Lockdown | Conor Mason

Itch

My mind spun back to that night.

I'd been feeling especially down, especially lonely. I missed my friends, missed performing and touring, and missed...well, I missed having someone.

COVID could really go fuck itself, I remember thinking while I ate a sad dinner of beans on toast, accompanied by a whiskey. Then I'd had another with a square of chocolate. And another after I'd turned on In Rainbows.

I'd been pretty knackered, lolling on the sofa, hazily singing along to All I Need, when I'd done it.

I couldn't stop thinking of Amelia. How when she'd been around I'd taken her presence for granted, and now she was gone I missed her terribly.

I'd been texting with her in the days since she'd left, just chatting shit basically. I looked forward to little messages from her nearly every day since she'd been gone.

And I'd felt such a surge of emotion, such an unquenchable need to tell her how I felt, that with blurry eyes I'd mashed out a long, awkward text to her. Even as I typed I knew I'd regret it, but something made me just take a chance, just pour my feelings into a long, ridiculous message.

Hey. Wanted to say I've been thinking of you. Quite a bit, actually. Wishing you were here to roll your eyes while I ruin kitchen equipment or butcher Bohemian Rhapsody. Honestly, though,  you've made my life so much better during this lockdown. And just better in general. So thank you. For being you. Straightforward, kind, wonderful you. I know this is all rambley and weird and I'll probably regret it tomorrow. But you're incredible and amazing. And so beautiful. Just...so beautiful. Please don't ever change. x

And boy, I was right. The next day I read it back and wanted to punch myself. What a soppy ridiculous bunch of blather. To make it worse, she hadn't replied. I checked my phone relentlessly that day, both yearning to hear from her, but also not really wanting to know how she'd respond.

And when she finally did, she ignored the message completely. She just carried on as usual,  sending silly memes and asking about my day. I naturally assumed she was easing the awkwardness of not feeling the same by just ignoring it.

And, somehow, that made me feel so much worse. I hadn't really meant to do it, but a week went by, then two, and I couldn't find the courage to respond.

Now she was standing here, right in my living room, looking across at me with a mess of emotions in her eyes that I knew I'd put there. Fucking wanker. I can play to an arena of 10,000 people, but couldn't text the girl I like. Fantastic.

I ran a hand across the back of my neck and cleared my throat. But before I could speak, she did.

"Did I offend you or do something wrong? I didn't expect us to be in touch all the time of course, but I did think --"

"Amelia, I am so sorry." I cleared my throat again. "I am such an idiot."

I moved toward her and to my disappointment, she stepped back. But then she snorted.

"Habit," she said quietly, with a small smile. "Okay, you're an idiot, but...why?"

I sighed. How could I even explain? I didn't know.

"I just...I knew that text was too much, the long one I sent. You got it, right?"

She nodded slowly.

"Since you didn't talk about it, I got the message that you...didn't feel the same. And I wanted to leave you to the important stuff. Your family and all."

She looked at me like I'd grown two heads. Her voice was still confused, and she gestured wildly with her hands, trying to understand.

"No, I didn't... I mean, you sent the text at 1:30 am. So of course I figured you were drunk, and the alcohol was talking. But that's okay, I tried to gloss over it, and just go back to normal so you'd feel--"