AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Satisfied?” I barked roughly. “Do you get it now? I’m not going to Sheffield fucking University to study fucking history. I never was, and I never will.”
My eyes dropped down to my feet, and I bit on my lip until I tasted blood. No more fucking tears. I blinked them away before turning back to him. “I’m fucking sorry, all right? I should have told you.” Possibly the angriest, most unapologetic apology ever.
Neither of us spoke. Me because I had nothing left to say, and I guessed Alex was too busy figuring out how to disentangle himself and escape back to his fluffy version of normality. How to let me down gently, as he was a good guy. It would be for the best, we weren’t meant for each other, not really. He thought he loved me now, but he’d soon enough realise he loved the clever, mischievous Matt Leeson I’d created for him, not the scrawny, lost kid standing three feet away, due to start work in the MB factory at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
“Matt?” His soft, warm voice broke through my misery. I wished I’d recorded his voice, perhaps without him knowing. In the months to come, I’d play it alone in bed, and lose myself in his clear, confident tones, his easy pleasure in the smallest of things. In me.
“Yeah?”
“Get in the car, you bloody idiot. This changes nothing.”
UNFINISHED SYMPATHY
(MASSIVE ATTACK)
It did, of course. It changed everything. But not immediately.
We spent most of that afternoon and half of the night entwined on a blanket under the stars. If that sounded stupidly romantic then yes, it was. We kissed as if we needed each other’s mouths to fuel our hearts. I received my first ever blow job, and Alex received his first ever mouthful of spunk. Afterwards, as we lay wrapped around each other, he made foolish promises he tricked himself into believing he’d be able to keep, and I pretended to believe he would.
On Tuesday morning, bleary-eyed, I joined Brenner on the MB production line. By Tuesday evening, I’d fallen out with the floor supervisor, been put on probation, and earned the wrath of Phil’s dad, one of the nicest blokes on the planet, who had finagled me the job in the first place. On Wednesday and Thursday, I toed the line, and by Friday I’d turned into a zombie, packing ball bearings into cardboard boxes as if I’d never done anything else.
Alex and I deliberately avoided a big goodbye. He insisted we didn’t need one and became all poncy, saying it was moreau revoir,as I was heading up to visit him in Nottingham two weeks later anyhow. The Saturday he left, Brenner and I bought a bottle of Captain Morgan and we drank ourselves into a stupor. On the Sunday, I introduced some variety into my alcoholic repertoire by nicking a bottle of Jack Daniels from the Co-op, and we drank that instead.
“Your new mates are a bunch of tossers.”
Not the most tactful way of expressing my disdain for Alex’s university friends, but after an entire evening listening to an overprivileged bunch of posh wankers comparing gap year adventures, it kind of slipped out. Whatever a kibbutz was, I’d never join one. Nor get my hair braided, have a henna tattoo, or wear tie-dye.
The weekend hadn’t started out badly. In fact, it had started out amazingly. My little gay heart had soared as the train chugged into Nottingham station, because Alex Valentine was pacing the platform, bouncing on the balls of his feet and craning his neck to peer through the carriage windows. In a devilish move, he’d swapped his polo shirt for a soft-looking beige sweater, and it suited him. I wanted nothing more than to step down from the carriage and into his arms, to latch my mouth onto his and show him how much I’d missed him. I think he felt the same way, but until we reached his digs and locked the door, a brotherly hug had to suffice.
“Christ, Matt, I’ve needed this.” Two weeks of pent-up hormones spilled out—literally—the second my back hit the privacy of his room. Nobody would ever describe our lovemaking as sophisticated, there was zero finesse to our frantic dropping of trousers and rubbing of cocks. But it was still lovemaking, however rapid and sloppy. The sweet slipperiness of his cock and tongue, the muffled scream bitten into my shoulder as his release mixed with mine, was as heartfelt as any Shakespearian sonnet.
I’d have been happy to stay in his pokey little room, or more specifically, stretched out underneath him in his narrow bed for the next twenty-four hours, but Alex had other ideas, eager to show me the campus, the med school, and his bloody mates. Caroline—sorry,Callie, irritated me the most, as she flirted non-stop with my man, although she faced stiff competition. She was a tall, leggy brunette, dressed in an oversized fuckingcashmeregrey sweater, artfully ripped jeans, and a pair of shiny black Doc Martens straight out of the wrapper, as if she’d swallowedCosmopolitan’scut-out-and-keep guide to how to dress like an emo, even down to her professionally manicured black fingernails. Denise’s acidic tongue would have crucified her. Thrilled to inform me that she’d secured front row tickets to see the Backstreet Boys in concert confirmed everything I never needed to know about her.
And how could I overlook floppy-haired Rupert, whose parents had decamped to Switzerland, for tax reasons, and who was studying psychology, because y’ know, he wanted to really understand people, y’ know? Like, deep stuff, y’ know? His accent veered from Manc to Cockney, as if he couldn’t make up his mind between Blur or Oasis, until he spoke to his parents on the phone, when he forgot both and reverted to expensively educated posh.
Not forgetting Cassandra—sorry,Cassie,who also flirted outrageously with my man, despite having a face like the back end of one of the horses she never stopped drivelling on about. Her room next to Alex’s was the source of the endless, headache-inducing George Michael loop. Had these fangirls never seen thatTop of the Popsvideo with him prancing around in denim micro shorts? I swear one day that bloke would break the news he was as bent as a three-pound note. The sooner the better, in my opinion.
Yet who was I to throw stones at George Michael from my position of hiding in the darkest recesses of the closet? And I’d bet my entire collection of Stone Roses singles that Alex hadn’t divulged the true nature of our relationship to his exciting new buddies. Evident from Callie’s incessant fucking pawing of him.Hands off bitch, he’s mine! I wanted to shout, as she cosied up to him in the pub.
“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” Alex joined me outside for a fag. He didn’t tab it, obviously, and he wrinkled his nose pointedly as I wafted a plume of smoke in his direction.
“I dunno, I just…I just thought it might be you and me.”
Horribly whiny and pathetic; I’d not endeared myself to him or his new friends by sneering at their music, their fake authentic clothing, and pretty much everything else about them. Despite knowing how much of a dick I’d sounded, I hadn’t been able to stop myself, and chilled, patient Alex had reached his limit.
“For god’s sake, Matt! I was so looking forwards to you coming here this weekend and you’re spoiling it!”
“You’re the one spoiling it!” I retorted childishly. “Or ratherCallieis, with her grubby mitts all over you.”
Was it possible to behave in a more immature fashion? To be even more of a dick? Hell, yeah. I affected my most la-di-da voice.
“Just listen to yourself, Alex! My friendCalliesays this, andmy mateRupessays that.Cassiewants me to go riding. And we all know the horse she wants you to fucking ride is her. Oh, and—just checking—is having a name beginning with ‘C’ a prerequisite for the girls in your new set? Because if so, I can think of another name beginning with ‘C’ that suits the lot of them perfectly.”
Did I feel better getting that lot off my chest? As I told Alex when he asked me, in a hurt, quiet voice, the answer was no. I truly didn’t. I felt jealous, bitter, and unreasonable. But mostly petrified. Two weeks in, and the one precious person who made life worth getting out of bed in the mornings was slipping through my fingers. Like one long crack then another, spreading across a sheet of ice, my heart was shattering. And all I could do was watch.
It wouldn’t be unreasonable to sum up my trip to Nottingham as a total disaster. After our little tiff, I’d stropped off into the dark night, only to realise after I’d marched about fifteen paces and around a corner that I didn’t have a fucking clue where I was, or Alex’s address. So I slunk back, and sure enough, he’d waited for me, a look of something I was too adolescent to fathom on his face. If pressed to hazard a guess, I’d say he felt scared too. Through gritted teeth, I offered him a fucking atrocious apology, because saying sorry had never been part of my skill set. Alex forgave me anyhow, and we shared a furtive kiss and a cuddle behind a parked van.
Following him back inside the pub, I sulked until closing time. It turned out that the biggest tosser that night was me, not his stupid, feckless friends, because I managed to sustain my sulk for several hours, refusing to share his single bed, thus suffered a miserable, restless night shivering on the floor. I ground out another shit apology when he woke, but by then, it was too late to do anything except dress and pack.
