‘What does that mean?’ I cross my arms, deeply aware that I sound like a toddler askingwhyover and over. ‘Explain it to me.’
‘Fucking hell, Carys,’ she hisses, fully exasperated with me now. ‘It’s not about feelings for us and that’s fine. That is the relationship we are building, that works for us. Centuries of marriages were built on business arrangements.’
‘But you’re faking being in love with him,’ I point out.
‘Well, yeah,’ she says, like I’m stupid. ‘We’ve got to sell it, haven’t we? This is atelevision showafter all. Most of us are not actually here to find someone to fall in love with.’
This stings. Not just because that’s exactly why I’m here, but it’s just another reminder that I’m operating on another planet from most people. ‘Iam,’ I say quietly.
‘And look how well that’s going,’ Dolly whispers, not unkindly.
My last remaining hopes crumble into dust. She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t want me, not enough to give up on this business arrangement for the chance at something real with me.
What’s so wrong with me?
I drop back down onto the bed, the room still spinning.
‘I can give you some names of people to look up on the outside,’ Dolly continues. ‘They’ll be discreet but can talk through all this early coming out stuff, if that’s what you want. Guide you towards some help, some community. There’s plenty of that in London at least. It’s a lot to process your own sexuality, especially when you realise at an inopportune time.’
I feel like I might be sick.
‘Carys?’ Dolly reaches out for my hand but I cannot cope with processing her touch right now, or all the different meanings of it, so I slap her hand away.
She looks surprised and hurt.
Fuck.
Shame hits, and I want the floor to swallow me.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Clearly, this is enough to run Dolly’s well of sympathy dry. ‘Carys, I have responsibilities. I have made commitments. I can’t leave the experiment just because you’re having a late-in-life-lesbian crisis.’
‘I’mtwenty-seven,’ I hiss, as though that’s the most egregious part of this conversation.
I can’t believe it. She’s breaking up with me. After last night, she’s breaking this off.
‘We’re not together, Carys,’ she says, and I realise I said some version of this out loud. ‘There’s nothing to break up.’
Nothing?
Is that what she thinks of me?
Nothing?
I need to get out of here. I need some air.
Dolly stands between me and the door, her face buried in her hands. ‘God, IknewI shouldn’t have slept with you. Of course this would be a mistake.’
Heat races through my veins. I can’t tell if I’m going to cry or scream. ‘I’m not a mistake. I’m notnothing.’
‘I’m sorry. That was too harsh. I’m just panicking.’ For the first time since I’ve known her, she actually looks rattled. Perhaps I look more unhinged than I realise. ‘I didn’t mean you are a mistake. But us,this, right now was a mistake.’
‘Only because you’re saying it is,’ I say, stumbling over the words. ‘Only because you’re doing this instead of choosing me.’
She groans in frustration. ‘What did you think was going to happen, Carys? That we were going to skip off into the horizon in some Sapphic bliss?’
I thought that maybe I was it for you. Like you might be it for me.
