Page 84 of Hello Darling

23

Evan

What I had wanted to say was: “I’m not going to make demands on you. I can’t ask you to give up your life here to follow me around the world or to wait at home for me in London. I just want to be with you whenever possible, wherever possible. I want you to be mine, because darling, I promise I am yours. I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you.”

But I couldn’t. I was too angry. I could tell she had already made up her mind, right from the start, and the fact that all that time we’d spent together, including those precious hours and days in the South of France hadn’t changed things for her just pissed me right off.

And it hurt.

Oh fuck it hurts.

This feels worse than when I didn’t get Loki.

This feels worse than anything ever has.

She left. She fucking left the hotel in the middle of the night like the thief of hearts that she is. Instead of flying back to London with me and then transferring to her connecting flight. She. Just. Left.

This way we don’t have to say goodbye.

Says her tear-stained note. The one I couldn’t bear to toss out, and can’t bear to read a second time.

I love you.

We went out in a blaze of glory.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

I will always miss you.

I love you.

Please don’t let this keep you from staying in touch with my brothers.

I love you.

I will always be sorry.

I love you.

As soon as I get back to my flat, I start trying to numb the dull pain in the back of my throat with scotch.

So this is what it feels like to be rejected by the one you love, I moan to myself, as I sprawl out on my sofa.

Really? This is what you’re like when you’re devastated over the loss of the woman who may be the love of your life? Quietly perturbed as you lay about alone in your living room? And you wonder why she can’t imagine spending the rest of her life with you, you fucking bore.

Fuck you, Hugh.

The truth is, I’m demolished, wrecked, feel sick that she doesn’t believe she can be with me, but I refuse to give up.

Hugh’s right, though. I shouldn’t be alone. I need to talk to someone or I’ll go mad. It’s not too late, so I call Liam to ask if he’s available to come round. He’s happy to hear from me, but can tell from my voice that he should bring another bottle of scotch.

When I open the door to my townhouse, he takes one look at me and says: “Christ, you look like shit on a crumpet. I should have brought I bigger bottle.” He holds an opened bottle of single malt, and I bring him in for a hug while taking the bottle from him.

“I’ve missed you, you wanker. Get in here.”