Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[32]

"Unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after, pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before."

- -

Sloan

A few months before his passing, I found my father reading in his study one afternoon. Intrigued, as I often was by anything printed on paper, I quietly approached him.

I was thirteen at the time, just beginning to experiment with my own writing—something he found endearing and always supported. When he died, my creative spark seemed to vanish along with him.

He held up the cover of the book he was engrossed in.

It was Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield.

Almost the entire story takes place on a park bench, where Miss Brill watches the world around her with a curious detachment, a trait that, at the time, I thought was quite like me.

Back then, I was too young to fully appreciate the depth of the short story when my father first introduced it to me. It wasn't until years later, after his death, when I was sorting through boxes from the move, that I stumbled across a crumpled sheet of paper tucked beneath a stack of heavy books.

I picked it up, carefully straightening it, my hands trembling as I recognized what it was.

Reading it again, now with years of life experience behind me, I was overcome with awe and excitement.

Mansfield's writing is not only beautiful, but it's also achingly heartbreaking—no wonder Miss Brill has become a literary archetype.

*

"Okay, who the hell is Miss Brill again?" Michael slurs, his words tinged with the haze of too much alcohol. His voice cuts through the soft murmur of the group, making me roll my eyes.

"Maybe tone down the attitude, dipshit." Ally retorts, shaking her head with a smirk.

"Yeah, it's a character from a short story by a Katherine... something." Ashton pipes in, leaning back in his chair.

"Mansfield." I supply, unable to mask the exasperation in my voice. "Is no one even listening?" I tease, taking another quick sip from my drink.

"You talk a mile a minute, babe." Ally quips, her lips curling into a playful grin.

I roll my eyes in response, absentmindedly spinning the cap off Calum's beer bottle between my fingers.

"I was listening, I swear." Mina adds, giving me a knowing look, her voice warm with amusement.

"Thank you." I retort, offering her a wide, exaggerated grin. "Finally, someone who gets it."

"So the whole story is just her sitting on a bench the entire time?" Calum asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.

I nod, pleased that someone is taking it seriously.

"We dive so deeply into her perspective that we experience everything through her senses—the sights, the sounds, the emotions—every little nuance of the world around her. It's pure brilliance." I explain, a hint of passion creeping into my voice.

But when I glance around the table, the lack of enthusiasm in their faces is unmistakable.

"I hate you all." I joke, pushing my chair back as I stand. "I'm going for a smoke."

Laughter erupts from the group, followed by playful banter as I make my exit.

*

"I have a very important question." Ally declares, her voice cutting through the chatter at our booth, instantly silencing the group.

"Is it normal, when you're having sex with someone, for them to keep their eyes shut the entire time? I mean, the entire time." she emphasizes, drawing out the last part for effect.