I'll Never Let You Go

Dearest Rhia,

You always used to say to me that a problem shared is a problem halved. I never understood what you meant, and I still don't. I think you said it to encourage me to open up a little more.
I've never spoken to anyone about the last night I saw you, or how I felt about it, so if you don't mind, I'm going to tell you now. I want to explain things, because that's what I never got the chance to do.

We were so in love and it was the best. We were pretty much one person squished out into two people, so for all our qualities that balanced us out, we had ones that clashed. I loved to party, to live for the moment. You liked to plan for things, you were a dreamer, always thinking about the future. We balanced in that respect. We were both passionate and stubborn so arguments were always intense.

You didn't think my partying was healthy for the band. You thought that I should focus more on my career, especially as you knew we were going do something big. You knew we could make it.

I disagreed. I didn't see the harm, nor did I see why you were so bothered about it. Looking back now, I know exactly why you were bothered about it. I'm a twat when I get drunk. I would hit on anything that moved and blame it on 'banter' or being a 'lad'. I would have hated it if you did that.

So we argued about it, for two days straight. Before I knew it, another party had cropped up out of the blue and I thought fuck it. It you want me to be some party crazy dick who doesn't give a shit about who he hurts, then I'm going to be.

Long story short, I cheated on you. She was the older cousin of some girl in the year below. I didn't even know her name. I didn't care to know her name. All I wanted was a reaction from you. With alcohol still pumping through my veins, I rang you and told you. I laughed when I told you. I fucking laughed.

You hung up on me. I think back now and I wonder if you cried when you hung up. Did you cry from frustration or from being hurt? Did you cry silently, like you did when you watched 'Bridge to Terabithia' or was it a full-on breakdown? I've thought of every scenario in my head and none of them is any easier to deal with. I was so in love with you and I hurt you. I hurt you bad. You must have been so crushed and it was all my own, stupid, selfish doing.

I wasn't expecting you to react in the way that you did. It was less than 15 minutes later and you had turned up at the party. I had never seen you fully drunk before but there you were, drinking straight vodka, dancing with every guy who looked at you. You were so beautiful, too, so it wasn't a matter of every guy who looked at you, but every guy who was at the party. Every guy but me. You wouldn't even look at me. I sat, wallowing in self-pity, self-loathing, watching strangers put their hands on your hips and whispering God knows what in your ear.

And then I understood it. I understood why you got so annoyed. I understood why you hated my partying and why you wanted me to stop. I understood what it would cost me - what I feared it already had cost me.

I was certain that you had come to make a point. I kept imagining you'd waltz over to me and pass me the bottle and say 'drink up - it's just water anyway and you look like you could use some.' I thought that you'd see how sorry I was and how guilty I felt. I thought you'd tell me that it was okay and that you were pissed off and that I had a lot of making up to do.

I didn't imagine some sleazy guy, at least 5 years older than us, making a move on you and you letting him. I didn't imagine me walking up to him and punching him dead centre in the face. I didn't imagine him retaliating. I didn't imagine you pulling him off instead of me and leading him out of the garden onto the drive. I didn't imagine that you'd get into the passenger seat of his car and take off with him.

But then again, I guess you didn't anticipate him to be as drunk as he was. I think you would have asked him to drop you home, before you called me and we would argue again and we'd both cry and tell each other that we loved each other and that we were sorry. I like to think that.

You didn't even reach the middle of town before he had lost control of the wheel and sent you head first into the newsagents we used to get food from to eat during school. It was where we first met, on the first day before year seven.

They announced you dead on the scene.

And you were gone.

Your final words to me were: "Fuck off, Josh. I deserve better than you, anyway."

You were right. You were so right. You deserved better and you should have had better, but you belonged with me. You didn't belong to me, you weren't mine to control or mine to claim. You were this beautiful girl for me to appreciate and to cherish and to love. I did all three of those things, never at the right times, never at the same time and never when you needed it the most but I tried. I guess now I'm trying to make up for it.

I didn't drive the car, no, but I drove you to get in that car. I broke your heart, which in turn lead to it stopping altogether. You were the most precious thing I had ever had the privilege to hold, but I was too rough and reckless with you.

I ruined your families life, I ruined your friends lives, I ruined my own life but more importantly I ruined yours.

I am so sorry, love.

Yours, still (and probably for the rest of my life),
Joshua
x x x