the Mary. I would have ditched, but, unfortunately, I missed a lot during the haircut debacle and have used up all my sick excuses. I don’t think ‘the sexy boy from next door has broken my heart’ excuse is one that the faculty will be sympathetic with.

  Ben sat behind me as always. Instead of the lovely zinging electricity that usually flowed between us, there was just dead air. My chair had all four legs firmly on the ground. Barbie was there but she kept her head down and sat on the opposite side of the room. Good. She can keep her black lacy underwear away from me.

  I miss him, though. It feels like I am stuck in some terrible soap opera that's going to end soon and the credits will come up.

  Taylor Swift is singing "White Horse" in the background. And I want to cease to exist.

  15th November

  Drunk again. Another Bloody for breakfast lacking in Vitamin C.

  Meredith has asked when I am coming home. I don’t think I am. I did not tell her that, I just shrugged vaguely. It’s not her fault, and I miss her like crazy, but at the moment every time I see her I just think about Ben and what the last couple months of us all living together has been like. The dinners, the wine, and the communal gossip while sitting in the kitchen watching him cook.

  Jayne caught up with me as I strode over campus. She misses me as well. They all miss me. Ben never comes out of his room and has not touched his guitar in days.

  I don’t care.

  16th November

  Really, really drunk.

  Smoked a million cigarettes.

  I was going to go to the library, but I fell up the first two stairs and changed my mind.

  Meredith has been with me. I asked her to give me the exact low down on what happened. I don’t really want to know but at the same time I really do. It’s like if I don’t find out, the curiosity will kill me, much like it will kill a cat.

  This is her blow-by-blow account of the night:

  8 p.m.—Arrive at gig. Ben goes to set up. He is checking his phone every thirty seconds to see if I have texted him.

  8.30 p.m.—They start the set. Ben makes Meredith hold his phone in case I text, and at least that way she can give him a thumbs-up.

  Why, oh why, did I not text him?

  (Scrap that. It should not have made any difference whether I did or not. Also, I have to remember this is Meredith’s shameless pro-Ben propaganda.)

  9.30 p.m.—The set finishes and the band joins Meredith, Tristan, and Jayne. As they are ordering drinks, Barbie and her little crew of ho’s turn up and join in. Barbie seems to be making a play for Dave, which gives Jayne (who is already making a move) the royal hump.

  Ben is pacing and drinking a lot. Tristan tries to calm Ben down by saying that there is no chance I am going change my mind, and that he has never seen me like this with anyone before and he knows that Ben is here to stay.

  How wrong can he be?

  10 p.m.—Ben is quite drunk and still staring at his phone. Barbie moves in, asking him what the matter is. He slurs something about waiting for someone to make a decision. She laughs and says something along the lines of how if it were she, there would be no question of decision-making. He looks at her like she is crazy and says, “Thank fuck it isn't you."

  She strops off.

  And that is all Meredith knows. She was drunk and decided to convince Tristan it was time to leave. The last they saw, Ben was staggering a little, packing up the band’s gear. Barbie had retreated to a corner, wher
e she was obviously plotting her revenge.

  None of this makes me feel much better, apart from wishing to God that I had just picked up and used my bloody phone.

  17th November

  8.30 a.m.

  Thank goodness it is Saturday. I don’t have to get up and face anyone.

  11.45 a.m.

  Ben just came around again, but I did not open my door, I just sat on the floor against it. I think he sat on the other side.

  After a while I heard him get up, the sound of his bare feet padding on the carpet.

  “It’s no good. She’s just not going to speak to me.”

  He sounds hurt, like I have betrayed him somehow.

  How very dare he act like I have betrayed him, or let him down!

  But then there is this little voice in my head which says, Yes, Lilah, but he did wait patiently for you for weeks whilst you fannied about, getting the balls to make the right decision.

  Then there is another voice saying, He did look for you for nine months and recognise you when finally seeing you again. That must mean something, right? Something more fundamental than 'We are just playing around at being together.'

  I cannot allow myself to think like that. Just have to remember the black underwear.

  11.47 a.m.

  Right. Where is that vodka?

  19th November

  On campus again. It is horribly awkward, but this time I manage not to consume any alcohol before going.

  This is progress.

  Ben sits behind me, as always. I can feel his gaze the whole way through the morning and afternoon two-hour lectures.

  After class I go to the library with Meredith—making it up the stairs without injury. Funnily enough, Ben does not wait around to walk me there, or to make me giggle, or to absentmindedly hold my hand, tracing patterns with his thumb.

  23rd November

  9.30 a.m.

  It’s my Birthday. Happy bloody Birthday.

  I’m not going to do anything. Mum and Dad are not talking to me—apparently they are never going to forgive me for breaking up with John—and I’m not talking to anyone else.

  1.45 p.m.

  I‘ve spent the day in bed. I could not face a morning of uncomfortable lectures.

  Before the black underwear incident I had fantasised that Ben and I would spend my twenty-sixth birthday snuggled, preferably naked, doing all those amazing things that we are so good at doing together. Instead I am having some quality time with my stand-in boyfriend, Vodka. Although today I may go for his twin, Gin, as it is a special occasion.

  A card was pushed under my door earlier, handmade from Ben. On it he has drawn a mass of forget-me-nots. Inside it says:

  I love you and miss you. Please come home.

  My god, I want to go home. But I can’t. How can I have a relationship with someone who, whenever he goes out to play guitar, I visualise skinny girls clad in black lacy underwear throwing themselves at him?

  More Gin.

  Birthday Dinner

  7.30 p.m.

  Tristan, who can’t take the hint of being ignored, has eventually gotten me out of my smelly self-imposed birthday bunker.

  “Come on, old girl, it’s my birthday, too. And at the moment you are raining on my parade, not just your own.”

  And there is the Tristan guilt trip, impossible to ignore. Well, that and the fact he wrestled me into the bathroom and threw me into a full bath with all my clothes on. Oh, I know, I was only wearing pyjamas. But it is the principle!

  He wants to go out for dinner. I would rather have my fingernails pulled off. Me in a public setting may not be the best idea right now.

  11.30 p.m.

  We have been for Tapas. Well, Tristan has been for Tapas. I, on the other hand, have been for wine and sambuca.

  I was completely right. I should have stayed home in bed. When will I learn to listen to myself? To be fair, Tristan has tried to encourage me to eat. I have not managed one meal since the underwear incident, and the smell of garlic and oil has done nothing to help settle my queasy stomach. “You know, you are going have to eat at some point,” Tristan says around a mouthful of Patatas Bravas.

  I pull my most unattractive face at his observation. “Mmm, and you are doing wonders to increase my appetite,” I say back as snidely as possible before returning to guzzling my wine.

  “Where is Meredith?” I ask. Even in my sulk I can’t ignore the fact that my best friend and his girlfriend is missing from our sad little birthday celebration for two.

  “She’ll be here in a bit,” he says, his eyes holding mine.

  “Okay, as long as she is not going to bring that piece of shit with her.”

  My words are cruel. I am not sure I have ever spoken about anyone like that.

  “It’s okay, Lil. I think you’ve made your feelings clear on that one.”

  “Good.”

  I pick up my wine glass again and take a deep sip before continuing to push the mushrooms around my plate.

  Meredith turns up twenty minutes later, no Ben in sight. Deep down, I’m disappointed. Maybe he could have turned up, I could have shouted a little, then maybe he could have grabbed me and kissed me. And I could have just given in, blaming it on the drink or whatever. I could have been with him at least one more time. Instead there is just a never-ending sea of non-Ben-ness in front of me, an endless tide that I can’t fight.

  “Hey, Lilah! Happy Birthday.” Meredith greets me with a hug as I desperately glance over her shoulder.

  “Hey, Mer.” I sigh, knocking back my wine and instantly reloading.

  “Were you expecting someone?” she asks with a rise of her eyebrow.

  She has picked up this annoying habit from my brother. “Nope. Just your beautiful face.”

  “This is for you.” She slides a box toward me, and I open it to find a blue topaz pendant blinking at me.

  It’s beautiful, but the colour of the stone is a little too close to my favourite shade of blue.

  I am unable to thank her due to huge lump that forms in my throat. So I just squeeze her hand instead, and put the necklace around my neck.

  Dinner was okay. Well, my liquid dinner was okay. After an hour and a half, during which I just consumed wine and Sambuca shots, we were asked to leave by the management after I executed a spectacular fall off my high bar stool, landing on my arse in the middle of the busy restaurant. Apparently the other diners were not so keen on my loud drunken ramblings or seeing my knickers.

  Spoil sports.

  24th November

  “Please come back,” Meredith pleads for the gazillionth time. We are horizontal whilst nursing what can only be described as a cracking hangover. My private locomotive is back in residence and offering trips to the entire world and its mother.

  “Meredith.” I wince. “I will come back, but probably not until after Christmas. I need to sort myself out.”

  Isn’t this the truth?

  “You know, three months ago I started Uni with strict rules for myself. No Booze, No Ciggies, No Boys, No Home. How many of those have I kept? And what do I have to show for it? I am lying in my bed at home, nursing a hangover, smoking about forty cigarettes a day after having an affair with the guy who lives in the room next door.”

  She looks at me in silence as we lay next to each other on my king-size.

  “If it makes you feel any better, he’s a wreck, too,” she says. She looks earnest enough.

  “Mer, that does not make me feel better. I think we just need to realise that we are not right for each other. I will never be confident around him knowing that he can do better.”

  “He doesn't want better. He wants you. That is all he has ever wanted since the first day. Come on, Lil. He was patient e
nough when he found out about you being engaged and all that stuff.”

  “Yeah and look at me now. Not engaged, no boyfriend, and no parents willing to talk to me!”

  “Your parents will come around,” she says.

  I know them well. They won’t. “Mum accused me of ruining her wedding of the year and said that they will never accept any other partner I choose!”

  “Yeah I know. But the good news is that your mum is off the orange juice and back on the Gin so she will forget all about it soon.”

  This does make me laugh. “What about my dad?”

  Ha! It’s my trump card.

  “Your dad needs to realise you are a grown-up girl.”

  Yeah he does, but then I guess I should start acting like one.

  I take a deep breath and then tell her what she wants to hear.

  “I will be back after Christmas. You can tell Ben, but he needs to know that it will be on a roommate’s only basis.”

  It kills me to say that.

  Meredith’s shriek of joy makes me smile. It will be nice to be with her again.

  Now I am sitting on my bed trying to cram for my essays. I am finally starting to understand what I am writing about, (just shows how much more you can achieve when you do not have one ear permanently tuned into the room next door to yours).

  Ooh, a text.

  Oh.

  Ben: Glad you’re coming home.

  I have no idea what to reply. I will leave it for a while.

  Okay, I can’t concentrate on my books until I respond . . . Um . . .

  Me: So am I

  ‘Send’.

  26th November

  Lectures were slightly better today. Well, I managed to make it through the day without:

  — Consuming Alcohol

  — Crying

  — Smacking that Barbie bitch with her plastic fanny in the gob for ruining everything.

  I even managed a smile at Ben. He seemed relieved as he smiled tentatively back at me. The blues crinkled ever so slightly and I tried desperately hard to ignore how it made my stomach flip and my cheeks flush pink. If I am going to get through this and be a stronger, more grown-up person for it, then I need to not melt into a puddle every time he looks at me.