Okay, hot. Actually, that’s very hot.
He swallows. “I googled snowballing. RIP my browser history. Also, cum doesn’t taste that bad.”
“You don’t have scent receptors. That dramatically affects taste,” I tell him, but I’m not sure he’s listening any more. His eyes have a glazed, drunken sheen to them.
Harry uses his hand to line himself up with my hole. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
He’s heavy on top of me, and I want this moment to last forever. I want to freeze time, spend the rest of eternity with Harry as my weighted blanket. But I know by his whining, by the way he can’t quite catch his breath, by the increasingly erratic thrusting of his hips, that we’re nearing the finish line.
The end of this moment, and us.
Less than a minute later, he’s pillowing his forehead against my shoulder, and crying out as his back spasms. He slumps and lies on me for a little while longer.
Abruptly, he pulls out and pushes himself into a seated position, and we stare at each other for an eternity. I feel like we have an entire conversation in our heads before he speaks.
“Am I leaving now? Is this the end?”
I can’t answer. My airways have closed themselves off. Instead, I roll onto my side and face away from him.
I don’t have the words to explain how I can’t steal his future.
I can’t be the person who denies him his happiness. Daisy was right, I led him on. I let him fall in love with me, knowing I can never be the person he’s dreamed about being with.
The one he deserves.
I’m selfish. But I’m not so selfish I’d force him to stay here with me.
He stands. “I’ll just pack up my stuff, then,” he says, and leaves the room.
Five minutes later, my door opens again. Something heavy hits the mattress next to me. It’s my phone.
“If you ever change your mind, give me a call. I can’t promise I’ll wait for you whilst you figure this shit out, though. I love you . . . I don’t think that will ever change, but . . . you aren’t giving me enough credit. You’re projecting shit onto me that I . . . that never originated from me.”
He waits for me to reply, but I don’t.
The silence that falls after Harry leaves is suffocating, pressing in on me from every angle, rushing down my throat, stopping words and breaths from forming. I can’t even cry.
I just feel so . . . empty.
Out of habit, or desperation for distraction, I pick up my phone, and check the last app used. Fucker’s ordered an Uber—an Uber Exec no less—all the way to Bath on my account. I hate how smart that move is.
My finger hovers over the “cancel” button, but I don’t press it. Instead, I close the app, open my photo gallery, and stare at Harry’s naked body until I feel something. Anything.
I won’t tell Daisy it was Harry’s decision to end it. Won’t admit that yet another person chose to leave me.
Everything that happened tonight and over the past year has been my fault. It’s time I took some responsibility for myself.
26
Sunday 30th August 2026
Harry
Google Maps reckons it’ll take two hours for the Uber to get to Bath, but it’s super early in the morning, the roads are deserted, and my driver thinks he’s fucking Max Verstappen or some shit, so hopefully it won’t be that long before I arrive home.
I let my head fall back against the leather seat and stare out the window into the night. All I see are dark silhouettes of trees and occasional farm buildings, and the stark, rolling blackness of the English countryside.
My driver must sense I’m not in the mood to talk because he hasn’t uttered a single word to me beyond,“You Orlando? Orlando, like the place in Florida?”
