‘Truce,’ she says.
‘We can keep clear of each other,’ I agree. ‘This is for the best. For Patrick.’
‘And Warren.’ Dolly leaves without another word.
I look in the mirror, the same mirror I’d just been using for less savoury reasons, and fix my hair.
My hands shake as I’m hit with the realisation of what I’ve done. I’ve cheated on Patrick. We’re engaged, and I just fucked Dolly in the bathroom. Iasked herto fuck me. I chose to do this, knowing it might hurt him.
I want to cry or throw up but my body still hums with all the heady endorphins of sex. Sad and elated. Terrified and relieved.
A second time is so much worse. I don’t want to be this kind of person for Patrick. I can’t tell him, I can’t, and that makes me even more awful. But I have to protect his feelings and myself, and I don’t want to lose him.
I scrub at my hands and face, and I close all that feeling for Dolly away.
After a second time I’m not sure I can go on denying that I like women. As long as I focus on Patrick, it’s not that important. I don’t have to talk about it, to anyone ever.
It’s just so easy, once you’re used to pretending, to lock stuff away. Especially yourself. I’ve spent my life chaining parts of myself up.
First it was things I liked that everyone thought were corny, or I should have grown out of, like animation or Taylor Swift or animals. I locked all that away and learned better things to like, everything that they told me was good.
Then it was the way I looked at girls. How everyone was confused when I hadn’t had a crush on a boy yet, so I just picked the one the majority of my primary school friends liked. When I eventually did like one, sometime before Mike,it felt like I’d fixed myself. But then I liked Marina too. And I knew that wasn’t acceptable, so I locked that away. After all, if I still liked boys, why did it really matter?
And my whole life I’ve been tamping down my physicality. I want to bounce and shout and move when I’m happy. The same when I’m sad, I suppose. There’s so much energy that courses through me that is apparently wrong.
I’ve spent so long being told that how I am, who I am, is wrong. Eventually you start internalising that. This is just another familiar part of that.
I turn the key and fix a smile on my face. I know the steps; I’ve been dancing it my whole life.
There’s a knock at the door again, and Bridget is back. ‘Babes, you good?’
I open the door and step out, mask fully affixed. ‘Yeah. I will be. Sorry, my head is kicking off again after that shot. I might get changed into something else.’
I walk over to my bed and sit down, hoping that she can’t see my falling apart knickers. From my bedside drawer, I take some paracetamol and neck it with some old water from last night, wincing at the dusty flavour of it. ‘That’ll sort me.’
Bridget seems unconvinced, and silently hands me my mic pack.
‘Oh thanks. I took that off because I was worried I was going to be sick.’ I know this doesn’t make sense. The timing is off. But I’ve said it now, so I’m going to have to live with the lie.
‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’ Bridget asks warily.
‘No, honestly I’m fine. Dolly and I had a talk.’
‘Good. I told her to. Are you going to be friends now?’
‘No, I think it’s best we keep clear of each other. Treat each other like a family member we don’t like but can’t escape from, you know?’
To my relief, Bridget laughs throatily. ‘God, do I? If I look at my Auntie Sally I get pissed off. Come on, you’re missing the party.’
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
When she’s gone, I put on some new knickers and change into a party dress. I give the girl in the mirror one last glance, and try not to notice the cracks.
Chapter Twenty-SixCarys
@silksiobhan:I wish Whit was gay and marrying me thank you
@wishiwasachair:Couldn’t tell if Lina was trying to be the snake or Britney lol
