I feel the way his body tenses, especially when the next bomb drops.
“The bird watching camera in Mum's garden had someveryinteresting footage.”
Damo smiles coyly.
“Seems you two have a dirty little secret. But don't worry, I probably won't tell the lads.”
“Probably?” I stammer.
“Nah. Wouldn't want them to think I was a poofter for watching it twice, would I?”
It sickens me to think of someone watching us at all.
He leaves our door wide open and goes to harass someone else.
???
Porter spends more time playing footy after that.
He starts showering alone more often, even when there’s nobody else around.
His texts shorten and shallow.
Emojis, mostly.
Or one word replies.
Then without warning, his cold behaviour veers hot again.
A stolen kiss. A hushed apology.
A naked rendezvous.
And in those fleeting moments, the world is ours alone.
Better than nothing,I tell myself.
Better than losing him completely.
On one of those rare shower-fuck mornings, we are rudely interrupted.
An electrician comes upstairs to repair a light fitting above the bathroom sink.
Porter grabs a towel, raising a finger to hush me.
Then he walks out of the cubicle as though nothing has happened.
I stay hidden, standing there behind the door for almost an hour.
Last thing we need is an audience to fuel the rumours.
Our flirty texts and late night conversations begin to wane.
I miss him more than I care to admit.
It’s not forever,I remind myself.
One day we’ll have the money to move out of here.
