Elvis Song

It was my first night out in... a while. On my own, at least. Since Mark went away (with his ex) I had been a wreck and spiraled down into a routine of nights out, which bored my friends rather quickly.

With my eyes fixed in my beer and my feet tapping the floor along the rhythm of the music, I overheard a male voice asking for a pint as that same individual sat down close to where I was in a bar stool.

He was a skinny boy, blonde hair and blue eyes with a few freckles across his face. He was constantly checking his phone as if he was expecting someone to text back.

"Waiting for me mam to text back" I suddenly heard.

"Uh?" I came out of my unintentional awe with the stranger.

"Thought you'd be interested if you kept staring" He got his pint served and took a long sip. "Moved to London a year ago and got enough money to get a small flat for meself just last month. She is dead worried about squatters and all that" He moved over to the seat next to me. "It's Billy by the way" He offered his hand to shake.

"Maisie" I shook his hand as a small smile appeared on both of our faces.

"What you doing here by yourself anyways?" He asked after a few seconds of silence.

"You know..." I tried looking for an answer that avoided the awkward topic of how I got dumped in mid-April but I could not come up with anything. "Love things" Billy simply nodded.

Both of us stared at our drinks in silence as an Elvis Presley song started playing. "Come on" He stood up just as he finished his drink and offered me both of his hands. "Dance with me, darling" I frowned. "Got anything else to do?"

I didn't think about it twice before I made my way to the middle of the pub with him and started singing along Elvis.

"Little things I should have said and done; I just never took the time. You were always on my mind" We both sang.

"Hey, look at you. You don't sing bad yourself" Billy said.

"I'm full of surprises me" I smiled.

We ended up making our way into his small flat (located surprisingly close to the city center, in Tooley Street). As he said, nothing fancy, just a room for himself and nothing more, really.

Nothing sex-related went on that night. It felt as if we were close childhood friends catching up. He handed me a Sam Fender shirt to wear to sleep and we talked all night until the sun made its way through the curtains. I forgot to mention, his bed was not even an actual bed, it was a sofa-bed.

We exchanged numbers and it all sort of became our Saturday thing: meet up at the old pub around his, dance to some Elvis' song and have breakfast on his sofa-bed. It all changed when I realized that I was falling for him.

I had issues, I am going to be honest. As soon as feelings were involved, I was out and in this... situationship, I ran as fast as I could from him. As soon as our nights ended with cheap wine before sex, our breakfasts were over as I was nowhere to be seen during the mornings. This on and off thing lasted way too long for Billy and it only ended just because he moved up north again as his mum had fallen ill.

It was me, not him. It was easier to tell myself I'd mess it up instead, and so, I left. Every single morning. And every single morning, Billy would still text me 'good morning, darling'. And every single Saturday, our routine went on. If it was raining (typical London), he'd let me have his jacket. If it was sunny, we would take a long walk to his flat.

Half a year later

"Are we still for tonight?" I texted Billy. It has been half a year since we met and around four months since our 'affair' started.

But as ours went by, I received no reply which was kind of odd as Billy was a fast texter. I decided to show up at the pub anyways with the best dress I could find in my wardrobe. However I sat down and waited, and waited, and waited. I made my way to London Bridge and stood in front of his block of flats. His light was on. I rang him but still, no answer.

I thought he must had grown tired of my constant leaving. It was not healthy for neither of us and that night I was willing to change it. I was determined to stay.

Today

He left. He left without saying a word. His mum had fallen ill, he told no one and he left. I found out through his Instagram. 21st-century love privileges you can call it. I thought that I would be just fine as everythign is easier when you run away. That's why I used to do it. That's why I still do it.

The thing is, I'm sitting on a cold bench on the Northen line (in Euston to be more precise) as I stare at the Northern line map, a small notebook in my hand and a black pen on the other as I tried to capture those moments together in a decent song. A vague idea of taking the train to the London Bridge station just to stare at his flat from the outside came once again into my mind but first, it was late and then, I would look like a creep. Besides that, he was not around anymore. It was not his flat anymore.

I get on the train to the opposite direction as I keep recalling his face, his smile and his touch. Just as the doors of the train close and a slight memory of him appears on the station, the song on my Spotify list changes.

"Little things I should have said and done; I just never took the time. You were always on my mind"