Same jawline as the boy from two Saturdays ago in Peckham. Different name on the guest list. I smiled like I didn’t clock it. She definitely clocked that I clocked it.
Category: Gossip
Someone’s fiancé bought drinks. Someone’s best friend slid in. I am not starting it. I am finishing it, with details, denials, and the screenshot I swore I would delete and obviously did not.
Unanimous. Even I voted against myself. He was mid and talked about his founder journey. Never again.
After I posted the blurry photo. “That’s my mate’s boyfriend.” I typed then deleted then posted the next one anyway.
Saw her again at a birthday in Shoreditch. Last time she was crying in a bathroom about him. This time she’s on his shoulders. I have the old voice notes. Tempting.
Not me. The girl whose boyfriend was inside with his hand on my waist. I gave her a cigarette. I’m not a monster.
Screenshots. Voice notes. A blurry photo from the smoking area. I thought I was being discreet. I was being content. There’s a difference and I keep forgetting it.
One bottle in and suddenly everyone’s ex has a name, a job, and a disappointing bedroom habit. I contributed. Obviously. I’m not going to sit there looking saintly.
Not naming him. You’d know the face. Took me to the hotel next door, barely spoke, fucked like he had a match in the morning. Left a shirt. I kept it.
Mia’s boy versus mine. Timing, stamina, whether they asked for water after. Scientific. Petty. Necessary.
She asked. I said yes because I’m nosy and horny. He didn’t touch me, just sat there. Weirdly hot. She texted the next day like we were booking lunch.