Sophie, Mia, leftover pizza, three phones face-up. They made me go through every name from Saturday in order. I did. Then I asked who was taking me out next weekend. Silence.
Tag: weekend
The Group Chat Has Receipts
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.
Sophie Found The Receipt
Not a condom. Worse. The afters bar tab with two names on it and a time stamp that proves I said I was “already in bed.” She’s weaponising it at brunch.
Makeup Wiped Off By His Mouth
Spent twenty minutes on the lips. He kissed it all off in a stairwell in Soho. Then put me against the wall. I redid the whole face in the Uber home. Priorities.
Mia’s Afters Wrecked The Sofa
Red wine, someone else’s jacket, and a dent I cannot explain to the landlord. We flipped the cushion. Classic.
Mia Wore My Good Heels
She swears she asked. She didn’t. They came home with a scuff and a number in the sole. I’m keeping the number.
Last Tube Then Walked
Missed it on purpose because he lived in Bermondsey and the night wasn’t finished. Blisters, a stolen espresso martini in a plastic cup, and a sunrise I will absolutely post.
We Did It Before Last Orders
Pub toilet. Lock that didn’t work. Someone knocked twice. I said “occupied” like I was booking a meeting room.
Mia Covered For Me
Told Sophie I crashed at a cousin’s. I was three streets over with a man whose Instagram I still can’t find. Mia wants payment in the form of me doing her laundry. Fair.
Dalston Kitchen At Someone’s Mate’s
No one knew whose flat it was by 5am. There were fairy lights and a chopping board used as a tray. I made toast for a stranger.