Page 88 of Elijah
Elijah
aged 28
“That’s the second time she’s rung you this afternoon,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving the TV.
“I know and I’m watching the football.” I didn’t need to look at him to know he was now watching me. “Anyway, it wasn’t Mia.”
“Fucking liar.”
I didn’t answer because it was pointless. He was right, I was a fucking liar, although Mia had actually called three times, not just the two that he knew about. She called once when he’d gone to the bathroom.
I picked up my phone and typed out a quick text to her.
Elijah: Sorry, just with a customer x
It didn’t seem quite right to say I couldn’t be bothered to answer because I was watching my team thrash the opposition.
I was about to put my phone back in my pocket, when it beeped with a text.
Mia: Okay babe. Speak later. Missing you x
I blew out a breath, my eyes going back to the match just as the final whistle blew. Without a word, Sam snatched the remote from the arm of my chair and turned the TV off.
“Oi, I wanted to hear what they got to say about the game,” I cried, trying to take the remote back.
Sam threw it to the opposite end of the sofa from where he was sitting and shook his head.
“Not happening, now spill the fucking beans about why you ignored your girlfriend’s call.”
“Because I was watching the footy. Now turn it back on.”
“No. Talk to me Eli.” Sam leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, his brown eyes pleading with me.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sam.”
“The truth. I want you to tell me how you really feel about Mia. What you think about her being away for so long? How you actually feel about Amy, come to that.”
My head snapped up. “About Amy? I don’t feel anything about Amy. We’ve had this fucking conversation before and nothing has changed.”
“I know that,” Sam laughed but it was devoid of any humour. “You loved her eleven fucking years ago and you still love her. Now be fucking honest with yourself, because I’ve got to be honest with you Eli, I’m sick of sounding like a damn broken record.”
I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up then and stop beating a dead horse, but I was tired of denying what we both knew to be true. It didn’t matter how much I said the words and denied it, Sam was right.
“I don’t miss her,” I breathed out on a shaky exhale. “I keep dropping her calls because I don’t know what to say so that I don’t make her feel like crap. I don’t think I can act like the loving boyfriend. I can’t tell her I’ve unpacked her boxes, when I haven’t. I can’t say I miss you when I don’t, and I can’t tell her to hurry home, because I’m dreading her coming back because then she’ll know that moving in was a huge mistake.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
Sam grinned at me, but I also saw sympathy. My brother had been on at me for weeks about being honest with Mia, but it didn’t mean he didn’t understand how hard it was for me.
“You have to tell her, bro,” he said. “She can’t come back here expecting it to be love and roses and romantic reunions.”
“I know that,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I do, but part of me wants to carry on, but how we were – seeing each other three times a week. Her living with her flatmate and me living here, alone.”
“And which part of you wants to beg Amy to take you back?”
“No part, and there’s no point,” I replied, sitting back in my chair. “I admit I love her, I’ll always love her, but Amy doesn’t feel that way. She thinks I did something unforgiveable and I can’t hang around for the rest of my life, hoping that one day she’ll change her mind. I have to move on at some point.”
“Even without asking her? Without taking one more chance that she’ll listen?”
