She purrs louder. I move my hand, stare at the ceiling again. "This is bad," I tell her. "This is really fucking bad."
"I might like him. I might actually fucking likehim, Lulu."
The word tastes so wrong in my mouth.
I slam the back of my head lightly on the floor. "Fuck."
Lulu lifts her head, offended by the movement.
I scratch behind her ear in apology.
I can't do this.
I'm not allowed to likehimlike that.
Of all people.
Of all the fuckers in this city, it had to behim?
A couple of tears slide out before I can even decide if I'm crying or not. They run into my hairline.
This is humiliating.
I rub my face with both hands, then drop them to the floor.
That's it.
I'm desperate.
I don't have a choice here. I can't get attached to someone who's leaving at the end of summer.
He's not staying. He's not mine. He's a fucking tourist.
He does his little Italian drama arc, learns something about himself, goes back to Canada, becomes a teacher, lives his good boy life.
That's the script. I'm the one who stays in the same streets. With the same shit. That's my part.
I grit my teeth. And even if he didn't leave, even if, I don't know, he magically stayed… what then?
We can't be together.
Not out loud. Not the way he deserves.
I'm a fucking street rat with a record and a bike, while he wants to teach kids.
Little kids. He wants this soft, safe life where parents trust him and nobody looks at him twice in the staff room.
Who's gonna trust the sweet little teacher who shows up with me on his arm?
I'm not ruining his career because I don't know how to control my dick and my feelings. I'm not doing that to him. I am not that selfish.
Lulu headbutts my chin. My eyes sting harder. I can't give him hope. I won't let him think this could actually work.
That'd be cruel. I swallow hard.
I'll do what I have to do.
I'll try to step back. A bit.
