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Every time we used to watch a movie where everyone hugged a lot, my mother would huff, “Fucking Hollywood fiction. No one behaves like that.”
I’d believed her. Until I met Drake. His hugs meant everything to me. It wasn’t just the sex and orgasms.
I cried in his arms. My body shuddering. Unable to let him go, I’d gone from “Fuck him. He’s got a new girlfriend, and I hate him” to “No one is going to have him. He’s mine.”
He pulled away, despite my tight clasp.
“Here. Come away from the curb.” His voice was gentle. It was my sweet, darling Drake again.
My mouth trembled as tears soaked my cheeks. I looked up at him as a creature lost in a web of her own spinning.
He led me silently to the other side of the road, and we sat down on a bench on the deserted main street.
From where I sat, the sea resembled a black crinkly sheet with flickering stars that might have fallen from the sky. Something I could relate to because I’d fallen from somewhere myself.
“Manon, this can’t continue, you know that. I don’t fucking share.”
“Do you love her?”
Under the streetlamp, I noticed rings under his eyes. I even sensed sadness, which made me feel less alone. “Misery likes company” as the saying went.
Drake frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“That pretty singer who looks like Cher before she had her face reconstructed.”
His chuckle faded quickly. “I don’t love anyone other than my mother.”
“But you said you loved me.”
“You’re getting fucking married. How can you not get that?” He went to stand up.
I stopped him. I needed more of him. He could yell abuse at me, call me names. It didn’t matter. I just wanted him close.
“Don’t go. I’m going out of my fucking mind, Drake. Seeing you with that girl. She’s so pretty and talented. Everything I’m not.”
“You’re beautiful, Manon.” He puffed. “Too beautiful.” His whisper sounded more like a torment.
“But you’re seeing her.” Tears prickled my eyes. I’d never cried so much as that past week. “I even went to the vintage market and bought boho clothes, but I hated them on me.”
Drake gave me a sad smile. “Just be yourself, Manon.”
Having gone from using my body to get ahead to searching for more than just designer handbags and shoes, I didn’t know who I was.
“Brooke’s gay.”
It took me a moment to process his comment. I turned sharply. “She is?”
“Yep. That was her girlfriend in there.”
“But you looked so close, so friendly. Your face animated around her.”
He laughed. “Animated? Shit, am I that expressive? Here I was thinking I was shy.”
I wanted to kiss and hug him. I’d had a scenario playing out all week of him in bed with young Cher, and it had twisted me inside out.
“I wouldn’t exactly describe you as shy,” I said at last, after bathing in hope.
“I have my moments.” He stood and stretched. “Okay. Now that’s been established, do you want me to walk you to Merivale?”
