Chapter Four
Maeve
After I wake up I do the first thing I always do after opening my eyes. I have a brief internal debate with myself about whether or not I should check my phone. There are always notifications, new items to actions, and likely comments or DMs that affect my mood, more often in a negative way than positive. And yet, the debate never lasts long. I tell myself that it’s my job, not an addiction, and I check my phone. As always, there are more notifications than I can count so before I fall into the rabbit hole that is what’s happened on social media overnight, I go to my messages first to see what’s there. After reading a reply from Jenna following my text last night thanking her for looking after me in the taxi, I read a quick message from my best friend, Arabella.
I feel my cheeks bunch up with a big smile and I type out a quick reply.
There are a few messages in one of the groups I’m in with other social media influencers and I scroll through them, only skim-reading as it’s mostly requests for love on their posts as well as someone ranting about a so-called fan who she thinks has started following her.
I type out a quick reply, urging her to take it seriously and report it and then I read the rest of the messages I’ve missed in various group chats. I’m about to tap out and go to one of my social media accounts, but I see another message from a number I don’t recognise. A UK number. Curious, I read it.
I squint at the small circle displaying the profile photo but I don’t recognise the picture of a man wearing sunglasses and holding a pint of beer close to his smiling lips, until I tap on the circle to enlarge it.
“Oh, fuck!” I exclaim and drop my phone on the bed as if it just electrocuted me.
It’s Dermot Mullaney.
My temperature drops. My breathing stops. My body is completely still but for an ice cold shiver snaking down my back.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say after laughing out loud incredulously, the pitch of my chuckle high and strangled.
What’s it been? Ten years. And now… Why now? When I’m already feeling as fucking shite as I am.
I delete his message and block his number. And then stare at my phone screen, almost expecting, fearing, that he will pop up again.
When my breathing is back to normal and I’m no longer frozen in place, I close my eyes and tell myself I’m safe. I’m okay. He has no clue where I am. I haven’t shared my hotel’s location. London is a big city.
I also tell myself to get my shit together, and so I open up my eyes and tap open my Instagram app. I quickly search my followers and find a profile called @derm2000 and I block him. That eases a little more of the tension in my shoulders and I decide to busy my brain with the many notifications in the app.
I’m almost disappointed when there’s nothing urgent or pressing there so I go into my email, which is a big mistake because there are way too many urgent and pressing matters there, but it’s Sunday and I refuse to deal with them now. I’ve not always been this strict with my phone time but I learned the hard way that I’ve got to have some rules around phone and Internet usage time.
The last app I go to is TikTok, and as per usual, it’s where I have the most notifications. However, even today, I can see that the number I have is extreme. I scroll through them quickly to see that a high number of them are people tagging me in someone else’s video. This isn’t unusual but when I see the comments they’re leaving, I’m intrigued.
Far too nosey for my own good, I tap on a comment and the video in question starts playing. On the screen is a person I’ve never seen before. They are topless and their sculpted bronzetorso fills the screen along with locs that are tied back but fall over one muscly shoulder. I look down at their handle, @ElBaby.
“Jesus, put a shirt on,” I scoff and wrinkle my nose, but then I find my eyes travelling to their face and it’s… so pretty. A full pink pout, a straight nose with slightly flared nostrils, and dark, dark eyes framed with eyelashes that have the kind of curl people normally pay for. As I start to notice how white their teeth are and how perfectly groomed their stubble is, I realise that I’m not listening to what they’re saying so I to wait until the video starts again and I listen properly.
“…I want to remind everyone that I’m aromanticnotasexual… a vocal ally for my asexual homies… aromantic and asexual are not the same thing… being aromantic doesn’t mean I don’t care… being aromantic doesn’t mean I don’t want to treat people well, to make them feel good. It means I don’t feel romantic attraction to people… that doesn’t mean I don’t treat my partners with kindness, with care and most importantly with respect to their bodies…”
By the time they’re finished and the video is looping again, I am utterly fascinated by this sentiment and I feel a churning of awareness in my stomach. I’ve made a video on this. As new as I am to talking about my asexuality, I know enough to highlight some common misconceptions. While we’re saying the same thing – that being asexual and aromantic are not the same – we’re coming at it from different angles and that’s kind of… interesting. I want to know more about this creator. I start my investigations by clicking on the comment they’re replying to and that takes me to a new video.
Immediately I can tell it’s a very different kind of video. The lighting is low, there’s soft, sensual music playing in the background and I can see two people pressed close together, rubbing their noses together, pressing their lips to each other’s faces, so almost-kissing and yet not quite. There’s a woman in abikini top, tattoos on display across most of her skin and with her is the same person who was talking about being aromantic. They’re topless, again, which makes me roll my eyes, but as soon as they settle, my eyes are pinned on the way these two move together. It’s so… intimate. And then I hear what they’re saying to her.
“You’re going to look so pretty when I open your legs, aren’t you? You’re going to give me what I want so sweetly. You’re going to look and sound and feel so beautiful when I make you scream in my arms…”
My eyes widen and I turn my phone upside down. I feel… uncomfortable. And I can’t really determine why. Is it because it’s so inherently sexual? Or is it because I feel like I shouldn’t be witnessing such an intimate moment between two people?
