Hold My Hand - Lashton

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-four

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Luke felt purposeless. But he also felt free. He began to think that there was not much point in freedom. It made the individual lazy and confused. Whilst he hated societal rules and norms, he craved them to give his life some structure.

Luke still has the artificial deadlines of university essays and reading to structure his life. But, without Ashton, he didn't know how to structure his emotions. It had been two weeks since he received the note with such a simple sentence sprawled across it, and he was still picking up the pieces of his life that ruptured at that moment.

He was still so fragile. His family crept around him, careful not mention their own adoringly love for their partners. Careful not to display any affections for one another. His parents tried to provide him with some foundation, they took him to a beach.

But, they couldn't control everyone. They were entitled to love. And Luke knew exactly who was in love. The couples sharing food, rubbing lotion into each other's sweaty bodies and those yelling at their children. Luke neither wanted nor cared about children - he was after all only nineteen - but he craved that sensation so much.

It was a week before Luke was due to travel back to his university and let fate take his course. One side of him sat his notebook and a copy of Radcliffe's The Italian which he could barely finish and had no clue what to write an essay about. And to the other side sat a copy of The Robber Bride by Atwood.

Atwood was Luke's go-to. It was not that he could escape reality with her fiction. No, her fiction was almost too real. Too mundane. But that was what he needed. He needed to be slapped in the face with social injustices and the unfairness of life. Because only then could he learn from his suffering and get back on track. He could look at the female protagonist's social injustices and learn that at least he didn't have to permanently suffer from sexism. His life wasn't that bad. And whilst his feelings were valid, they were only temporary and it was in his power to change them.

He had just finished the book and the rawness of the writing left him thoughtful. He was now applying Atwood's words to his life. He wanted to tell Ashton all about the book and how it was helping him heal.

Luke clicked on his writing app and stared at the flickering cursor. He wanted to write. To Ashton, he didn't know. But, there was something he wanted to say. A feeling he wanted to unravel. So he began.

To Ashton.

Luke hit the delete button. He wasn't talking to Ashton. No. He was talking to himself. And maybe everyone. But he was doing this for himself, and then for everyone else to understand.

Luke wasn't writing a letter. He was writing an essay. He didn't know it. But he was writing his first blog post. A post that not only would a hundred people come to read within the first day, but so would Ashton.

Today I finished The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood. I thought of him at the end of almost every sentence. It seems like he consumes every inch of my life. That's not his fault. It's mine. I let him in and now I need to learn to forget him.

I have it bookmarked. On page three-hundred and one. This was about Charis. I relate a lot to Charis. Not just because I am vegan and maybe slightly spiritual. But because I feel that vulnerable and lost too.

Atwood wrote: "She'd be suffering for love, suffering passively, instead of fighting. Fighting for herself, for her idea of who she is. That right kind of love should be selfless, for a woman at any rate ... The self should be scrubbed like a floor, on both knees, with a harsh wire brush, until nothing is left at all"

If you can't tell. I sort of just got broken up with. Well, I don't even know what it was. But, I am very much suffering for love. I've lost all sense of direction in my life because of him. I've let my guard down and I've become someone I didn't want to be. Now I don't know who I am anymore. And I don't think he'd recognise me anymore.

I've still got a part of me left. I'm not quite unrecognisable. He hasn't quite conquered by identity. I've got this voice. This voice that allows me to write what I cannot speak. I could never speak these words, but the writing lets me have some type of relief. And then build me back up again. Maybe so he can recognise me. Or maybe into someone completely new. I just don't want to suffer from his love anymore. I'm done with him.

Because as Atwood said: "hope was the worst. As long as there was hope how was she supposed to get on with her life."

I know I cannot sit around and hope and mope for him to take me back. If I do I'm never going to free. I'm never going to live my life as I want to. If I do that am I not letting him win? I know he is not playing a game, but is everything, not a game? Everyone wants to win something. Whether it's money, a job or a person. Everyone is out to get what they want. And all I want is to just live my life without this endless worry of what the future may hold. If I get rid of this hope, then I don't have to worry about him knocking on my door and using me for one more lonely night.

It ends here. "Every ending is arbitrary because the end is where you write the end, A period, a dot of punctuation, a point of status. A pinprick in the paper: you could put your eye to it and see-through, to the other side, to the beginning of something else".

Here begins a new me. Not quite so different from the old me. I have learnt stuff from him that I will cherish. But I now must move beyond that and search for something new and wholesome. Because I wasn't enough for him, and he not enough for me. We'll be okay.

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Something different and I don't know if I like it but oh well!

My week has totally been messed up by the lockdown coming in place and I really don't want to go back to uni but my stupid uni is still requiring us to go onto campus for lessons. It really doesn't make sense.

Anyway, how is everyone? 

Thank you so much for reading.