The Aftermath & The Brother's Blowjobs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Between Easter Saturday & The Situation By The Station, a broken Tom would have no luck trying to turn around a precarious situation.

Submitted: November 06, 2015

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Submitted: November 06, 2015

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The Aftermath

 

I shook my head consistently in disbelief, not with its previous positive connotations. I had broken, my blistered memories stung with nostalgic horror. The last three years were all about rebuilding from nothing. The 12/13 season was a miracle, there was no other fair definition, I had risen from bottom to top, and only a cruel twist of fate had administered my failure. Without that illness, promise delivered, title won. My unexpected recovery had inspired a youthful vibrant resurgence within me, and a new look me had adapted to thrive in new circumstances. This season, all about building on that, all about achieving unprecedented goals, all about resilience, all about mentality. She tore that plan to pieces. Then it became all about her, she held all the cards. At the end of 2013 when I finally began my assent, I could've walked out of this situation, it would have had no power over me. Now, I was beaten and humiliated. How on earth would I come back from this? I wasn't going to, my dream was over.

 

Rehearsal was a welcome escape from my destruction, and was unfortunately all I had left to fight for. She couldn't come back here, and that was of small comfort. I didn't want that to be my comfort, I didn't want to win against her. I loved her, I loved her more than anything. I had given up Berwick for her. I didn't believe such a thing was possible, but it was true. I had sacrificed myself for her, and now she was gone, I was unable to find where I had put myself. 

 

The lyttons was a mass of melody, and the anguish rang out through my mother's lyrics. The foreshadowing was poignantly evident.

 

"What's the use of wun'drin.... If the ending will be sad."

 

Only a few days prior those words had stirred a prophetic fear within me. Now, they were the evidence of that. I left, and I cried, and I cried.

 

Carla hadn't released me from my chamber of despondency. She wouldn't let me go. She wanted me to hang about, not to move on, on the premise that she may want me in six months time. Wow, what kind of naive moronic fool with no self respect would accept those terms. Of course I did. I wasn't me anymore, I was gone. Long gone.

 

Thursday, the day I despised. At 15 it represented a sure win, a blissful period of opportunity and success. Now, it was the bane of me, it ritualistically destroyed me. I needed to be away from Chicagos, I couldn't go there, I could be erased by Jason, John and Carla. There was nothing in the tank. I could do nothing. For the first time since the poisoning, I felt utterly powerless. She had promised, in her attempts to keep me from moving on, that she wouldn't go with anyone else. That gave me hope. Even after everything, I couldn't help that I loved her. I found myself begging, begging she wouldn't go with anyone else, if this really was just a break she wanted. I couldn't deal with any of this. My stomach tightened and I felt detrimentally sick. I couldn't eat. Wow, I had become her. Carla of 2014 was now Tom of 2015. She was clubbing and thriving, while I sat lost. It was the ultimate Wuthering Heights "I am Heathcliff" moment. I asked Anna to drive me as far away as possible, I thought it would be best, but, knowing myself too well, I couldn't stay away, because before it had happened I knew what was going on. We returned to Stevenage and I paid Terri a fiver to go into Chicagos and tell me the brutal heart wrenching truth. John, Jason and Kyle, all three of them, all over them. As if this couldn't get worse, it had now multiplied. My body couldn't contain my hurt. I had managed to break even more. Normally in these circumstances, I would go to the motorway hill, howl at the stars, and scream. But there was nothing left in me. She had taken that. I couldn't comprehend it, those boys had stamped on my face only 5 days earlier. I was still the same Tom she held at night, the same Tom she told would have a family with her one day, the same Tom that made her breakfast each day before I went to work, the same Tom who held her when she sobbed, destroyed her insecurities. The same Tom who gave up Berwick for her. This was my repayment. No wonder I'd lost the battle against the Isted's, it was never mine to win. Carla had always been the one calling the shots, she could hand pick the winner, and she had. I was finished. I tested just how heartless she was. Terri had photos of them, and I messaged Carla to say Drew had sent them. Her reply was that Drew was a liar. What can't speak can't lie. The photos were enough to eradicate the microbe of hope I still harboured. She not only wanted ruin me but damage mine and Drew's relationship. Her evil was finally beginning to register with me, but it wasn't over yet.

 

The next day I text her, begging for the truth, for her to keep us alive or put the nails of truth in our coffin. She told me that she wasn't fair and that I should move on, should stop contact with her, the same thing she'd begged me not to do only a few days ago. I was driving to a fancy dress shop to find a jockey's outfit for grand national, I had promised Karlie I would. Well, Tom had, I was simply what was left from his destruction. The radio sang through my shuffled tracks. Whistle came on. Her whistle.

 

"The loneliest words you'll ever know, if only, if only it was so. The emptiest words there could ever be, it could've been me, it should've been me." I sang along with her, tears streaming, my sobs allowing no coherence to the lyrics. It was the strangest duet of all time. Except maybe that one with Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett, that was pretty weird. Two more singers entered the song, and unfortunately the humour was on this occasion lost on me. Because with Adam and Steve's voice on the radio, this was now the strangest quartet, consisting of me, my now evil ex girlfriend, the brother of another ex girlfriend who my newest ex girlfriend was crazy about, and a paedophile who changed his name to the area I live in. 

 

"A kiss is a terrible thing to waste, don't lose what you got coz it can't be replaced."

 

The words were sporadically relevant, and my tears continued to thrive. Here was a different Carla, the one I'd loved, the one who loved me.

 

"So many things in your life that you’re bound to regret. Why didn't I do this? Why didn't I do that?"

 

Each word deepened and deepened. It sang a foreshadowing I could never have grasped at the time. 

 

"So many chances you lost, that you'll never forget. Why didn't I take it? Why didn't I make it come true."

 

 Now it hurt more, truer and truer. I was 20 days shy, when I got ill, of completing the promise I'd made when I was 15. The promise I lived by. Now where was I? A lifetime shy.

 

I clung to the desperation that perhaps the things that were destroying me might in some way be hurting her. If Chicagos was her playground, then I was going to use that to do exactly what she was doing. Only problem was, I didn't have an army of loyal Chicago worshippers, all eager to attend and donate their wage. Instead, my squad consisted of people who despised the place, much as I did.

 

A strong Tom was good at persuasion, but this Tom was pathetic, a crumbling mess of a once infallible fortress. Somehow, in between intervals of tears, I managed to persuade Chris, Anna, Terri, and bizarrely, Ryan, into all attending. Friday's were not Thursdays or Saturdays. She wouldn't be there, but seldom would anyone else. Regardless, we went.

 

Ryan was good with women, and quickly struck up a conversation with two average looking girls. I did the gentlemanly thing and bought them a drink, but, my ability to speak and sell myself had diminished. What would I say? "Hi, I'm the shell of a man people thought was quite funny and was up for anything at any hour." Regardless, we took photos and photos and photos. The illusion of a good time. What can't speak can't lie. It was.

 

Chris began to grow in anger at my reluctance to get with some disgraceful looking girls. The taller one could've won the lottery and spent the best part of her winnings at a dentist her teeth were so appalling. The other one was just ugly. Still, we danced and danced. Then my phone chimed, and a chime meant one thing. Carla.

 

"Moved on already, hope you enjoy your new girl, some dream, at least you can actually get some from her."

 

Now, one of those statements were true, I could fuck this unbearably hideous girl. However, I didn't want to. And I attested before and I meant it, the sex didn't bother me. I loved her, I really did. I honestly could live without. I wondered how she knew. Then I checked facebook. Ryan had tagged me. No, how terrible would this look. Me and this Hills Have Eyes extra dancing together. That wouldn't elicit any kind of hurt in Carla. Or would it, you couldn't see her face, just her incredibly juxtaposed decent figure. Oxymoron of the year was she. Nice one Ryan.

 

Chris escalated, he wasn't happy that I still wasn't chasing the girls he'd picked. He thrust his hands round my shirt and then began to push me, to subtle avail. I didn't care. The proposal had lost all meaning.

 

Ryan uploaded the picture of us stood, my mouth posed so usually agape, alongside the two average girls. They were enough I guessed, to elicit what I wanted, to prove I wasn't dead. We chatted away to them some more and I thought potentially that the conversation was going well and we were getting somewhere. The two girls wandered off to dance to some specific song, and me and Ryan began to finish our Budweisers. Then the one I'd been talking to and bought a couple of drinks, collapsed. 

 

Such is the disregard for human life in Chicagos that it actually took ten minutes for the dance floor to be shut, and another five for the music to cease. There was only about twenty people totalling the place, and she was in clear view of everyone. Paramedics arrived and as she was stretchered off the DJ recommenced his catalogue of crap music. I was done. Chris wasn't. We waited, and waited, and waited.

 

Saturday, grand national, and I was about as up for it as I would be if I was entered into a milk drinking competition. But, I had a promise and a reputation to preserve, so, despite my inability to keep tears from my eyes once every fifteen minutes, I adorned a pink jockey's outfit, and handed out free bets across the town centre. Me and Karlie took a selfie, and, I sent it to Carla, who was somehow still on speaking terms with me. I sent it to show her how silly I looked, well, on the surface that's why I sent it. I actually sent it to show me and Karlie together, I knew it would irritate her jealousy of her, but hey, I was single and free to do as I please.

 

The day was a disaster, I was a wreck. Me and Karlie sat on the steps in the town centre and I explained the previous night's disaster. I told her about the ugly girl and Chris getting angry.

 

"How ugly?" Karlie frowned.

 

It was at this point I realised that my life would never cease to amaze me. The ugly girl from the night before strode past. Truman show?

 

"That ugly." I pointed. "Karlie that's her."

 

"Mate!" Karlie's disapproving laugh echoed after her. She handed me a cigarette. I had asked for it. No character smoking like at overtime. This time I was smoking. Just me. Just Tom.

 

Karlie told me that everyone was planning to go out after the shop closed and I sought unlikely and reckless opportunity.

 

"Chicagos." I said, hiding my true agenda.

 

"What the fuck mate?!" Karlie shut down my request immediately.

 

"One night Karlie, I just want one night. I want to have one decent night in that place. I can't retire like this."

 

Karlie agreed. Me, her, Stuart and Cherie would go. I quickly zipped home to grab the tools that would transform my hair into something presentable, and as I returned, Peter came in. He had just split up from Tracey, I knew this because Tracey had told Carla, and I had Carla's facebook, so Tracey had effectively told me. I told him how broken I was that Carla just felt nothing for me now and I could tell he could t empathise. He was the other side of the coin. He felt nothing for Tracey.

 

Fate intervened once more and not for me. Stewart wasn't coming, which meant Karlie had nowhere to stay, which meant Karlie couldn't come, which meant I had wasted my time and hope. Despondent, but expectant, I sighed, and resigned myself to another failure. Nah. One trump card. Anna-Marie!

 

I rang her and pleaded she take Karlie home. It took little persuasion and suddenly my plan was back on. Me, Karlie and Cheri would go. The first goal is scored since Easter Saturday. Despite being bottom of my metaphorical league table and without a win since before the collapse, I now at least had a goal. Fuck had I fallen.

 

Me and Cherie ventured across the bridge, and I knew it would be another half hour before Karlie arrived. Cherie was nothing to look at, plus the adage of her wearing her work uniform wasn't going to make her stand out for the right reasons. No sign of Carla's clan in sight. That was good. That didn't last long. She waltzed in, and began messaging me, her earlier easy tone had evaporated.

 

"So now you're stalking me!"

 

Ok, let's get something straight here. As much as she went to Chicagos, she didn't own it, it wasn't hers. I don't have a deed to Berwick. Plus, I'd been there a lot earlier than she had. The whole my 21st birthday, Harry/Chris/Micky fight, tree in Luke's car, accidentally breaking open Harry's door, leaning out the window screaming Sinatra and Gladiator lines night, had taken place in Chicagos. So fuck her and her naive belief that she had a stake in the place. I had pulled in this place with Stace, we'd had some ridiculous night in Sandy as a result. I had good history in this place. Ok, not recently, but that was irrelevant. I'd spent 2013 and 2014 having successful nights here, so fuck her and her 18th birthday making her believe she had some divine right to this place. If she wanted me to leave, she'd have to do it herself. If she had shown up at Berwick I would've devoted myself to her removal. I wouldn't just expect it. 

 

"If you're trying to make me jealous, you'll have to do much better than that."

 

That was the next text, and ironically, I wasn't. We were going to have a night out as a shop team anyway. I saw the smile on her face. She was enjoying my character demise. She at last had her revenge, her payback for me not wanting her in 2014. Well done Car, you turned it around, and managed to replicate the pain you felt and push it onto me. I was finally in a battle that I couldn't win. It was all beginning to make sense, we had traded places entirely. But I didn't revel in her misery. I had still seen her and comforted her, even when I knew I didn't want her in that capacity anymore. Although I wasn't without guilt. Anytime she had become too much for me during 2014 I would ignore her, as best I could. She had stolen my power. I couldn't now brush her off like she was nothing. All this time had simply been about payback. Getting back together was simply her payback. I could see it on her face. She loved how the tables had turned. I'd never done anything to her out of malice. Bias or not, this wasn't fair. 

 

An embrace of assured confidence strode in proudly, hugged in a wealth of royal blue. Karlie was here. She looked stunning. The very image Carla had painted in her head stood right in front of her. She was better. Carla couldn't compete with her, she had reason to be jealous at last. No confident text accompanied her entrance.

 

The smoking area, and Carla was accompanied by her whale, and she was accompanied by Jake. Jake was an ever present gobshite. Apparently in the army, I use apparent as an insinuation, due to this kid's physique. He tried flirting with Karlie, and never has the word 'tried' been such an asset to a sentence. Karlie stood there, as he began some odd series of chat up lines, then he tried something else.

 

"Can I ask you something?" He wasn't asking, he was just preparing himself for his next statement. This wasn't exactly a mystery that needed solving, we'd watched him walk over from Carla to come and speak to us, so I ended his cocky little speech there and then.

 

I leant over and over whispered in Karlie's ear. 

 

"He's part of Carla's lot." My actions elicited a change in his demeanour. His face sank not so subtly and he opened his unwanted trap yet again.

 

"Forget it, he's ruined it now." He groaned. Jeez, even Rachel didn't whinge like that, how old was this guy, like five. I'm sure I recognised him from an age ago. I never quite ascertained if I did, but if I was right then I was dealing with a moron who posed no real threat. Karlie found the whole incident amusing and gave him his voice back.

 

"Go on, say it." She offered.

 

"No, he's ruined it." He whinged again.

 

"Just say it." Karlie was a nemesis to argue with, far too headstrong and brutally direct. He conceded.

 

"Well.." He began. "He's still hung up on his ex in here." Karlie's giggles ruined his big climactic closing statement.

 

"Yeah, that's why he's stood here with me." Karlie had done enough to make this cocky stance run away from his face, as did he himself. "Stupid little girl." Karlie had made her assessment. To her Carla was nothing, the threat wasn't even minimal.

 

Karlie kept me close all night, and she produced a momentous effort to keep me from looking for Carla. I realised just how influential and important she was. My squad was world class, but the addition of Karlie rendered Carla's recent acquisitions irrelevant. I hadn't had a proper girl best mate since Lynda, and now I did. Game on. Carla flung herself into the arms of John all night in either retaliation, or just pure cuntishness. Again she managed to burn me more, and I saw his smug grasp arrow straight at me. That look had more power than anything I'd ever seen before. I couldn't stop it and I couldn't ignore it. Karlie repeatedly told me to look away, I didn't, and she snapped her hand across my face. The sound clapped through the air, and I returned to life.

 

I'd somehow made a habit of getting beat around the face of late, but this one was necessary. I was so out of sorts that the pain failed to register and I could see all of Carla's group stare in shock at both Karlie's brutality and the apathy from me that followed. Carla looked more horrified than most, she even left John's arm for a millisecond. She knew how I was inclined. She probably thought I enjoyed it.

 

Me and Cherie walked back inside, erroneously assuming Karlie had followed. Ten minutes later when she finally arrived, a grin and a giggle were staged at few second intervals.

 

"Mate you won't believe what just happened." She teased. "As I went to walk back in the club, your ex has turned round and yelled: he's mine you cunt!" Wow, someone bit, hard. Maybe she wasn't as ecstatic as her body language dictated. "I just turned round and laughed, I looked her up and down and really Tom I can't believe you're crying over that. You could do a lot better easily." I didn't accept Karlie's findings, it seemed odd to me that someone I thought was so incredible, she could perceive as so irrelevant. Our lift arrived, and we left.

 

I thought this would've helped, but, as April was proving to me, this would not be the case. The calendar was like a horror film to me, each day another opportunity for April to bend me over and teach me who was in charge. I was April's bitch, and my small bite back was about to be punished. So, in keeping with April's brutality, it got worse. Thursday night came back around, despite my best attempts to scribble it from the kitchen wall. I wasn't out this time, but it didn't matter. Facebook told me most of what I needed to know, really it told me what I didn't need to know. 3am spun around and Carla began the most beg friended one night stand I'd ever witnessed. Downstairs with his brother, Carla began messaging Jason, hinting away at what she could do for him. Now it got dark, but I couldn't stop reading. Jason responded with the narrative that implied he wasn't too interested. Which if anything, just worsened the torment for me. He wasn't even bothered, whilst I was distraught. Then she implied she'd give him a blow job. Wow, now I've never been overly keen on the blow job, which may be a surprising male admission, but fuck me, on the off chance I did, I had to work for it, and now this gobshite was gonna just be given what I grafted for. This sucked, literally. Add on to it that I had to deal with all her crazy shit, in fact I still was, she was still texting a load of OCD bollocks. The messages stopped and I knew what was happening.

 

"It started off as a kiss, how did it end up like this."

 

Me and Carla had battled about what Mr Brightside had meant, but suddenly it hit me that I had been right all along. I knew exactly how Brandon Flowers felt, just without the money and singing talent. I pictured them, in his room, on the stairs, on his sofa.

 

"He takes off her dress now"

 

There was something simplistically horrifying about this whole experience. Here I was, 23, having built my life up from consistently being knocked down to zero. Now I was sat, having been undeniably humiliated by her, by Jason, by John, by Kyle to some sort of by proxy extent, and there was nothing I could do. She was sucking off the boy, who she had got to kick my face in. Me, not her enemy, but the person she claimed she loved. I wondered for some reason what they would talk about, would it be me, would she congratulate him on defeating me. She set it up for them to be there, she should congratulate herself. Then I remembered that you don't say a lot when your mouth is stuffed with cock. Although saying that, Carla was lazy with it, I'd seen her put more effort into ice lollies. I took little comfort in the notion that Jason might not be enjoying himself as much as is humanly possible, and that's when it just clicked in me. It was over now, but now it was over for me. I could forgive everything up til now, I really could've. But this, it wasn't the action but the intent. She was trying to get with the guy who had booted my eye in, whilst leaving me available to mop up the mess of her OCD. Whilst none of this stopped me loving her still, it was now a certainty, that we had crossed the rubicon, and that there was no way back. Another thing then resonated with me. Why the fuck did these two only ever communicate exclusively via Facebook? I mean, fuck me, every other cunt she text, it was just this gobshite, and was a convenient torture for me. If they'd have just text, then I wouldn't have been able to read it. In all honestly, I'm glad I could, it needed to be over for me. The horror of my reality had been utterly compounded for me. Nothing in my life had hurt me more than this. Not leaving home. Not Leigh. Not anything. I had broken, and my pieces were staggeringly shattered. I didn't cry, because there was nothing left to give from my once passionate vessel. I was empty. The next day was no easier for me, in fact, i worsened, each and every day. I couldn’t win. The perception of me that those around had built, I couldn’t live up to it. “Nothing bothers Tom. Tom will find a way to get through anything and turn it around.” That’s what they’d said of me. Well I couldn’t. I wasn’t special, just lucky occasionally. I wasn’t any different from anyone else. I was no-one. It was all just luck. We all are born to die. One day my luck would run out. I felt it had.

 

So, deciding that I was an absolute glutton for punishment, I decided to ultimately make it worse. Me and Rachel sat reading up on 500 days of summer, I now wanted to disprove what I'd proved when I'd tried to disprove it back in 2013. I know what I meant. I wanted to find a flaw in fate. A loophole, an oversight. If anything I just cemented it more. Tom, in the film, had a younger sister, Rachel, a young blonde sister, who he confided in after he didn't take his break up well. I stopped reading. Then I had a plan, a stupid, reckless plan. I loaded up my old laptop to try and find a piece of music, Sakamoto's Wuthering Heights. It captured the horror in a way I didn't think chords could harbour. Stumbling block number one: the password. It wasn't the usual few, and then it dawned on me. Back during the poisoning episode in 2013, at the height of my illness, I had researched and researched everything about the poison, which just made me worse. A little bit akin to what I was doing now. But, I remember asking Carla to change my password, so I couldn't look anything up, which, of course, she had to then give me so I could regain access. It didn't take a moment for my brain to pull out the relevant file from the archives. I logged in. Easy. Then came the plan. Surely, this was the password to everything else. Wait. No. I knew all the passwords, just how could I forget? I knew the AppleID, I knew the e-mail password. The artist formerly known as Steve Anderson had made that one for her. But there was an issue, because if I logged in, it would tell her I logged in, and send an e-mail. But, with Rachel on the laptop and an irrelevant phone call, I had this. I rang Carla, as I still could, and began chatting with her about the metaphorical aspects of that film, 500 days of summer. I was waffling and blagging, whilst Rachel logged in and deleted the e-mail that informed her that we had access. I renamed both my iPod and Rachel's phone with the name "Carla's iPhone", hoping that this would be enough to disguise the devices. It was. We were in. Kyle text, and it got worse.

 

"Do you think anyone else saw us the other night." The messages went on, and then I realised we had access to her google account, we even had her search history. There were searches for giving your best friend a blowjob. Wow, these were on offer as some sort of after Easter closing down sale. Now I felt even worse. This gobshite who'd forced me to battle to see Carla, had now just swooped in and taken her. But she'd been with his brother. The same night? This was ridiculous. Frank Ocean had previously warned.

 

"I'm your girlfriend's best friend, soon I'll be taking over."

 

Now I was done, what could I do now to someone how erase some damage. I went back in time through search history. Last year, last January. "Trying to get my ex boyfriend back who is seriously ill."

 

"My ex boyfriend has a brain tumour, can I get back with him."

 

Devious little cunt, using my ailments for her recovery. This girl was evil. Fucking evil. Who the fuck even searches for this shit?! Kyle messaged throughout the night, and I bit. I rang Carla, citing an anonymous tip off about her and Kyle, which prompted them to text about it. She denied it to me, so I threw Karlie in there just to test the water, see if it would secure a confession. It was a lie, but I'd realised the truth had offered me no reward. I couldn't move on like she did. Karlie technically ticked every right box on paper. She was hot, she was dominant, she was interested in my music, and we got on so easily. But I loved Carla, despite it all, I just wasn't that evil, I wasn't that cold. This then promoted Kyle to suggest I might have access to her account, but despite this, they still text about how she would lie to me some more and then Kyle proceeded to tell her he would stab me. I'd have stuck the knife in his hand. He was the kind of new age, metrosexual, androgynous, wannabe philanthropist, who probably had a moral dilemma sticking a knife in butter. He was no Jason. He wouldn't dare.

 

Morning came and Carla changed passwords at last, under Kyle's correct suspicions. I rang her, one last time, ever.

 

"I was in the account, I know everything, and I've spent the last year getting off with everyone I could." I had to generate an illusion that gave me something back. That was it, the last phone conversation I ever had with her. The end of a era that promised so much, but ultimately delivered my destruction. There was no coming back from this. Frank Ocean's Novocane would never play on my phone again. She would never ring again.

 

I lost all access to all accounts. They all changed. She facebooked Kyle to tell him she changed her facebook password, but I was reading it, so how did that work? Of course. Active sessions. The password had changed, but she hadn't logged out my session. I knew it would be inevitable that one day it would log out, but for now, I still had some access. I still knew some detail of her plots. I just had to not read anything before she did. Possible, but not practical. 

 


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