I sink into my bed, and I am in the ground. My head is in the ground, in a hole. The boy – my boy – fills the hole with dirt.
I wake up.
therabbitheartedgirl:
I’ve been thinking a lot about irina lately. she keeps trying to get me to come round or texting me about the lad from tesco i told her to scout like rubbing it in??? and other weird shit she probably sent me while she was drunk or smth. I’m ignoring her textxs but im still really worried about her. the last time i tried to cut her out like this, she got reallly messy. Ive done it a couple of times before. Tbf the first time i did it she was with her gf （her only relationship ever fyi） during second year of uni, i literally did it bc i freaked out n got super jealous and i just couldnt stand to be round them when they were together. but when irina was with her gf it was just ‘gf gf gf’ all the time, she was so fucking obsessed she didnt even notice her best friend （and FLATMATE at the time） completely ignoring her lmao.
but yeah she noticed next time. it was when rini was still in LDN bc she got into the RCA and i was having a go at graphic design/illustration stuff before i did teacher training, and i was doing this internship in manchester. and i just wanted a fresh start because this was less than a year after her breakup and she’d… u kno… used me for sex for like 3 months because she was sad.
I left my cat with her which was dumb. i took in this stray when we were living together and she named it Fritz and I didn’t want to take him to manc with me, so she used him as an excuse to just kept texting me like ‘fritz wants you to come back’ or ‘come pick up the cat plz i cant rlly afford to feed it’ and I just ignored it. She also kept sending me pics of her and her new MA friends having fun, especially this one girl who was all tall and skinny like rini （Serotonin shes like a proper artist now, HATED HER tbh） and she’d text me all the time about fritz. But yeah i managed to ignore her/give her the cold shoulder for ages and then she rang me one night at 3am having this full blown meltdown like not actively being like ‘i’m going to kill myself’ but she has a history of self harm （which got BAD after she broke up with the gf her hips are just shredded like she’d cut out chunks of her skin with nail scissors it was so grim） so when she rang me like that iw as literally just like ‘fuck’ and got in the car.
ive never seen her cry sober so by the time i got to ldn i found her in a puddle of red wine and tears and TO THIS DAY i do not know WHAT THE FUCK happened to make her like that. She SAID that she lost fritz and she was sorry and I was ShOoKetH because ive NEVER heard an apology from her EVER. Fritz was actually lost, we never found him, but i just sincerely doubt she was actually upset about the cat.
Any way by the time we were both back in NCL, when i first got w michael actually and she was really shitty about it — i tried again and the same thing basically happened. idk tbf she has rung me blackout drunk and crying when I havent been not speaking to her but she’s also rlly calculated sometimes and not super??? stable???? （which i know sounds like an oxymoron but she kind of is an oxymoron of a human being）
but yeah so the tl;dr version of this is rini doesnt do well when shes left alone for long periods of time and idk if its attention seeking of if she’s actually just going a bit crackers on her own. Who the fuck knows!!!! either way i’m sure that lad from tesco she is shagging （I know bc she texted me about it in graphic detail & she only ever gets this weird with people she likes） is in for an absolute fucking treat lmfao.
DENNIS
I arrange to meet with that suit – the bloke from the bus. We spend an afternoon emailing back and forth, and we settle on the evening after next for a shoot. I am, as the kids say, ‘shook’ that it’s gotten this far. Honestly, his is the worst demographic for not turning up, for panicking last minute. The last time I scouted a bloke his age, I got a text from his wife the day of, all like stay away from me husband slut. I have a boilerplate response along the lines of it’s not my fault your husband is a cheat, you thick bitch. I usually get a response along the lines of sorry, you’re right and an occasional screed about how he treats her badly and how he never does the washing up.
As much as I love a Hot Dad, I try not to go for this age bracket. Maximum faff, and a big risk they won’t even turn up for the pics.
I am still highly sceptical when I put the shoot into my diary, and I spend the entirety of my yoga class feeling weirdly pissed off. Granted, this could have been triggered by the skinny bint with white-girl dreads leading the class. Not our usual teacher, she smells of dirty hair, and keeps talking about how Mercury is in retrograde and chakras and other shit. She tries to correct my form while I’m in a perfectly acceptable bow pose, and I ‘accidentally’ let go of my ankle and boot her in the stomach. Mercury is blamed, and I am left to my own devices for the rest of the class.
I’ve barely closed my front door when the bell rings. Eddie from Tesco is distorted in the peephole, clutching a bouquet. I open the door; the flowers aren’t even from Tesco. He tells me straight away that they’ve been teasing him all day at work for having flowers, saying they were probably for his mam. I ask him what he thinks he’s doing. He says that he can’t stop thinking about me. He doesn’t understand why I’d sleep with him but he’s really grateful that I have. He wanted to give me the flowers as a thank you.
‘For… fucking you?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘It sounds weird when you put it like that.’
‘It is weird,’ I tell him.
‘Can I come in?’
‘What for?’ He just wants to see me. Chat. Maybe watch a film. ‘We didn’t watch a film last time though, did we?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘But… we could?’
I let him in. We don’t watch a film. I haven’t even had a chance to change out of my ‘active wear’， so I tell him I’m taking a shower, and leave a trail of Lycra behind me as I ascend the stairs. I shower with the bathroom door open, assuming he’ll take a hint and get in with me, but he doesn’t. He stands in the doorway, and watches.
‘How are you real?’ he asks.
‘Dunno.’ I look over to him, wiping water from my eyes. He is smiling at me. His neck is rimmed with bruises, a print of my hands wrought on his light brown skin in purples, reds and blues. ‘Your neck looks fucked up,’ I say.
‘Yeah. I’ve been telling people I got into a bar fight.’ He snorts. ‘You should see the other bloke! And stuff. I told my best friend? So he could vouch for me. Like, yeah this mental charva grabbed him at ’Spoons.’
‘Are you embarrassed of me, or something?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t really want people to know I’ve… like… been doing, um…’ He clears his throat. ‘Kinky stuff. Plus, I just don’t think anyone would believe me if I, like, told them, and they looked you up on Facebook, or Insta or something. The friend I told called me a liar when I showed him you – he said you were probably catfishing me, and I’d done the bruises myself in a wanking accident.’ He laughs, awkwardly. ‘I followed you on Instagram by the way – hope that’s okay.’