Page 3 of The Forbidden Fling

“Faye.” Carla’s eyebrows pinched together, and she pushed the sunglasses up her face, resting them on her head. “Are you okay?”

She hated how her lip wobbled. She should’ve stayed home, curled up in the safety of her bed, doing crossword puzzles while Gilmore Girls played in the background. Who was she kidding?

“I need to use the bathroom,” she said instead, a habit formed after her operation. Checking put her at ease, even if the constant reminder of her ostomy exhausted her.

Confusion passed over Carla’s features, and Faye hated it. She hated how the illusion was shattered. She wasn’t carefree and young or brave and fearless like the women she admired. She couldn’t crush the patriarchy like the suffragettes or pave the way like Marsha P. Johnson. She was plain Faye Donovan, a woman whose own body couldn’t even function properly.

Carla plucked her phone from the dashboard. “Let me make a call. We’ll be at the hotel quick as a wink.”

“Hotel?”

She flashed Faye a big grin as she put the phone to her ear. “Two minutes away and very close to the port.”

Before Faye could breathe with relief, Carla jumped to life. After a quick conversation, she dropped her phone in her lap and started to drive again. The sky darkened around them, streetlights illuminating the chaos outside. Trees battled to stay upright, losing leaves to the relentless wind.

Carla came to an abrupt stop outside a terrace of white buildings with cracks running up the plaster. A lone sock squirmed like a fish, caught in the iron balconies connecting the upper floors together, while the red neon “Raul’s” sign hanging above the door blinked steadily, rocking in the wind.

Faye’s heart kicked up a notch. Carla wanted her to stay here? It didn’t look like a hotel, more like an underground den.

Accepting she had no other choice than to trust her, she followed Carla through the black door and into a cramped hallway. A turquoise-and-orange geometric carpet assaulted her eyes, clashing with the yellow wall paint.

Carla rang the tinny bell on the tiny wooden reception desk. Moments later, a man entered through a swing door, his face brightening when he spotted Carla. Rough stubble coated his chin, his black hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of his head.

He greeted Carla in Portuguese, then glanced at Faye and switched to English, which offended her a little. But after a full day of travel, screaming toddlers, crowds, and stoma worries, she was too anxious and exhausted to care.

“I like your hair tied back, Carla,” Raul commented as he slid Faye’s room key over the desk.

“I like yours, too.” Carla played with her ponytail. “It’s the dog’s bollocks, I hear.”

She glanced over her shoulder, encouraging Faye to join, but Faye folded in on herself. Witnessing their painfully obvious crushes made her want to bury her head in the reception desk’s plant pot. It’d been a long day, and she could almost taste the solitude of her room. She fidgeted from foot to foot, eager to be alone.

After a few more uncomfortable exchanges, Raul winked at the two of them and disappeared into the bar. Finally.

Carla helped Faye carry her luggage into the lift, the cramped space and creaky mechanical chains not doing anything for Faye’s frayed nerves. At the top, she bid Faye a cheery goodbye, arranging to pick her up early in the morning once the port had reopened. But that was a worry for tomorrow.

Exhausted, Faye lugged her suitcase through the wooden door of her room, almost collapsing with relief as it closed behind her.

She’d made it. Well, kind of.

She dumped her luggage on the single bed and flicked on the antique wall-lights, bathing the small space in warmth. A poky wooden drawer had been crammed in next to a desk, but it was clean, and something about the room’s minimalist decor brought a sense of comfort.

Faye emptied her bag in the cramped bathroom, struggling in the tiny space, then changed out of her aeroplane clothes and into her loose pyjama bottoms. The faded orange carpet scratched at her feet as she unpacked her essentials, but she was too tired to care. Her earlier optimism had been swept away with the gusts of wind.

She caught her reflection in the long mirror beside the door and frowned. She still wasn’t used to it. The bulge at her abdomen. How the bag pushed back against her clothing. How nothing she wore ever truly hid it. She always knew it was there—but at least the ugly red protrusion wasn’t visible.

A year ago, when Faye was curled up in her bed, begging her dads for more pain medication, she’d thought she’d do anything to treat her Crohn’s disease. But this… Having an ostomy wasn’t what she’d had in mind. How could she expect someone to want to be with her when she couldn’t stand her own reflection in the mirror?

Her phone jumped to life on the desk, the group chat buzzing with messages. Faye pulled them up, smiling at her dads’ names on the screen.

Lukas: Told you you’d be fine! Enjoy yourself

And don’t stay hidden in your room

Faye shook her head, nibbling at her lip. The way her dad knew she would hole up in the hotel irked her.

David: Just got out of class. Proud of you, sweetie. Send us some pictures when you get a chance. Miss you so much already xxx

Lukas: That’s 50p for the excessive emoji jar