I had no ambition to ever be loved like that, I had written off that idea in my teens like others would write off careers:I could never be a politician; I could never be a celebrity.
I made my peace with it, and I held no pity towards myself for it.
But then I met Greg. Someone who actually wanted to date me. Someone who made me feel like I had the potential to be loveable. Like I could be deserving of romance and affection. Of adoring glances and hands brushing and tender embraces. Maybe my theory was wrong, after all.
So that’s exactly what I tried to be: Greg’s dream girl. Whatever that meant.
I tried to make myself more palatable to get the love I finally admitted I had yearned for. Flirty, easy, pliable. I laughed at his jokes that weren’t funny. I met him at the places he wanted to go. I wore eyeliner and tight dresses because social media said that I should. And I could still barely believe he showed up whenever we met; that I had met someone who found me, of all people, desirable.
Of course, until he didn’t. What I got in return was a man who was completely indifferent about me. I would lie awake in the early hours and imagine the other women that Greg had been seeing, and the really cruel part of me believed that all of them must have been so special and rare – so much more worthy of care than I am. That all of them, surely, are much prettier than me, funnier than me, smarter than me, kinder, sexier, better.
Despite trying to edit myself in order to fit a mould that might make me more likeable, more desirable… it still hadn’t worked. I had recited the rules and followed the formula to magically become somebody who could be loved, to no avail.
From then I decided I would never carve out pieces of myself for someone else ever again. I would never bend and mould myself into a different version of Nora. It was tiresome and ultimately unsuccessful anyway. Despite spending years wishing that I could be different, I’m now finally allowing myself to just… be. I refuse to fall for the rhetoric that I need to wait for a man to make me feel special.Chosen. My family make me feel special. Hennie makes me feel chosen. That’s all I need. I would rather be the girl that boys mock than the one who transforms at their whims and wants. I’m not afraid to hide myself anymore.
No more hunching to make myself smaller, no more thick foundation to hide my features, no more destroying my hair to tame it. No more attempts to be sweet and gentle and overly accommodating. For my sanity, it was time to choose myself and throw anyone else’s opinions to the wolves.
I wrinkle my nose. Confessing that I had craved a ‘normal dating experience’ isn’t quite where I imagined this conversation with Elliot leading.
‘That makes sense,’ he says, even though I’m not sure it does.
‘I know that sounds tragic, like there are supposed to be fireworks or big love confessions or something, but I was just happy to… I don’t know. Try it out for myself. See if romance might be a real thing.’
He just looks at me. ‘It’s a real thing.’
‘For some,’ I say with a sardonic smile.
‘For everyone, if they want it.’
‘If they can find it,’ I counter.
He nods, his mouth pressed into a tight line. ‘I’m sure he’s out there somewhere, princess.’
I repress a groan at the sentiment. I’m eager to change the subject so we can avoid collectively garnering too much sympathy for my love life.
‘Anyway, the hunt waits for no one.’ I slap my knees decidedly and sit up straight. ‘Time to engage.’
‘There it is,’ Elliot remarks with a quiet smile, his skin alight with warmth from the flames flickering next to us. I try to ignore it.
‘Maybe this is another clue that isn’tphysicallysitting in this tent, maybe it’s another code of some kind.’ My eyes roam around the fire in front of us as if the answer might just be sitting there, waiting to be discovered.
‘Alright,’ Elliot says, rubbing his eyes. ‘Can you think of any lyrics, or anything that could relate back to… the number eight? Or something being far away?’
I fiddle with my rings as I consider the question and eventually shake my head.
‘I’ve got nothing, maybe it’s another Firecrest clue – could be somewhere within the festival. Let’s look at the map.’
He pulls out his phone and opens the Firecrest app. I lean closer to him as he flicks around the map slowly and methodically to look for any possible hints.
All the stages and venues run across the screen, and when my eyes catch on one in the Jungle area called ‘Neptune’s Lounge,’ I feel my body go still.
‘Oh shit, I’m sostupid!’ I hiss, pointing to it. ‘Neptune’s Lounge, here. Neptune is the eighth and farthest planet from the sun. Fuck, I can’t believe I missed that! That must be it, right?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s all we have.’ He springs to his feet without hesitation and holds out a hand for me. ‘Let’s hit the road, princess.’
21
Elliot texts the group to let them know we’re following a new lead and the lack of response from them suggests that they’re either out of signal or too busy enjoying themselves to look at their phones at all. I smile at the thought.
