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.
Tag: confession
Stayed over, used the expensive one, left the cap off. Then asked if I wanted to “do this again sometime.” I said maybe. I meant no. My skin looks better than his manners.
Unanimous. Even I voted against myself. He was mid and talked about his founder journey. Never again.
He turned up at 1am with Tesco flowers and a speech. Mia let him in. I filmed nothing, which is growth. The group chat the next morning was unhinged. She says she’s fine. She isn’t.
I did shout. Sort of. She still got an eyeful, went scarlet, then made tea like nothing happened. Mia is never letting either of us forget this one.
Of him. Of the texts. Of my “I’m coming home I swear” lie from 2am. Democracy is dead in this flat and I’m the president.
She didn’t even knock this time. Just turned the radio up and sent a group-chat screenshot that said “congratulations I guess”. Fair.
He asked me not to write it. I said I wouldn’t use his name. I didn’t. Everything else is fair game. That’s the deal.
After I posted the blurry photo. “That’s my mate’s boyfriend.” I typed then deleted then posted the next one anyway.
So we didn’t wait. Coat still on. His hand over my mouth because the attendant was two feet away pretending not to exist.