‘Things with him … were very bad,’ she said. ‘I … it was a very bad relationship in … a lot of ways, and … it really … put me off wanting them.’
I didn’t ask her to elaborate. I could imagine what she meant.
‘I haven’t liked anyone since then,’ she mumbled again. ‘I’ve been scared to. But I might … be starting to like someone new.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I really … don’t want to be doing that.’
‘Why?’
‘It just won’t end well.’ She shook her head. ‘And she hates me, anyway.’
I knew instantly that she meant Pip.
‘I don’t think she hates you,’ I said gently.
Rooney said nothing.
‘Anyway, you’re only eighteen, you’ve got so much time –’ I started to say, but didn’t know how to continue. What did I mean when I said that? That she’d definitely find the perfect relationship someday? Because I knew that wasn’t true. Not for me. Not for anyone.
It was something adults said all the time. You’ll change your mind when you’re older. You never know what might happen. You’ll feel differently one day. As if we teenagers knew so little about ourselves that we could wake up one day a completely different person. As if the person we are right now doesn’t matter at all.
The whole idea that people always grew up, fell in love and got married was a complete lie. How long would it take me to accept that?
‘I’m nineteen,’ she said.
I frowned. ‘Wait, are you? Did you have a gap year?’
‘No. It was my birthday last week.’
This confused me more. ‘What? When?’
‘Last Thursday.’
Last Thursday. I could barely remember anything about it – uni days were all blurring into one endless stream of lectures and meals and sleep.
‘You … didn’t say anything,’ I said.
‘No.’ She laughed, partly muffled by her pillow. ‘I started thinking what would happen if people knew it was my birthday. I’d just end up going on another night out with a bunch of people I really don’t know that well, and they’d all pretend to be my friend and sing happy birthday and take fake-happy selfies for Instagram before we’d all separate and hook up with different people, and I’d just end up in some stranger’s bed after having below-average sex, hating myself again.’
‘If you’d told me, we could have done … none of that.’
She smiled. ‘What would we have done?’
‘I dunno. Sat in here and eaten pizza. I could have forced you to watch Bridesmaids.’
She snorted. ‘That’s a shit movie.’
‘It’s not the best, but the romance is literal perfection. They sit on a car and eat carrot sticks together.’
‘The dream.’
We lay there in silence for a little while.
‘You … don’t like having casual sex any more,’ I said, realising what she’d been trying to say earlier. It wasn’t that casual sex had hurt her, or that it made her a bad person – it didn’t. ‘You want …’ It wasn’t even that she wanted a relationship. Not really. She wanted what a relationship would give her.
‘You want someone to know you,’ I said.
She stayed silent for a moment. I waited for her to tell me how wrong I was.
Instead, she said, ‘I’m just lonely. I’m just so lonely all the time.’
I didn’t know what to say to that, but I didn’t need to, because she fell asleep a few minutes later. I looked over her head and saw that Roderick had significantly wilted – Rooney was definitely forgetting to water him. I stared up at the ceiling and listened to her breathing next to me, but I didn’t want to leave the bed, because even though I couldn’t sleep, and I was paranoid about drooling on her or rolling on top of her by accident, Rooney needed me for some reason. Maybe because, despite all of her friends and acquaintances, nobody really knew her like I did.
Jason still showed up to our next Shakespeare Soc rehearsal the following week.
I didn’t think he would. I had messaged him to apologise again, to try and explain, even though I was shit at articulating any of my thoughts and feelings.
He’d read it but didn’t reply.
I spent most of my lectures that week zoned out, not taking enough notes, wondering how I was going to salvage our friendship out of the chaos I’d created. Jason liked me romantically. I’d taken advantage of that to figure out my sexual identity, despite knowing I didn’t like him like that in return. Selfish. I was so selfish.