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Authors: Steve Mosby
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you again.'
And she was gone, starting to hide her face and then deciding why the fuck should she bother. I watched her go, forcing myself to feel blank. When the door to the cafe closed, I turned back to the table and slowly drank my coffee: it had been expensive, after all.
Not to mention so bastard time-consuming to come by.
I finished and left. The grey sky was beginning to darken: shadows deepening within shadows in clouds of damp pollution that you could taste at ground level. It was going to rain again soon. Maybe I had time to get to the university and start digging, but I thought: fuck it, I'd done enough for today, and it wasn't as if anybody gave a shit anyway.
I bought a bottle of vodka from an unfamiliar liquor store, and then stood in line for a late tram, getting slowly soaked by the first few stinging sheets of rain, but not really noticing or caring.
I left the brief file I was building on Alison on the table, and spent most of the evening on the computer, getting steadily drunk while I checked out a few removal agencies and storage companies.
Apparently, my stuff was driving Rachel insane, and so it would have to be put somewhere. But I couldn't actually think what else I owned back at the house - never mind whether I wanted it badly enough to care about what happened to it. The somewhere it was going to be put could be the rubbish tip for all I cared right now.
To be honest, the search was more just to give myself something to do while I was drinking. Just an excuse. An empty, pointless thing that would make the hours go by until I could go to sleep.
But when I'd searched as much as I could, I did something even more stupid than drinking - I got out the letters that Rachel had written me. I'd sent Lucy text messages and emails, but Rachel had never done that with me. It had always been face-to-face meetings and eloquent, handwritten letters that she'd give to me as she was leaving. I read through one of them now, finding the passage that my drunken mind had convinced me I wanted to read.
I don't think I know much, but I know that you always told me how much you loved me, and I always believed you. It made me feel happy and secure. I'm sorry if I did something wrong. If I did, I don't know what it was but I'd do anything to change it. I just can't believe that the love you had for me has gone. I think love changes because it has to. I don't feel the same about you as I did when we met, but my love for you has grown deeper as it's altered, and it's become something more wonderful. I think that if you look in your heart you'll realise that though a lot of that initial burst has disappeared you do still love me and you've given up everything in search of something else that's not really important. I understand and it's okay. But please come home.
Most of the vodka went, which is bad. But I didn't leave the flat and spend a vast amount of money in an overpriced club, and I didn't shoot at anyone, so I don't think it's fair to see the evening as a complete failure of character.
Chapter Five
The next day, a vague sense of impending and possibly even present hangover kept me in bed until nearly midday. I hadn't been sure whether the storm was approaching or retreating; hopefully I'd been asleep for the worst of it and could have safely come out from beneath the covers, but I erred on the side of caution. By one o'clock I was fed, washed and watered. Two coffees down and I was ready to face the world. Whether I was ready to face the university was more open to question.
Horse is the university district. The main campus takes up most of the centre: a sprawl of departmental buildings and walkways mixed in with subsidised shops and cheap accommodation. It is constantly evolving as new structures are added, and so the architecture is diverse and odd, with glistening new blocks nestling in between archaic stone buildings, next to abandoned churches that had been converted into cafes and bars. Directly
And she was gone, starting to hide her face and then deciding why the fuck should she bother. I watched her go, forcing myself to feel blank. When the door to the cafe closed, I turned back to the table and slowly drank my coffee: it had been expensive, after all.
Not to mention so bastard time-consuming to come by.
I finished and left. The grey sky was beginning to darken: shadows deepening within shadows in clouds of damp pollution that you could taste at ground level. It was going to rain again soon. Maybe I had time to get to the university and start digging, but I thought: fuck it, I'd done enough for today, and it wasn't as if anybody gave a shit anyway.
I bought a bottle of vodka from an unfamiliar liquor store, and then stood in line for a late tram, getting slowly soaked by the first few stinging sheets of rain, but not really noticing or caring.
I left the brief file I was building on Alison on the table, and spent most of the evening on the computer, getting steadily drunk while I checked out a few removal agencies and storage companies.
Apparently, my stuff was driving Rachel insane, and so it would have to be put somewhere. But I couldn't actually think what else I owned back at the house - never mind whether I wanted it badly enough to care about what happened to it. The somewhere it was going to be put could be the rubbish tip for all I cared right now.
To be honest, the search was more just to give myself something to do while I was drinking. Just an excuse. An empty, pointless thing that would make the hours go by until I could go to sleep.
But when I'd searched as much as I could, I did something even more stupid than drinking - I got out the letters that Rachel had written me. I'd sent Lucy text messages and emails, but Rachel had never done that with me. It had always been face-to-face meetings and eloquent, handwritten letters that she'd give to me as she was leaving. I read through one of them now, finding the passage that my drunken mind had convinced me I wanted to read.
I don't think I know much, but I know that you always told me how much you loved me, and I always believed you. It made me feel happy and secure. I'm sorry if I did something wrong. If I did, I don't know what it was but I'd do anything to change it. I just can't believe that the love you had for me has gone. I think love changes because it has to. I don't feel the same about you as I did when we met, but my love for you has grown deeper as it's altered, and it's become something more wonderful. I think that if you look in your heart you'll realise that though a lot of that initial burst has disappeared you do still love me and you've given up everything in search of something else that's not really important. I understand and it's okay. But please come home.
Most of the vodka went, which is bad. But I didn't leave the flat and spend a vast amount of money in an overpriced club, and I didn't shoot at anyone, so I don't think it's fair to see the evening as a complete failure of character.
Chapter Five
The next day, a vague sense of impending and possibly even present hangover kept me in bed until nearly midday. I hadn't been sure whether the storm was approaching or retreating; hopefully I'd been asleep for the worst of it and could have safely come out from beneath the covers, but I erred on the side of caution. By one o'clock I was fed, washed and watered. Two coffees down and I was ready to face the world. Whether I was ready to face the university was more open to question.
Horse is the university district. The main campus takes up most of the centre: a sprawl of departmental buildings and walkways mixed in with subsidised shops and cheap accommodation. It is constantly evolving as new structures are added, and so the architecture is diverse and odd, with glistening new blocks nestling in between archaic stone buildings, next to abandoned churches that had been converted into cafes and bars. Directly
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