Page 68 of His Secret Obsession

“She’s read it,” I say, showing Hugo. He looks at my phone screen with the same kind of concentration he’d give a maths question.

“But she’s not calling back. Or replying,” Hugo says.

I put the phone away, because there’s no point looking at it. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened, or what I did wrong.” That’s the sick feeling under all my panic and confusion: the dreaded confirmation that I wasn’t good enough, not for the person who should’ve liked me, or tolerated me, enough to do me the service of not cheating on me.

I let out a sigh, and my body sinks inwards on itself. “I should’ve expected it,” I murmur.

Hugo frowns. “What are you talking about?”

I shrug. “I don’t know why she was even dating me in the first place. Obviously, she’s way out of my league. She was probably just killing time with me. Humouring herself. There’s no way she’d genuinely want to be with — ow!”

Hugo punched me in the arm, and not softly either. “Charlie, usually you’re a pretty smart guy, but that’s got to be the dumbest zero-IQ thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“You just punched me,” I say.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and you shouldn’t be justifying Cleo treating you like that. That’s crazy. The stuff you’re saying is so nonsensical, it’s on the same level as the stupid crap Gilly spouts — not that he would ever say anything like that, because he’s too egoistical for that.”

I rub the spot he punched. “That hurt,” I say. “Why did that hurt so much? Have you been going to the gym?”

“The question is: where’s your ego?” Hugo continues as if he didn’t hear me. “Most of the time you seem like a normal guy — not arrogant but not unconfident either — but then sometimes you say stuff that makes me think you have… I don’t know, self-esteem issues or something.”

I stop rubbing my arm. My gaze drops to my feet, and I notice the soles of my shoes are damp with dew.

I wish this day would finish already.

“Hey,” Hugo says, and I sense him move a centimetre closer. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Of course, I do. I was a total weirdo in high school. Even now, people scare me. Look at you, Charlie. You went on a dating app, you talked to girls. I’m too scared to put myself out there like that. I’m self-aware enough to know that I could have more faith in myself.”

“So, what are you saying? That I should shake this off, tell myself I’m awesome, and continue on with my life? No offence, but how am I supposed to feel great about myself when my girlfriend just cheated on me? Any self-esteem I might have had has been totally obliterated.”

“That’s fair,” Hugo says. “But what I’m saying though is that even though things suck right now, you can’t think there’s something inherently wrong with you. You can’t think, oh, I deserve this, oh, I made this happen. This isn’t your fault. It’s Cleo’s fault. It reflects on her as a girlfriend, not on you as a boyfriend.” He pauses to let that sink in.

I sigh. I want to go home and crawl into my bed, but that means facing Lucas, and I can’t do that. All I can do is sit here and listen to Hugo. Intellectually, I know he’s right, but I can’t help wanting to resist — to plug my ears and throw myself a pity party where I list all the things I’ve done wrong and that’s why I’ll be alone forever.

Jesus. Not only do I have self-esteem issues, I’m also a drama queen.

“I don’t want to sound preachy,” Hugo continues, “so I’ll stop with the self-confidence talk. You’re the one studying Psychology, so I’ll leave that to you. But let’s look at the objective facts: Cleo willingly chose to date you. You were a great boyfriend. You took her out to dates and I know you — you’re an attentive and caring person.”

The words make me shift awkwardly, but Hugo barrels on with his speech.

“I’m serious, Charlie. You’re a good guy. That’s why I’m friends with you. That’s why Gilly and Lucas are friends with you.” The mention of Lucas makes me flush. “If you were crap, we wouldn’t spend time with you, would we?”

“I know. You’re right. I…thanks, Hugo.”

“It’s nothing.” He twirls his coffee cup. “It’s cold. You want to get out of here? It might do you good to keep you busy so that you don’t think about Cleo.”

“Okay.” I stand up, and Hugo leads the way out of the park, back to his student accommodation building. “I need to do some grocery shopping, if you don’t mind coming along. And then afterwards we can just hang at mine.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

At the edge of the park, we drop our cups into a bin before stepping onto a street surrounded by tall brown-brick buildings. In the distance, a car alarm goes off.

When we’re halfway to Hugo's, passing a Korean grocery with its windows plastered with ice-cream advertisements, his phone rings.

“It’s Lucas,” he tells me before picking up. Standing beside Hugo, I can overhear the conversation. They exchange greetings before Lucas asks if Hugo knows where I am.

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