Boy Parts(5)

‘I miss Fritzy,’ she says.

‘Well, you should have taken him with you,’ I say, shrugging. ‘I take it you won’t watch the film Fritz the Cat.’

‘Absolutely not.’ She gives the laptop back. ‘I’m not watching any of these.’

‘Your taste is so basic.’ She won’t watch anything remotely challenging. She made me turn off Nekromantic, Vase des Noces and Irreversible; she even made me turn off The Poughkeepsie Tapes. And that’s just a found-footage horror, you know? Practically mainstream: with a linear story, and no subtitles and dialogue and everything. She asks if she can flip through the dusty case of DVDs behind my television.

‘Don’t,’ I say. She asks why not. ‘We’ve been over this like… fifty times. I’m hanging on to them just in case. Nothing in there is HD and they all look like shit on my telly.’ I stab a finger at my downloads folder again. ‘Look, Pretty Baby is quite normal.’

‘Isn’t that the Brooke Shields paedophilia film?’

‘Anything would sound bad if you put it like that, Flo. Oh, Jurassic Park, is that the Jeff Goldblum dinosaur necromancy film?’ I say, doing my impression of her. She puts on this nasal, babyish voice, and a little lisp. Even with me. Sometimes, when she’s drunk, she forgets to put it on. I don’t know why she does it.

‘Christ, can we just watch Moana, or something?’

‘I haven’t got it. Can you be bothered to wait for a download?’

She can, but I can’t. I talk her into Blue Velvet, because she knows she’s supposed to like David Lynch, even though she doesn’t. She cringes and hides her eyes during that first scene with Frank. She tells me it’s horrible.

‘It’s not that bad.’ I elbow her. ‘Drink your wine.’

I get a text from my mam, who wants to meet for lunch tomorrow. I agree. She knows I’m off (scheduled, not because I got hit), and there’s no point in arguing, or trying to get out of it. She came to my house the last time I said I was busy without an airtight excuse – I was literally just sat in my pyjamas and I had to pretend I was ill. The quicker I respond, the less shit I get when I inevitably have to see her again.

Flo complains every time Kyle MacLachlan speaks (‘he’s so slimy!’) and whines like a stuck pig whenever Frank is on screen. Though she sings under her breath when ‘In Dreams’ plays – having somehow managed to arrive at Roy Orbison’s back catalogue independently.

I drop off to sleep at some point and wake up to an empty house. Flo has sent me a text.

Forgot I had to go home, lol! Couldn’t stay all night, bae was getting lonely. Had a lush hangover. See you soon x



I’m checking her blog in the morning in case she’s feeling confessional. I genuinely don’t trust her not to brush my hair and finger me while I sleep.





Ugghhhh coming at you all with a SadGay (TM) post again. I’m really struggling with Rini. I felt like I’d weened myself off and I’m rlly trying to focus on Michael and how well that’s going, but I think about her all the time. It’s hard to tell if this is just like something my brain is cooking up as self-sabotage or if I’m still fucking pathetic and in love with her like I was during foundation and in uni. Jeeeeeeezzz it’s been nearly 10 years now.

I wonder if I’m just literally never going to get over her or what and I know I’m about to cue like 10 of you coming in like SHE SOUNDS TOXIC yada yada yada and I swear she isn’t as bad as it sounds on here sometimes!!! but there’s just loads of shit in her past I’m not going to share on here, and like she is really really not this awful like Monster i think sometimes you all seem to think she is.

I really think she has undiagnosed bpd and she doesnt have many real friends, she’s like INCAPABLE of healthy relationships and she really needs my help?? I did her shopping for her yesterday when we were hanging because if I didn’t do it for her she’d lit just live on water and salad. This isn’t a problem with Rini it’s a problem with me, but I appreciate that you’re all so concerned for me and that you’ll listen to me vent.



I read it on the bus. Flo’s theory about me having Borderline Personality Disorder is this weird long-standing thing, and I’m sure if someone else tried to give me a diagnosis without being qualified to do so, she’d be the first person to jump in with accusations of ableism.

Plus, if anyone’s borderline out of the two of us, it’s her. And I hate it when she calls me Rini. Jesus. Mam is texting me to tell me she’s already in town, and I get an email.

Dear Irina,

This is Jamie Henderson – junior curator at the Hackney Space gallery. I had the pleasure of meeting you at one of your MA shows a few years ago (while I was still a student myself haha!) I’ve been keeping up with your website, and we’d be very interested in showing some of your newer work as part of an exhibition on Contemporary Fetish Art. We have a couple of other artists of your calibre on board already (Cameron Peters, Serotonin, Laurie Hirsch to name a few!)

We’d be interested in showing a collection of 5–6 of your photographs, large scale and preferably stuff you haven’t shown before. No pay, but we’ll cover expenses and we’re expecting a lot of buyers to attend, and I’m sure your work sells well.