Queenie(37)

“Hey, talk to me?” Ted said, standing directly in front of me and putting both hands on my arms the way he had when we first spoke. It was the very worst timing, bumping into him after a trip to the sexual health clinic that had left me feeling so vulnerable. My bottom lip trembled. “Let’s go for a walk, get some proper air,” Ted said, taking my hand.

We walked in silence until we got to the park, stopping by the precarious bench. I hoped that he didn’t want us to sit on it. If it collapsed, that would really be the end of my entire bottom half.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Ted asked, lighting a cigarette. Smoking was going to kill either one or both of us.

“It’s just all a big mess,” I said, feeling him reach for my hand. I pulled it away.

“Ah. Those boy problems you mentioned. Ongoing?” he asked gently.

“You’re not the person I should be talking to about all of this,” I said, playing with my hair.

“You can trust me,” he said. “I promise to stay objective.”

“Ha, sure,” I snorted in Ted’s face, and watched it crumple the way that Tom’s would when I inevitably and deliberately said something to push him away.

“We’re meant to be on a break,” I said to Ted, and took a deep breath. “When I stepped on your foot, the day I first saw you in the lift, I was about to move out of the flat I shared with my boyfriend. And I haven’t spoken to him since, because he wants us not to speak for a while, but obviously I still feel so guilty every time I e-mail you or see you because even though I don’t know you, you make me feel excited, which is probably really intense, but also I know it’s because there’s some rebound energy in me even though it’s not a proper breakup, and I don’t know when he’s going to call me and tell me that he’s ready to go back to how things were, but I know deep down that he is. So.” I took a breath. “I’m trying not to get involved in anything that could be serious, because that would feel like I was cheating on someone that I worked so hard to let in after a childhood of negative reinforcement from the men around me.” I looked at Ted, expecting him to turn on the heels of his polished brogues and run away. “I told you. It’s all a mess.”

“I don’t mind a bit of mess,” Ted said, weaving his fingers through mine. I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on. “That’s not so bad, is it?” I looked at him and shook my head. It had been so long since somebody had touched me gently. He flicked his cigarette away and put his other hand on the back of my head.

“Don’t touch my hair,” I whispered, priorities always in place. He kissed me softly, running his free hand down to my neck, then my back. As he kissed my neck and moved his hands around mine, a wave of guilt threw me from him.

“Sorry, that’s too intimate,” I said to him.

“What?”

“It doesn’t feel right.” I stepped away. “I think it’s best that you stay away from me. I don’t want to drag you into stuff.”

“You can’t just decide that, Queenie,” Ted scoffed. “See it from my point of view. I meet this beautiful girl who works in my building and within about three seconds realize that she’s brilliant, that she’s someone I want to spend all my time with, and touch, and kiss, and . . .” He leaned down and kissed me again, pulling me into him.

I’m always worrying about my lips compared with the lips of the person I’m going to kiss, because as it stands, mine have always been the bigger lips, and kissing someone with no lips or small lips is just so sad. Even though Ted’s lips weren’t very big, they were very good. But it wasn’t just how his lips felt, it was how he made me feel. I felt how I did when someone actually cared about me, and that really fucking frightened me. I pulled away again and looked at him. “Please listen to what I’ve said! I can’t do this.” I let go of his hand and walked away.





chapter


EIGHT


I WENT BACK to the sexual health clinic after two vaginally restorative weeks of no sex. Darcy refused to come with me this time, something about “needing to work harder,” “job security,” and “deadlines.” She didn’t need to be worrying so close to Christmas; the office was half-empty. I sat in an observation room alone reading a pamphlet on chlamydia until a health advisor came in for a chat.

This last fortnight, pretending that I’m okay has been the performance of a lifetime. I haven’t been fired yet, I’ve only been late when Gina isn’t in, I haven’t made any visible mistakes (mainly because Chuck, the intern, is now begrudgingly covering for me, in place of Leigh), and I’ve been working late most evenings.

One positive to the no sex is that I’ve been taking proper care of my hair. Shea butter, coconut oil, and rosewater blend to condition, and spritzing it every other day to keep it moisturized. I have so much discipline when I’m not worrying about men, I thought as my phone pinged.

Unknown

We had fun the other night, didn’t we?



I always spoke too soon when it came to these things.

Queenie

Could you be a bit more specific?



Unknown

I came to yours and fucked you senseless?



Queenie

Which day?