Page 89 of Off the Pitch

Everything was changing, and I wasn’t quite sure if I liked it.

“You know,” David said as he shoved the box into the back of the van, “you’re always welcome to come see us. Anytime. Seriously, just turn up.”

I wondered why he’d said that and worried my face had given me away. I’d been so careful all day to try to be cheerful and not sad that my best friend was leaving me for his boyfriend. Even though it wasn’t really like that at all.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to intrude,” I said, plucking at the sleeves of the large knitted jumper I was wearing. It was dark blue and one of the only comfortable things I owned that wasn’t covered in paint or charcoal stains. That was the problem with being an artist—everything I owned was always sprinkled with paint.

“You won’t be,” David added. He pulled me into a tight hug, crushing me slightly into his ribs. There was a pause, and when he released me from his bear grip, I could see the worry playing across his face. It was like there was something he wanted to tell me and couldn’t find the right words. That was odd because he’d always told me everything.

“Kit,” he said finally. “Promise me you’ll let me know if you get lonely. I mean it’s always been just the two of us, and I worry about you.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I tried to smile even though I didn’t want to because David had done what he’d always done best—he’d hit the nail on the head with my emotions. I don’t know how he did it, but he always managed to know exactly how I was feeling, even when I didn’t. “I won’t get lonely. I like being on my own.”

That was true, in part.

I liked being on my own as long as there was another person in the house. Someone I could be with if I wanted company. That was what I’d always loved about living with David; he’d always given me my space, but if I wanted to spend time with him, he’d never minded either.

David had always joked that I was like an overgrown pet.

I wasn’t sure whether that was a fair analogy, although I would rather like to be a cat. They seemed to have nice lives, and then someone would give me food and let me sleep in the sun.

“I know, it’s just…” David ran his fingers through his hair, giving me a soft smile. “You’re my best friend, and I want you to be happy.”

Something squeezed painfully in my chest, but I kept on smiling.

“You’re my best friend too! And you shouldn’t worry so much. It’s not good for you. You have much more important things to think about, like your thesis. I know you haven’t finished it.”

“Fuck that thing! It’s going to be the death of me,” David groaned. “I’m never going to see the end of it.”

“It’s going to haunt you like a ghost,” I said, pleased that we’d changed the subject. “A very academic ghost that always corrects your grammar and wants you to put footnotes on everything.”

David laughed and threw an arm around me, leading me back into the house to grab more boxes.

It didn’t take long to collect the last few and squeeze them into the back of the van, like a giant game of Tetris. I hoped it wasn’t too difficult to unpack them at the other end, even though any problems would definitely be David’s because he was the one who’d packed the van in the first place.

Then it was time for last hugs and final reassurances that yes, I would remember to answer the door for the Tesco man later, and then they were gone, leaving me waving to them from the pavement.

I went inside and shut the door.

Truly alone for the first time in my life.

Three days later I was already convinced living alone wasn’t for me.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, I was just terrible at looking after myself. I got so absorbed in my work that I often forgot to eat regular meals, and it was only David texting me several times a day that reminded me to take regular breaks for food and tea.

I’d been so determined to get this right and prove to myself that I wasn’t as useless as some people had claimed, but that had failed within the first twenty-four hours when I’d forgotten to eat and hadn’t gone to bed until five in the morning.

A large part of my work was doing digital artwork for book covers and board games. It was mostly fantasy art that required me to spend hours making sure the figures matched those from the game or story, with complex backgrounds that often had me cursing nature for having so many shades of green or brown. The best projects were the ones when I got to have more free rein and could inject a little bit more quirkiness into my work.

I still took various commissions from different alternative communities on Tumblr and Twitter, who were a lot more patient and very friendly. I’d been drawing for them since university, and I still kept it up when I had time—especially because the pay was good and the recipients were always so happy with the finished projects. It made something warm unfurl in my chest whenever I received their excited messages afterwards. I liked knowing I’d given someone happiness.

If I had time after all that, then I worked on my own art—playing around with paints and charcoal while my heart sang. I’d love to be able to do that all the time, but my original art wasn’t particularly well known, and it couldn’t pay the bills. Living in an old house certainly wasn’t cheap, especially now that I was going to be living on my own.

So book covers and commissions it was.

The commissioned piece I was currently working on was driving me to distraction because the pose was more complex than usual, and I couldn’t quite seem to get the legs right. Plus finding reference material was proving to be an absolute nightmare, since dragons were usually depicted in two or three traditional poses. The piece was for a good friend on Tumblr, who’d commissioned several pieces from me in the past. I wanted it to be perfect. Only right now it was a complete mess, and I was two seconds away from scrapping the entire thing and starting from scratch.

It was only when I looked up, assuming only a short time had passed since I’d sat down, that I’d realised the early morning sun was streaming in through my windows.

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