Hopelessly Devoted - Bradley Will Simpson.

Letter Two.

Bradley;

Me again, the one you left. Sometimes I think I should tell the boys about writing you these letters. I may seem less heartless. Less spiteful. They surely don’t hold back. I often catch them hugging each other in brief attempts of comfort after loss, a huge loss. The biggest loss.

There was talk the other day of how to move on with the band. As much as nobody wanted it. I had no reason to be there, as some people tried to make clear, but they boys made me stay. I don’t think you could have picked to spend your life with three nicer ones, to be honest. The friendship you shared was clear, in life and death.

Red and puffy eyed, the four of us sat in front of various members of management, listening to ideas. James and Tristan either side of me took my hands, as hearing your name every time killed me a little inside. Okay, a lot. Nobody compares to you, nobody ever will. Connor made his feelings known, by completely breaking down in front of everyone, what the four of us vowed never to do in front of anyone but each other unless nothing else could be done. No amount of comforting words and group hugs could console him in front of the gathering that had appeared. Other meetings were rescheduled, apparently we needed more time to grieve. The boys have their first gig without you in two days. A private little gig, they’ve agreed to share the vocals between them from now on. They just made the decision to not let them replace you. My love, you’re irreplaceable. To the boys, to me, to everyone that had the benefit of being in your presence. Not that the pleasure can be enjoyed anymore.

A few hours after, now, and I made the mistake of looking at the calendar. It was our day. This day six months ago, you told me you loved me for the first time. Back then, it was the happiest day of my life, everything was finally whole and securely together, compare that with now. Sat alone in the corner of our room, clutching our last picture we had together, sobbing aimlessly and helplessly. Again, it didn’t go unnoticed as much as I tried for the opposite effect. Connor creaked the door open and shuffled inside, his own eyes still red-rimmed and swollen.

What was it you always called him, my love? The baby of the group? I’m not so sure anymore. We all fulfil that position now. Rocking each other back and forth for a good few minutes, it was a wasted effort in all. The other two again realised the two missing members of the group and softly entered the room with sympathetic looks, clearly knowing the sacred day.

They made their way over to me and Connor, and sat in front of us looking equally as bad. It was obvious how much you’ve affected us, even this further on after it happened, I don’t believe, deep down, you did it purposefully. You couldn’t have, knowing you caused us all this much pain.

Your best friends, the supposedly ‘hard lads’ as you often joked, are sat around me sobbing their hearts out. Hysterically. I’m still cradling the picture in my hands, blurring it through my constant tears. I don’t think you’d deliberately do this. James suggested we see someone to investigate further. We’re not in a fantasy world, we’re not made of money. Although the boys would be more than willing to pay for it, I couldn’t let them. What would it achieve, my darling Bradley? It wouldn’t bring you back to me, to us.

No, we don’t live in a fairytale story where things always work out. We live in a personified nightmare, and we have no choice but to fight it together.

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