“It was a student party. People were shagging in the corners. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It…was for me. Because you were there with me.”
“You always do this.” I was losing my drive now. The urge to bring him down. I had wanted to, somehow, make this all his fault when most of it was mine. Because he was right. I had constantly hung around his neck. Kissed his cheeks. Pretended he was mine when he was anything but.
“I don’t. You do. I tell you everything, and you just dismiss it like…like… Georgie, I own it. I own every piece of shit word coming out of my mouth, and you still won’t believe me!”
Gut punch. Right there.
“But I’m…”
“Yes, you are. You don’t see it. You’re bloody gorgeous, and yes, you’re small and short and don’t work out, and you wear big, thick glasses, which, for the record, I keep telling you I love because they make you look hot as anything, and you’re funny and kind and cuddly, and I love you. For once, can you just fucking accept that?”
Not the romantic declaration of my daydreams. But very him. Absolutely him. And…
I had to let those words sink in, which was hard, because I did this. Dismissed his outbursts as ways of… I suppose flattery. So I would do the things he asked.
Like…look after his dad. Sort out his messy head. Let him come stay. Help him revise. Make him a sandwich. Kiss his cheek.
He was right about that. He always asked me to. Tapping his stupid finger against his stupid cheek. Making me kiss him.
“I’m not in the closet,” he said quietly. “So stop with that shit. Never have been. I just don’t flaunt who I’m into, not like other people. I just enjoy the company, have fun and…I just…”
“You sleep with other people.”
“I have done.” Admissions. I liked it.
“Still do,” I accused him.
“No, I don’t. Not for a while. Since Christmas… It’s… I’ve stayed over with friends and stuff, but not. Not like…you and me. I told you that.”
Maybe he had. Maybe I once again hadn’t listened. Not taken in…what he actually meant. He wasn’t always good with words. Didn’t always tell the whole truth.
And I was always…shit at listening, despite his stupid words.
“You got my dad this gig, and you made sure he was coupled up with someone nice. Someone who would look after him and make sure he was alright. That means a lot. And you’ve been keeping an eye on him? Haven’t you, like you promised?”
I had no arguments left. No air left in my lungs.
“He…” I started. I couldn’t lie to him. I shouldn’t.
“Georgie, you’re exhausted. This job? It’s not worth it, is it?”
“Your dad walked out,” I said.
“He what?”
“He left. Couldn’t take it. Oliver left too, so I think you should probably check in on him.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” he shouted.
Good. Now he was mad. Now he would leave me alone. Let me sit here and stew. Forget all the…
“NDAs. My job depends on it,” I said flatly.
“You’re so full of shit,” he replied. There was…an undertone there I didn’t like. “You do this all the time. We almost get there, and then you try to fuck everything up. It’s what you do, and you shouldn’t because you’re so… Georgie, you… You deserve all the good things. To be loved, and appreciated, and seen for what you can do. I’ve seen it, remember? We did all our final projects together, and I know…you don’t deserve this. And stop pissing me off. You promised to tell me what he was up to, and now you pull this out of the blue?”
Too many words. And I was stunned into silence, because he’d not only called me out? He…he knew. All my little secrets.
