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‘What an absolute tosser.Men.’ I can practically see her grimace. ‘Why do they think they’re some race of elite warriors when they’re drunk? There’s a certain sub-species of twat who wear really tight, really skinny denim jeans with button-down shirts and white Nikies and theyprowl, Frank—they literally prowl, like they actually know where the clit is.’
I choke on my wine.
‘Maaaate, I kid you not, when I was in college last year, I hooked up with this lad because I was really curious about my sexuality at the time because I was still a virgin at that point but I just knew I wasn’t in to guys but I wanted to make sure—anyway, he spent twenty-fucking-minutes rubbing my left flap, and I had to fake an orgasm, but I didn’t knowhowto orgasm, and—‘ She bursts into laughter, and I roll my eyes. ‘And do you know what I said? I said—‘ More laughter, and this time I can’t suppress my chuckle. ‘I told him he MADE ME OVULATE! HOW FUNNY IS THAT?’
‘That is pretty funny.’
‘Anyway, morale of the story: I’ve been gay ever since.’
‘Thought you said you knew you were lesbian before—‘
‘Just because you’re having hot, rough sex on tables and bent over the sink doesn’t mean we all are. Some guys are still out there, searching for the clit.’
Heat pools between my legs as I glance at the dining table, as the memory flashes before me: Archer swiping the plates and glasses off the table, sending them smashing over the floor—not in any anger, but in a blind, wanting frenzy. Archer shoving my head down on the tablecloth with his hand on my nape, rucking up my dress, and thrusting into me, fucking me so hard the entire table moved forward a few inches. He spilled into me, finishing before I was even close, and went right back to his game, leaving me to clean up the mess—and leaving me to wander into the bedroom and finish myself off.
I switched to the contraceptive pill over a year ago when he made a habit of taking me whenever he wanted, as he rolled over in bed to get up for work and took me from behind, as I was cleaning the dishes and he bent me over the sink, as we were watching a movie and he started fingering me, as I was showering and he fucked me against the wall. He never wore a condom those times, and although I was angry with him for it, I liked having him drip down my thighs.
But since taking the pill, my libido has taken a plummet, and I’m not enjoying sex as much as I used to.
‘You coming out?’ Amelia asks.
‘You got me.’ I clear my throat. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m a gay.’
‘Oh, darlin’, I think we’re all a little gay. But seriously.’
It’s the same question every Wednesday, when she has the next day off. It doesn’t hurt that drinks are half price on weekdays. And it’s usually the same answer, but tonight I hesitate. I glance at Archer’s full plate, the cold brew…
‘I don’t know,’ I say at last.
‘Is that a yes?’ She sounds hopeful.
‘It’s anI don’t want to spend my night worrying I’ve done the wrong thing.’
‘British Gas isn’t there though, is he?’ A nickname Archer acquired when I told Amelia in work about the time I walked in on him and his mate Sean laughing hysterically on the sofa, the table scattered with gas canisters.
‘Archer,’ I correct with a sigh. ‘And no, he isn’t. I don’t think he’ll be home for another—‘ I pull away my phone to look at it ‘—two and a half hours yet.’
‘Sweet. You’re coming out and we’ll get you home before he gets back.’
I bite my lip. ‘I don’t know.’ It seems like such a dick move; if he pulled this on me, I’d be pissed. But he hasn’t even shot me a quick text to let me know how long he’ll be, or where he is, or if he’s okay. The last time I went out with Amelia was last Christmas Eve for a work do, and it was going well until Archer turned up and made snide remarks about my dress, all the while looking at Jase, a male colleague of mine. And when we got home, he accused me of cheating, and he stormed out, slamming the door on my finger and breaking it.
It’s never quite healed. I can barely move it at all.
But what if my estimation is right and he doesn’t return for another few hours? Do I really want to waste my night again? Do I really want to wait up for him? The bottle is on its last dregs, and the music in the background of wherever the hell Emmy is thrums through me, making me twirl my hair and twist my body.
Do I really want to stop now?
I sigh, defeated. ‘Fine. Where are you?’
???
Moving to Whitechapel had been a stupid, whimsical idea. I appreciate the diversity and culture of this part of the city, the markets and cuisines and small-scale factories; it’s cheap, too, which was the defining factor for Archer and I. We never would’ve been able to afford an apartment on the other side of London, not when I earn minimum wage and Arch pisses most of his salary up the wall. He grosses a higher income than I do, which means I have to work longer hours, more days, and I have nothing to show for it but the blisters on my feet and exhaustion in every step.
I don’t do anything I like anymore, and my days off are spent catching up on sleep.
But I don’t tell Archer any of that. I don’t want to give him an excuse to leer at me.
Even our apartment doesn’t reveal the endless work hauls. It doesn’t have a garden, but a backstreet alley, used as a communal toilet and for drug meets. And to get to the apartment? Forty steps, and that’s only to Jodie’s apartment because she stops me every single time to talk aboutdid you hear that noise last nightandyou’ll never guess what I just heardandmaybe I can pop round later for a drink.Anything to stick her business where it doesn’t belong.
