I can’t get the words out.
Even though I don’t speak, she can clearly tell what I’m thinking and feeling. I never was very good at hiding either from my face, and Dolly seems to have got quite good at reading me in the short time we’ve known each other. ‘I’m sorry if that’s what you were hoping for, Carys, but that’s just not possible. I can’t give you that.’
‘So this was just casual for you?’ I whisper.
The worst part is that she hesitates. I think, for a second, that she’s going to tell me that no, this wasn’t casual, that this meant something to her, as much as it did to me. That when we kissed, the fireworks meant something to her too.
But instead, she says in a firm voice, ‘Give yourself the space to process all this. It must be really hard what you’re going through, but Carys, you can’t imprint on me because I’m the first girl you kissed.’
That’s cruel. I didn’t expect her to be so cruel. Maybe that was my first mistake.
I feel my broken heart shatter. I can’t believe I trusted her with my body and my heart andme, only for her to stamp on everything with one of her perfect high heels.
‘I’m not someduckling,’ I sob.
I can’t look at her any longer so I flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, and I walk straight into the shower cubicle, pyjamas still on. I sit down on the floor, because my legs are far too jelly to stand up any longer. My body shakes from all the feelings threatening to explode out of me and I know that if I don’t do something drastic, I’m going to have a meltdown.
The last thing I want is for Dolly to see me even more broken apart than I already am. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.
I spin the temperature all the way into the blue and turn the shower on full blast. The shocking cold water runs into my mouth, down my throat, slicing through my hair to my scalp. It’s a delicious relief to start with.
Eventually I start to shiver.
And, when I finally feel human again in all the worst ways, that’s when I finally really cry. The tears wash away down the plug, like they were never there.
I spin the temperature up and, seeing as I’m already here, wash away the remains of last night, of Dolly, just like she wants.
Clean at last, I step out into a towel. I hope it’s not obvious I’ve been crying, so I wipe the steam away from the mirror to check. It mists up again quickly, blurring my reflection, but I’m not sure I recognise the person I catch a glimpse of.
What the hell am I doing?
This, all of this, is just so unlike me. Maybe… maybe my sisters were right to be worried about me coming into this experiment. Perhaps they correctly predicted that being slowly driven mad by masking twenty-four-seven and overstimulation from the god-awful lighting and all the constant socialising I’m having to do all while knowing I’m beingfilmed, watched and dissected by the public would eat away at me. They didn’t tell me that, but they asked me, over and over, if I was sure about going on this show.
It’s not like I’m not used to experiencing, and expecting, scrutiny from those around me. Ever since I was little, I’ve been so hyper-aware of how I’m being perceived. All that has been kicked up to eleven since I’ve been here. There’s no downtime, except when I sleep, and I’m pretty certain I’m not getting enough of that.
There’s a saying about how pressure turns coal into diamonds, like it might make the best of people if you just try to get through. I’m not so sure about that. There’s no sparkliness about me right now. Just sharp edges and confusion.
I really wish I could call my sisters. They’d give me a good talking to, help me work out what I should do next. When I was little, I really struggled with thinking things through before I acted. Mum used to call itgetting Carys’d away.
I know that if Ang and Del were here, they’d make me talk through things in order, to untangle the knotty tangle of panic in my chest. A rat king of anxiety.
Let’s look at the facts, in order: I’m sleep deprived and overstimulated and out-peopled. This is probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life, and you can’t make good choices when your brain is throwing itself against a wall.
Sleeping with Dolly is a perfect example of that.
So, okay, I like women. I think, after last night, that’s pretty undeniable, and I’ve spent a lifetime denying myself truths for reasons I don’t fully understand. To fit in, to camouflage? Because I was too scared of being too many deviations from normal? All of the above, maybe.
And with all that understanding and unmasking, of a kind, of course I might get… over-excited.
Maybe Dolly was right, just a little, about the ‘imprinting’thing. Did I just latch onto the first person who showed me true kindness who was also within touching distance, and just misconstrue attraction for love? Sexual chemistry for romance? I’m not sure; it definitely felt like a crush.
It was a crush. And crushes can be got over, even if they sting.
Ang would tell me to give myself grace.Who hasn’t had an inappropriate crush in a trying time?she’d say.
Dolly’s pretty much the only person I’ve even remotely dropped my mask in front of in here, which is a pretty big deal to me. No wonder I would feel close to her, carried away with the fantasy of it all. Given this whole experiment is about romantic fantasies and longing and promises… maybe it’s understandable that I got confused about what I really want.
Because what I want is Patrick.
