“I’m twenty-two,” I remind him in the exact tone of an aggrieved six-year-old.
“Old enough to be concerned about security.” He’s on his phone, distracted. He has been constantly tapping away and barely around since he got this new job.
“And to have some fun,” I mutter.
I should message the girls I know from my accountancy course, and get some excitement in my life.
The thought registers, but I don’t act on it. It would only be awkward.
I don’t go out much, but if I do, I can be relied upon to wear jeans when the other girls my age are in cute little dresses despite the sub-zero temperatures, say the wrong thing, laughtoo loudly, and get my hair stuck to either my lip gloss, mascara, earrings, necklace, or one memorably cringeworthy time, a guy’s watch when he tried to lean over me in that sexy way.
It didn’t work.
I am to being cool what polar bears are to the tropical rainforest—hopelessly out of place.
Aaron says I shouldn’t be allowed out in public for the safety of myself and the population at large.
He’s joking.
Mostly.
He works in risk and project management, and I think sometimes I’m just something to be managed.
Look, I get it. Our mother was a terrible example of how to do anything. She died in a drink-driving car crash almost ten years ago, and since then, my elder brother has wrapped me up in cotton wool and insisted I do the most sensible thing at every moment.
He may have taken it a bit too far the other way.
I’ve been feeling claustrophobic recently. Not going out. Always making the financially logical decision, down to being a junior accountant rather than the creative writing I really wanted to do.
I make an account, and when it prompts me to put in a name, a thought occurs to me. I can have some fun with this.
BunnytheKiller.
Perfect. I add a profile picture of a skull for extra authenticity, and chuckle to myself.
I message my brother.
BunnytheKiller
Hi. You asked me to join. I did.
All those periods, no exclamation marks, no smiley emoji. Even Aaron will understand that I’m not amused by this.
He returns a thumbs-up.
Oh. Bummer of a response to my high-quality joke.
Story of my life. Try to do something hilarious, get a reaction with all the liveliness of a brown cardboard box.
I return to scrolling social media for a bit. I’m just laughing at a cat video when a notification from TelUBox pings on my phone.
I’ve been added to a group.
“Norwood Action Team”. I’m not sure if that sounds innocent or ominous. Could be anything from organising a summer fate, putting up signs against dog poo on the streets, or very illegal stuff.
Aaron
Hi everyone. Thanks for joining. This will hopefully be a useful place to exchange information.
