Brave: How I rebuilt my life after love turned to hate - Adele Bellis

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was so determined to hang on to what we have.

      I’ve got so much to say sorry for but I’m fed up saying sorry, it’s not even about that anymore. I should not have fucked your head up, I didn’t mean it, it was my sentences, I should not have allowed you to do it with me, that was unfair. I should have known this would have fucked us up, I’ve been in jail that long … I’ve seen loads of my boys crumble cos of rumours about their girlfriend while they were in jail. It wasn’t good, people don’t know how much jail affects people, how stuff gets in their heads, they think it’s fun and games but it’s hard and yes it’s our faults and we shouldn’t expect them to wait for us but with us it felt different, I couldn’t let go, no matter how much it hurt. I should have been stronger but proves I aint as hard as people think.

      We made it through 11 months like that. I’d waited that long, and finally, just before Christmas, it was about to pay off because Anthony was up for parole. And then I got the phone call from him to tell me that – once again – he’d been turned down. He was staying inside for the rest of his sentence which was another two years. Two years of my life like this, after I’d already waited this long.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Adele,’ Anthony kept saying, sobbing down the phone, and what could I say to him then?

      ‘What am I going to do with myself now?’ was all I could manage.

      ‘You’ve got to move on, forget about me.’

      Could I? But then I had no idea if I could keep waiting, and the alternative was breaking his heart and mine by ending our relationship. But how could I carry on like this? I was 17 years old, maybe Mum had been right. I thought back to the woman bouncing a toddler on her hip, how she’d looked so at home in that prison. Was that really going to be me after all?

      Soz I hung up earlier, I didn’t know what to do with myself, I’m in a mess. I can’t listen to you cry, it’s too emotional. I’m heartbroken, Adele, I’m not even gonna lie, I feel lost, nothing feels real.

      There is so much I wanna say to you but I honestly can’t find the words, I’m speechless. Nothing makes sense at the moment, my life is just one big mess, god knows where to start or how to start rebuilding it. I got 25 months to think about that one, my release date at the moment is 28th January 2012.

      Earlier you said what are you supposed to do with yourself now, I can’t answer that one for you Adele, but I can say you are much better off without me I’m just a pure fuck up you could do much better than some prison boy, you’re a beautiful girl, hard to understand (LOL) nah, seriously, though babe you are the love of my life. I fell for you hard, I’m devastated this happened, you are my world, prison time don’t bother me one bit, I’m used to it, the thing that knocked me back, took the breath away from me, is breaking your heart, telling you to move on cos it’s not what I want one bit. I fucking love you more than I can say, I wish I could keep you forever, but that’s wrong, the right thing is to let you go. I can’t fuck up your life anymore than I already have, you deserve so much better … I’m so so sorry babe and wish you all the luck in the world.

      But I didn’t leave him, of course I didn’t. Instead he sent me a Christmas card from prison, and we started the new year apart.

      Well not over a year yet babe, but near a year – a year next week so by the time you get this (28th jan). But you’re right, I am your man. Yeh, I know baby we have both got fucked up heads, mainly my fault sorry. All we can do now is give it the best shot, and if we still fuck up it just means we ain’t ready … but it won’t come to that cos we are a good couple and I love you very very much.

      And what do you mean ‘mmm, one day maybe Mrs Adele Hillary Riley??’ You will be Mrs Riley one day. I usually get what I want and you are the only girl I want so you’re fucked (LOL) may as well admit it babe :-)

      March came around and so too did my eighteenth birthday. Anthony sent me a card from prison, but he knew I wanted to go out to celebrate it. I got dressed up and went out with my friends around town. It felt good to be out, to feel the alcohol rushing through my veins, making me feel all warm and light-headed inside.

      I forgot to check my phone, I missed the calls, and the messages from Anthony.

      Where are you? xx

      Why aren’t you answering me? xx

      You better not be talking to boys!

      For a moment the alcohol took me away, it made me forget that I hadn’t snuggled up in bed with my boyfriend in more than a year, that I didn’t know the next time I would be able to do that. I was now 18 years old, an adult, I could do what I wanted – well, everything except be with the man I loved.

      I got drunk that night, so drunk that my head was spinning by the time we got to the nightclub, my feet unable to find the floor so easily any more.

      ‘You’re not coming in,’ the bouncer said.

      ‘But it’s my birthday,’ I slurred back.

      But he shook his head. ‘You’re too drunk.’

      I was back home and tucked up in bed before midnight on my eighteenth birthday. I rang Anthony and he couldn’t stop laughing.

      ‘You couldn’t even get into a club on your eighteenth birthday!’ he laughed. ‘What a baby!’

      And shame burned at my cheeks, not so much because of what had happened – maybe I was far too drunk to enjoy the club anyway – but because in his voice I knew he was happy that my night had been ruined: he didn’t want me out celebrating my birthday, he didn’t want me doing anything without him.

       Jealousy

      I kept the phone glued to my hand from the minute I woke up that morning. Even in college, when it was tucked inside my black tunic, my hand was on it, waiting for the second when I felt that tiny vibration, when I looked down and saw it light up with a message from one person: Anthony. So I sat through lessons about the different layers of the skin, I waded through the epidermis, the dermis, the subcutaneous tissue, one hand making notes with my biro, curling the ink around the words, the other pinned to my phone. Because today was the day, after one long year, that Anthony was finally leaving prison.

      I was sure of it this time, or 99 per cent sure. That’s why I’d taken extra time to do my hair and make-up this morning, but even as my mascara wand had licked every eyelash I’d had to remind myself that there had been plenty of false starts before. Too many weeks when he’d told me that I wouldn’t have to wait much longer, and yet those very same weeks had rolled round without his hand in mine, without the warmth of him by my side. But this week, today, even I had a good feeling about. And I was right.

      The call came through at 11 o’clock when I was on my break. Anthony.

      ‘It’s today, Adele,’ he said. ‘Baby, they’re letting me out!’

      I felt my stomach twist and leap with excitement.

      By the time I’d made my way to the admin office at college to feign illness and get signed off for the rest of the day, Anthony’s Aunty Lorraine was waiting for me in her blue car by reception.

      ‘You ready?’ she said, when I sat down beside her and clicked my seat belt into place.

      ‘I can’t wait!’ I said.

      And I couldn’t, not any longer, not when I’d already waited a year for Anthony. As we sped through the countryside and out onto the dual carriageway that led us towards Norwich Prison, I thought of everything we’d been through over the last 12 months, the good times and the bad. Not many couples make it through a whole year of being apart, especially not when they’d only been together a matter of weeks in the first place.

      All the things that Anthony had written in his letters were right: what we had was special. I was 18 now, and yet for a year I’d saved myself for him. I hadn’t been near

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