THIRTY-EIGHT
MAGGIE
The low wintersun filters in through my windows. The glorious slice of gold only lasts for the briefest of time in the city, with the way the buildings across the street blot it out for most of the day.
The two weeks since I visited my father have been the most serene I’ve ever had. Even with the odd surges of guilt that bite when I think of Eddie’s family wondering where he is. He was a rip-roaring cunt waffle, but he was their cunt waffle.
I’m on the sofa, doom-scrolling stupid videos and drinking copious amounts of tea. It’s pure bloody bliss.
I’ve been trying to break my terrible habit of listening to Roman through the walls like a little creep. My success rate is limited.
Other than the occasional awkward hallway clash, I haven’t seen him. He’s not in this morning. I watched him from the kitchenette window as he donned hisleather jacket and straddled his motorbike. The sight of him in his helmet did some rather ungodly things to my insides, and I made a short visit to my favourite pillow soon after. Not that it manages to scratch the itch quite the same these days.
As I stare at my pot plants, wondering if I’m overwatering them or underwatering them, my phone buzzes.
Roman.
Just his name on the screen makes my stomach turn sunny side up. I’d slipped my number under his door in a moment of madness once, with a babbling note about it being for emergencies. He’d text me a thumbs up along with ‘
Cool. Roman. Hardly the most riveting of first discussions.
You might want to sit down.
I’m already sprawled across my couch like a Victorian drama queen.
A bit late.
Another buzz.
I’m sorry if this isn’t how you wanted to find out. I got carried away.
My thumb hovers over the link that pops up below the message.
What on earth has he done? Has he sold our story to the newspapers? Or some blood-hungry crime podcast? God, I hope not.
But not clicking isn’t an option. As though I have one iota of restraint in my body.
I click.
The page loads, and a series of headlines hit me in the face. And lots of photos of Roman. Looking absolutely delicious, if I do say so.
Internet’s Most Notorious Celibate Says He’s in Love
‘It Was All a Lie’: Influencer Shocks Millions With Confession
Who Is the Woman Who Changed Everything?
Christ, I hope they don’t come looking for me.Our family is very much astay-out-of-the-press kind of vibe.
My second thought isRoman, you absolute knobhead.
I click through to his page after reading wild versions of his story. A new video is pinned to the top. And yes, I know all of his videos enough to spot the new one on first glance. So sue me, a girl’s got to get her man candy for sad lonely faps from somewhere. There’s no sensational clickbait title or thumbnail of his glorious abs(shame)to entice people in, but there are already over two million views.
He sits on his sofa, looking a bit worse for wear, but no less lovable for it. His hair is a bit of a mess, and there’s still a whisper of a yellow bruise on his jaw if you know where to look.
I press play.
‘Hi,’ he says, and immediately I have to bite my lip because he sounds likehim. Not the hype-up character of him online, but the real one.
