Dumped, Actually(45)

‘Oh God,’ Vanity continues to moan. ‘Oh God, you’re so good, Alessandro! You’re so good!’

Wait, what?

‘Fuck me, Alessandro!’ Vanity cries, eyes still tightly screwed shut. ‘I’ve missed you so much! I love you, Alessandro!’

Hang on a bloody minute . . .

‘Oh God, Alessandro . . . you’re so good to me! Keep going, Alessandro!’

Who is this Alessandro person??

It doesn’t matter!!! Just let her call you it, you idiot!!!

It does matter, Mr Penis!

No, it doesn’t!!!

Yes, it bloody well DOES!

I rip off the mask, snapping the elastic band as I do. At the same time, I start to scrabble out from under Vanity, withdrawing myself quite painfully in the process. She tumbles off to one side with a squawk.

‘What are you doing?’ she wails in frustration. ‘We were so close!’

‘Who the hell is Alessandro??’ I wail back, looking at the face of the cardboard mask again. ‘Is this him?’

Vanity grabs the broken mask out of my hand. ‘Yes! Yes! This is Alessandro!’ She beats a fist on the bed. ‘Why couldn’t you have just carried on for a few more moments??’

I go wide-eyed with horror. ‘Because you kept calling me by another bloody name! Who the hell is Alessandro?’ I repeat, climbing off the bed.

Vanity stares at me for a second, before bursting into tears.

‘He . . . He’s my boyfriend!’ she wails between great wracking sobs. ‘He left me a month ago!’

Oh hell.

‘And he’s Italian, is he?’ I say, putting two and two together.

‘Yes! From Naples.’ She wipes her nose with one long, slender forearm. This is the first completely unsexy thing she’s done all evening. ‘He drives a Maserati!’ This revelation sends Vanity off into another flood of tears, as I fully come to understand why I was invited back to her flat this evening.

Vanity is not interested in me in the slightest. This was never going to be the beginning of a whirlwind romance that would get me over the disaster of the last one. This was all about Vanity clinging on to the vestiges of her own lost love. I was merely the nearest and easiest surrogate. This evening was not about new romance. It was all about the old.

I was a fool to think anything different.

I whip off Alessandro’s silky boxer shorts and start to put my own clothes back on. It’s time to get out of here. I may not have a huge amount of pride, but even I can’t accept being used as a substitute penis for another man.

I can.

Shut up, you stupid bloody cock!

‘Where . . . Where are you going?’ Vanity asks, her tears reducing somewhat to sniffles now.

I give her an indignant look as I pull my shirt back on. ‘Home!’ I tell her.

‘Why?’

‘Why?! Because the only reason you brought me here was to pretend I was your ex-boyfriend!’

‘He’s not my ex! He’ll come back to me!’

I roll my eyes. This all sounds extremely familiar.

‘Well . . . I don’t know what to tell you, but using me like that is just . . . It’s just not bloody on!’

I march out of the bedroom, fully intent on getting out of here as quickly as possible. Hopefully I can flag down a taxi, otherwise I’ll have a very long walk home.

Vanity follows me out, pulling on a light-grey dressing gown as she does so. ‘I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!’ she cries as I approach the front door. ‘I just miss him so much! And I thought . . . I thought you’d understand!’

‘Why?!’

‘Because of “Dumped Actually”! You know . . . You know how much pain I’m in!’

Vanity slumps on to the couch, all the strength gone from her legs.

I’ve got one hand on the front door handle as I look back at her sitting dejected on the couch. I should just leave. I should get out of here and try to forget about this bizarre experience.

But then, Vanity is right, isn’t she?

I do know how much pain she’s in.

It’s a pain I still feel every day myself.

The pain of loss. The pain of rejection. The pain of emptiness.

I sigh heavily and hang my head for a moment, making a decision I don’t know if I’m going to instantly regret.

Then I walk back over to where Vanity is slumped on the couch and sit down next to her, putting one arm around her shoulders, as they heave with the crying fit she clearly needs to get out of her system.

When that passes, I make us both a coffee in the exquisitely expensive kitchen.

‘Thank you,’ Vanity says in a quiet voice when I hand her a cup. ‘I’m so sorry I did this to you. I’m not . . . not normally that manipulative.’

‘We all do things we regret when we’ve been dumped,’ I reassure her.

‘Do we?’

I laugh once. ‘You’ve been reading my stories, haven’t you?’

Vanity nods. ‘Oh yeah. The thing with the deer . . .’

‘Yeah. The thing with the deer.’

I sip my coffee and internally cringe for about the millionth time this month.

Vanity sniffs. ‘How do we move on, Ollie?’ She sounds so lost and lonely that any remaining resentment I may have had for her falls to pieces in an instant.