The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  “Oh, okay,” I sigh. “I’ll come. But I should warn you that sober fan girls are notoriously boring.”

  He just laughs and gives my big toe a tug as he eases out from under my feet. “I doubt that very much, Miss McCannon.”

  The way he says it makes my heart go a pitter-patter.

  Sober Fan Girls Are Not That Boring

  The gig is fantastic, and I manage to stay sober the whole way through. It is kind of sweet, really, when I see Ben decline numerous offers for drinks. I try not to notice just how cute it is that he isn’t drinking just because I’m not, but things like that are hard to ignore.

  Despite Mum and Dad’s freaky crazy behaviour earlier in the day, I completely let my hair down. In fact, I have the best time in ages standing at the front of the crowd dancing away—without the aid of alcohol, I might add!—watching Sound Box, who are jaw-droppingly good. Ben, with his voice of honey over gravel, licks goose bumps up and down my spine.

  These guys deserve to be huge, and I really hope (with every ounce of hopeful thoughts I can muster) that they make it. I think they will.

  The whole time they are on stage and I prance about like a pony, I know that he is watching me. I can feel the blues on me no matter where I am. It’s great, although there is a moment when some strange guys approach me and I think we may be about to have a repeat of the ‘James/Fez Strop Off,’ but Ben just winks at me and plays on. He’s damn hot up there standing centre stage. There is a raw magnetism about him. It reminds me of when I first saw him at the Fresher's Ball. I thought he was amazing straight away and that was before I even knew him. Before I knew all the little things about him that I know now: the cooking, the coffee in the morning, the absent-minded palm tracing and the way he makes me feel when he looks at me with his intent blues. Like I am the only person that exists.

  When their set finishes, the band troupes offstage, all but one of them clutch a beer as they pass through the crowd and head towards us. Ben slides his hands around me from behind and leans his chin on my shoulder. He smells and feels warm and sweaty in a good way, a very sexy way. I lean back just a fraction to get closer.

  “I thought I was going to have to use my guitar as a weapon for a few moments there,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath sliding down my neck.

  I turn to look at him, but his arms don’t release me. They stay tight around my waist. I stand in the circle of his arms looking up at him, the stage lights bounce off his pale skin turning him a mixture of crazy colours. It would be so easy, really, really easy to lean forward that extra inch and fix my lips to his.

  And it is.

  His hands slide down my spine, thumbs along my ribs, pulling me even closer by my slightly exposed hips.

  “It’s always better when you are here,” he murmurs in my ear, our bodies still touching in various strategic places.

  “I don’t know how I will play when you are not in front of me anymore,” he adds, his blues taking me in.

  He looks so beautiful standing there all sharp cheekbone angles, his face a contrast in shadows and light. I could easily crumble, with his hands hot and firm on me. It would be so simple for me to say four little words now that will change us forever.

  Let’s go for it.

  How easy would that be? But just because it is simple does not make it right. It would be simple for him to choose me over the band and their big break. Meredith is right, he would never go if I told him how I felt, how much I wanted him.

  But the truth is that I want him to have so much more, so much more than being stuck with some plump girl heading towards thirty who has no idea what she wants from life. He deserves more.

  So instead I say, "Let’s go home."

  And we do. I am aware that I am going to pay for it. I am going to be paying for it for the next month as I go back to being without him again. But I don’t care. I just grab his hand.

  It’s a typical Ben and Lilah trip home: black cab, inappropriate hands, and bursting through the door to the dormitory like a gale force wind. There is no hesitation as we fall through the door to his room, him carrying me, my legs wrapped around his waist, literally tearing at each other’s clothes, mouths hot hungry and demanding.

  Taylor Swift is singing "Fearless."

  13th January

  The wake-up.

  It’s official. I can’t resist Ben.

  I can resist alcohol, cigarettes, and junk food, but I cannot in any way resist anything to do with Ben. It feels like he has become some sort of integral part of my being, and it really hurts knowing that once again I have done the unspeakable and let us overstep our boundaries, because it kills me to get over this every time. Trying to force the memory of his touch and hands from my mind makes it so much more painful and even harder to forget. Standing next to him every day and talking to him like we are just buddies makes me want to yank my tongue out. I could almost tell him the truth just because I do not want to go through that again.

  Then I smack myself on the forehead and think about the band, and just how amazing they were last night and how they deserve to get their big break. Ugh! This is horrible, and I do not even have a hangover to distract me from the mental pain.

  “Why are you hitting yourself on the forehead?” he asks.

  “No reason.”

  He wiggles himself up close to me, one leg slung over mine, one arm over my stomach.

  Oh, god, this is going to cause pain like never before.

  “What are you worried about?” he asks.

  I open my mouth to answer.

  “And don’t say ‘nothing’, because I can read you like a book.” He giggles a little in my ear.

  Oh, god, I love his giggle. It is completely ridiculous coming from someone so frickin’ hot. It makes me giggle, too.

  “I am trying to work out how to go on from here.”

  There. Honesty is the best approach, especially when naked and enclosed in someone’s arms. I am sure that is in a rulebook somewhere.

  “What do you mean?”

  I don’t think he has his eyes open yet. His nose is skimming my jawline. My heart is doing crazy things.

  “I mean, I don’t know how to do this anymore. It’s not working, the whole ignoring each other and being friends, because we just end up having sex and making everything confused again.”

  “I am not confused.”

  “You’re not?”

  Why isn’t he confused?

  “Not really. I know what I want. I am just not getting anywhere with it.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, which twitches in response. “So I’m just accepting anything that I can get.”

  I am about to heave myself up and be offended when he starts giggling again.

  “Calm down, Delilah. Jeez you are so short-tempered!” He kisses me again, which is making it hard to be short-tempered about anything.

  “I’m leaving in a few short months, and you have made it clear that you want me to go.”

  Oooh, that hurts!

  “So I am just going to enjoy being with you. I know you have things to sort out yourself, and I respect that. It doesn’t change how I feel.”

  My mouth has gone so dry I can barely swallow.

  “How do you feel?” I manage to whisper.

  “You know how I feel. I love you. But I made a silly mistake and I am paying the price for it. I do love you, though.” He kisses around my lips again just to make his point.

  “Mmm,” I say back.

  SERIOUSLY! The man of my dreams has just told me, naked, in bed, that he loves me and I have replied, "Mmm." I must need locking up.

  It’s probably a good thing. If I said the words back then he would know and would never leave for his big opportunity.

  Maybe he is right, though, maybe we should
just get what we can and then let it go when the time comes. I think about this as he moves his kisses further down my body, until eventually I cannot think at all.

  Later.

  “You know I am not your girlfriend, right?”

  “Yeah. You know I am not your boyfriend, right?”

  This time it is me giggling as I move myself over him.

  “Good. Just so long as we are clear on that,” I say using my best stern schoolteacher voice, pulling the duvet up over my head.

  Let’s be all romantic and pretend this is real.

  Ben came up with the idea. I had been about to get up and head back to my guinea cage when he had grabbed my hand and pulled me back.

  “Don’t go,” he had pleaded, fluttering his ridiculously long lashes.

  “Come on, Ben, you know this is not good.”

  Damn it, I hate being the grown-up!

  He is undeterred, tugging me back onto the rumpled sheets.

  “What have you got to lose? Just give me one day, just one day of relaxing and being with you the way I want.”

  Um, now let me think. What have I got to lose? Oh, yes, that’s right, my fucking sanity.

  “Ben, come on, you promised.”

  “No, you promised. Now get over it. We are spending the day together. We shall be spending the day in perfect co-habiting bliss!”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You know, most people that live together or are married hate each other?”

  He laughs and pulls me in for a snuggle. A Ben snuggle. I have never had one before, and they are not bad.

  “Not us, Lilah.” His voice is quiet and I realise that beneath the joking he truly does believe that we could be different.

  “Okay, I admit defeat. What does the day involve?” I smile. I can’t help it. I cannot wipe the damn thing off my face.

  He beams me with his mega-wattage superstar smile.

  “First, we have to go food shopping.”

  And this is how I find myself in the hell that is Asda on a Sunday with Ben. We have never been food shopping together before. I imagine it will be very romantic strolling up the aisles together, choosing what to buy and cook.

  Asda

  I am staring at a can of what appears to be beans. I’m not entirely sure what type of beans they are but I don’t think they are baked.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Um, nothing.”

  “Yes, you were. You were reading something on that can.” He nods in that general direction, never taking his eyes off of me.

  “Oh, I was just looking at how to cook it.”

  “Cook what?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” I say, turning the can in my hand. “Refried beans.”

  “Are we even having refried beans for dinner?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Are we?”

  “No, we are bloody not. Leave the can, Lilah, and let’s get what we came for.”

  He drags me, and the trolley, along the aisle.

  Why Men and Women Should Not Go Food Shopping Together

  As a rule, men and women have evolved to do most things reasonably well together. You know, sex and such. However, food shopping is not one of them.

  Any woman, whether she loves or hates shopping, will quite happily read the label of every can in sight. I don’t even cook and I read them.

  Men like to get what they came for and leave.

  Asda is packed. It took us twenty minutes of frantic circling just to get a parking space, even when we did find one we ended up in a tournament style joust to get to it before a bitch in a Volvo 4x4 stole it.

  Ben has completely lost his post-coital glow and is glaring at anyone who brings their trolley within five inches of ours. I thought the two ten-year-olds playing dodgems were going to get it.

  Even we who are living our ‘let’s pretend this is a real lovey-dovey day’ are starting to show the strain.

  “Red or white wine?”

  “Whatever you prefer, I probably won’t drink much.”

  “Well, still, red or white?”

  “What are we having, fish or meat?”

  “Meat.”

  “Then red.”

  “But you prefer white, don’t you?”

  “For Christ’s sake, just put both in.”

  And this is how it goes. Finally we get to the till and pay nearly seventy quid for what appears to be the makings of one meal. I mention this to Ben who is staring down an old granny who has dared to teeter into our path. He turns to me with a wink and says that he bought breakfast for tomorrow as well.

  We then spend another five minutes trying to jam the bags of shopping into Deathtrap Cooper, and then sit for another twenty minutes attempting to get back onto the A3.

  “Wasn’t it lovely that Sheila was going to Morocco on holiday, what with her husband leaving her . . . Such a nightmare.”

  “Who’s Sheila?”

  “You know, the lady on the checkout. Poor thing, she has had it hard.”

  Grumpy look from Mr Chambers.

  Nightmare. Asda has effectively eaten two hours into our day together.

  Two hours? What the hell happened? It is like a supermarket vortex. You just enter and then lose a large percentage of your day and your sanity.

  Great.

  Why I am the worst pretend girlfriend in the world

  We are unpacking our plentiful bags of shopping. I am not even bothering to look at what we purchased on our little joint shopping trip. It is not as if I would know what to do with any of it. I think my little Christmas feast proved that I really am completely useless in the kitchen department unless it involves opening a bottle of wine. I demonstrate my considerable skill as I open the bottle of white.

  I can relax my no drinking rule just for this one perfect day. I am sure I can manage to keep a handle on the situation and not get completely blotted.

  Ben and I have recovered from the evil that is Asda and are being all lovey-dovey as we put things away. We are giggling and cuddling when the front door slams and Meredith comes slouching into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Ben, Happy Birthday!” She leans over to him and gives him a kiss on the cheek and hands him a card.

  Oh, shit.

  I spin and glare at him.

  “It’s your birthday and you didn’t tell me?”

  He shrugs and offers me a crooked smile. “It didn’t seem that important in the grand scheme of things.”

  “Not that important? Here we are having a day of ‘let’s pretend’ and it is not important that it’s your birthday?” I scrunch my face up in disgust at myself. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was his birthday. I can’t remember if he has actually ever told me the exact date, but surely I should have found out somehow.

  Oh, god, this is never meant to be if I do not even know when his bloody birthday is.

  He can clearly sense that I am heading into a spiral of panic. He approaches me as one would approach a scared kitten, hands smoothing down my arms, long fingers linking with mine.

  “It’s okay, Lilah,” he assures me. “You gave me the best birthday present this morning when you agreed to my plan for the day.” He gives me his wicked grin and then leans in to my ear. “And the bit afterwards.”

  Oh, yes, that’s right. I flush crimson.

  Meredith stands there leaning on the kitchen counter watching and grinning as she works out what I probably gave him for his birthday.

  “I need to go shopping!” I say, and as quick as I can, I twist out of his arms, grab my bag, and dash for the door, before he can do anything to stop me.

  I use my new gym skills to jog at a reasonable pace across campus and onto Roehampton Lane. Speed is of the essence, so I may as well leav
e the poxy car at home and grab the bus.

  Even the big red double decker cannot go fast enough down the bus lanes for my liking. I bounce in my seat the whole way into town, legs jumping like crazy as I will the bus to go faster and faster, cursing every time it stops to pick up a granny by the side of the road. At last I jump off and head down High Street. It is only when I am halfway down that I come to a complete stand still much to the annoyance of all the people behind me.

  I have absolutely no idea what to get him. This is a bit of a problem.

  Ben, Ben, Ben . . . Now I wonder what would he like for a birthday present? Well, apart from what he has already had today. I need a man to help me chose. Unfortunately, the only person I know is Tristan, and well, let’s be honest, he and Ben could not be further apart if they tried. Although there is the fact that they are currently doing the whole ‘best buddy’ thing, so maybe I should ring and ask.

  Never ask my brother for advice on anything important.

  This is what I learnt today. Well, that, and the fact I am a crap pretend girlfriend. Tristan had no bloody idea at all. Well, he had suggested a blowjob, but I wailed that I had already used that for the day. I hung up the phone about three minutes into the conversation. He was wasting my valuable time.

  I end up at the music shop. I am actually quite proud that I came up with the idea all by myself.

  Upon entering the shop, there are about a hundred different guitars all hanging from suspended stands. I nearly burst into tears when I see them all. There is no way in hell I am ever going to know what to buy. Not in a million years.

  Enter my saviour angel of birthday presents in the form of Big Baz. He is big. He is hairy. And he is covered in tattoos. But he knows how to save a girl in a sticky predicky and that is all that matters.

  He quickly saw the emotional breakdown that was about to erupt all over the floor of his shop.

  “You all right, love?” he asks.

  There is an accent. Welsh, maybe? “Um, no,” I reply.

  “How can I help?”