“Why what?”
“If it’s hurting you, why would you push through?”
“Well, er, I…” I sighed. Of course Matty would say that, because he was a selfless doughnut.
How did I explain to him that I often dismissed my own pain because I was used to it or I didn’t want to put myself first or make it seem like I was weak, broken, or being ridiculous. Nobody had ever told me I was, but somehow I’d managed to internalise those thoughts.
I’d known I was hypermobile since about the age of nine, when the doctor had told my mum I’d probably grow out of it. I hadn’t, obviously, and eventually I’d figured out what I could and couldn’t do and how it affected me. But half the time I still forgot it was a thing or pretended it wasn’t until it caught up with me. And as funny as it was to have joints that did things they shouldn’t, I sometimes hated the fact that the wrong shoes could make my ankles swell to the size of golf balls or one intense sex session in the wrong position would make my hips ache and burn so badly I could barely walk.
I just wanted to live the way I wanted, without having to think about how much my body would punish me for it afterwards.
Maybe I shouldn’t have thought that, but there were days I did. And I never quite knew how to deal with the feeling. Internalised ableism was a sneaky, powerful thing, creeping into my brain and catching me by surprise when I didn’t expect it, no matter how much work I put in to try and undo it.
“Sometimes it’s because everything else feels good and I don’t want to stop,” I said. “Sometimes it’s because I’m worried if we do stop, I wouldn’t actually be able to continue, even if we change position, because my legs will start shaking and I’ll be in pain and then sex will be the last thing on my mind.”
I sighed and rubbed my face. “Sometimes it’s because I want to pretend my body isn’t like this, especially because I know it will probably get worse as I age. When I was a teenager or in my early twenties, I could ignore it but now… I’m only twenty-seven. I know there’s no age requirements for these things, but I don’twant to think about how my joints are already held together with stretched-out Sellotape and a prayer. It sounds silly, and I know ignoring it doesn’t help, but… sometimes I wish I was different.”
Matty put his arms around me and pulled me against him, tucking his head under my chin and letting me rest on him. “I’m sorry, it must be hard. I get it a little, not because I’m hypermobile but because I’ve put my body through the wringer to the point I know it’s broken. It probably doesn’t help but my body might be even more fucked up in five years. I try and ignore it too, but it doesn’t always help. But making a career out of a sport known for its intense physicality and injuries was my choice and yours wasn’t.”
“Thanks.” His empathy helped, because maybe he did understand, at least a bit. “Although I’m pretty sure doing three-day EDM festivals in shitty Primark trainers hasn’t helped, and those were definitely my choice. If I go again, I know I need to wear ankle supports and insoles.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a music festival,” he said. “Maybe we could try one together one day? I’m not camping, though. My back is too fucked up to spend four days in a tent. Not unless it’s one of those really posh ones—I could do that.”
“Tomorrowland does do some very fancy packages, if you ever fancied a weekend in Belgium.” I was half-teasing and half-serious, not sure how to process the casual way Matty was suggesting we do a festival together. We still hadn’t talked about what we were to each other, but it was obviously something.
“Sounds fun,” he said, tilting his head back so he could lean up to kiss me.
And just like that I realised I was in too deep.
But there was no going back now.
It was either swim or drown.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Matty
ShouldI have been sneaking up to Harper’s room at half eleven in the evening on a training night? Probably not, but I was too horny to sleep, and my only options were a quick, unsatisfying wank or tiptoeing up to the top floor to see if Harper wanted to fuck.
Ever since he’d mentioned me sneaking up to see him, it was all I’d been able to think about when I lay in bed. The idea was sexy as fuck, and there was something incredibly exciting about creeping up to his room, even if there weren’t going to be any consequences to getting caught.
It reminded me of being a teenager and trying to sneak into my parents’ spare bedroom at seventeen when my girlfriend had stayed over. They’d always made us spend the night apart, which had been weird to me since they’d had no problem leaving us unsupervised for hours during the day.
“Matty? That you?” Harper’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” I said as I reached his living room, glancing around to see what details he’d added. I very rarely came up here when someone was living in because I didn’t want to disturb their privacy or intrude on their space. There were now a few photos and little knick-knacks scattered around, a couple of Jack’s drawings stuck up on the wall near the kitchen, and a LEGO orchid on the windowsill.
It reminded me that I still hadn’t had a chance to build the sets the team had gotten me for my birthday back in December.
His bedroom door opened, illuminating him in a warm pool of light that spilled across the floor. He was wearing an oversized Tomorrowland T-shirt that skimmed his thighs, his hair falling down over his shoulders. I’d been hoping to get into his room and surprise him with a kiss, but maybe it was better that he knew I was here.
“Everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he looked at me, and I wondered how much he could see without his glasses.
I padded over to him, unable to resist leaning in for a kiss. “Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about you.”
“Yeah?” He smirked and trailed his finger teasingly down my chest. “You wouldn’t happen to want something, would you?”
“How did you know?”
