Stop!
I push the thoughts of Ben’s arms around me out of my mind. I’m still pissed at him for not replying sooner. I’m not sure what I was expecting though. He’s always been really clear about what we are.
Friends with add-ons.
On his terms.
When he felt like it.
The thing is once we started fooling around, we stopped being friends. We used to chat about everything. He was the one person that knew about what was happening at home. Mostly because it was impossible to ignore Dad’s moods or drinking on the handful of times he stayed over.
Once we kissed, it changed. We’d only text about when we might be free to meet, and when we saw each other at school he barely spoke to me. On a good mental health day this feltexciting. Like we were keeping some wild secret from the rest of the bores in the class. A secret and forbidden love.
On a bad day, I felt like I was being used by my best friend who was too ashamed to speak to me in daylight hours.
And yet every time I told myself that was it, he’d text and ask how I was. I’d say I wanted to chat, go for a walk. He’d agree but then we’d always end up somewhere with our clothes off. We never hadsex-sex. We never even talked about it. It felt like too big a thing.
I miss him and I hate myself for it.
I’m good, still settling in. How are
you?
I put my phone down and try to sleep but my mind races with thoughts of Meg crying in the graveyard. The woman in the black dress. And Ben’s smile.
After a few hours I wake to a message and selfie from a topless Ben in bed, arm behind his head, hair tousled.
Wud be better if you were here
I let out a pretty loud exhale and turn over to make sure Cormac can’t see the pic or my physical response. I type a reply.
I’d like that a lot…
I contemplate sending a selfie back, but my hair is like a dying spider plant and my Princess Leia pyjama tee is not the sexiest of vibes. We text for a bit though, and it feels like old times.
Sexy with a hint of shame.
As I head down for breakfast, I yawn loudly. Mum butters her toast like she’s painting a canvas. I used to love watching her do it as a kid, making sure she covered every part of it.
She catches me smiling. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I forgot to ask, how was your day with Meg?’
Fiona sets down her orange juice with a bang and pulls down her headphones. ‘Who’s Meg?’
‘My friend.’
‘Yourgirlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Booooring!’ She goes back to whatever she’s watching on her tablet.
Mum laughs and I roll my eyes. ‘Yeah, it was good.’
‘Did you get plenty of shots?’
