My New Obsession [BxB]

Chapter Twenty-Four- There's A Corpse In This Bed [Part Three]

 A stunned silence resonated through the pub at Matt’s orders and we all fell completely silent, even the other men in there. Bryan gripped my forearm tightly and shoved me to the side, away from Jake. Matt pushed his way through us and we followed him in sheepish single file out the door.

 “I’ll come by the house later.” Bex stated, breaking the silence. She offered Matt an apologetic grimace and hugged him. He didn’t react, simply stood still and waited for her to release him. Then she and George hugged tightly before she gave everyone else an unenthusiastic wave and walked away. I frowned; why would she hug George and not me? Didn’t he know what she had tried to do on tour?

 Rich hopped into the driver’s seat and started the car engine while the rest of us tried to silently figure out where to sit. Jake got bored of waiting and with a roll of his eyes went for the front passenger seat, putting his foot up on the dashboard and tapping it impatiently. His disregard for other people’s belongings and emotions made me so angry sometimes… I got in the back of the car and Bryan, George and Matt all crammed in beside me. The door was shut and Rich slowly pulled away.

 Being stuck in a small space with five other guys who are all mad at you is a difficult situation. Rich turned on the radio and it was a song that I knew everyone liked, but no-one made any attempt to sing along or drum their hands on their legs. It was awkward. I sat as still as possible, my eyes boring into the back of Jake’s head, and breathed shallowly. The burn on my arm was starting to really hurt now, but there was nothing to be done about it.

 When Rich pulled up outside the house, nobody could get out of the car fast enough. Jake’s hands fumbled with the front door key and we were tripping over ourselves to get inside, away from each other. George and Matt headed for the living room, Jake to the garden, Bryan and Rich to the kitchen and I went upstairs.

 I stepped through the door to Jake’s room- and stopped.

 The fairly small space had been filled with boxes, all labelled with my name on. Briskly walking over to the stack closest to me, I ripped the top one open to find some of my things inside. No, no, no, this isn’t happening… Jake couldn’t be sending me back to my mother’s. I couldn’t be that bad. I didn’t belong in her house anymore; I belonged here with my friends.

 I would refuse to leave. It was simple. When the time came for him to ask me to go, I would refuse. There was no way I was losing everything- I couldn’t let that happen. My mother meant the world to me and I would always take care of her but that did not mean I had to live with her.

 Opening the top box on the second pile revealed some of my childhood things. I paused and smiled to myself before going to shut the bedroom door. Moving the box from the top of the pile to the floor, I sat down with my back resting against the bed. A few moments of fumbling under the mattress lead to the discovery of a bottle of vodka, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter; Jake’s secret stash. I had a drink, lit a cigarette, and started to go through the box.

 First of all my hands landed on the bottle of my dad’s aftershave. I pulled the cool gold-painted plastic lid off the top and inhaled deeply so as to mask the cigarette smoke with his scent. It was sad, really, that this was the only tangible thing I had of him as a person. It was nice to be able to wear his clothes and know we would be a similar size, to listen to his music collection and imagine his thoughts upon hearing the songs for the very first time but… they weren’t really a part of him. They were material things he surrounded himself with. The cologne carried the very scent of him, the adoration from my mother, and a sense of home for me.

 Dozens of photos littered the box also, small, thin rectangles holding so much of my personal history. Given that we could never afford a proper camera, day trips with my mother and occasions like birthdays and Christmas were always captured with disposable ones. The problem was that we would both constantly forget to actually take any photos, so lots of moments were missed. The ones that were captured were beautiful though: aged four I sat on my mother’s knee and had my first ice cream on a sandy beach with blue skies overhead: aged seven I gave my mum a homemade incredibly burnt chocolate cake with ridiculously runny turquoise icing for Mother’s Day, and she cut it in half and we finished every bit even though it sucked: aged eight I came home from school with my first black eye and she made me stand in “tough” poses to keep my mind from the pain. My mother had been the greatest constant in my life and in that moment I knew that I would be a far shittier person if I’d had anyone else as a mother. Without having a man in the household she taught me how to be one- and I really was throwing it away.