Boyfriend Material Posts
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She picked up straight away. “What’s wrong?”
“Me,” I said. “I’m what’s wrong.”
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It was a text from Oliver which, the preview helpfully informed me, began with the words Bad news.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
Without my telling it to, my brain started filling in a hundred different ways that sentence could end. And it probably said something about what a messed-up place I was in Oliver-wise that it went straight to “We’re breaking up” rather than “My grandma’s died” or “I have syphilis.”
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“The vast majority of murderers murder one person and either regret it for the rest of their lives or have a reason for doing it that you would probably sympathise with. The first thing you learn as a criminal barrister is bad things are not the exclusive province of bad people.”
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“Oh, Lucien, how can I explain this?” For some reason, he sounded sad. “I don’t want fine. Fine isn’t enough. It’s not about the open fire or whatever other clichés you can conjure up, but yes, I want a connection. I want you to care as much as I care. I want you to need it and want it and mean it. I want it to matter.”
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“Yes. I mean. No. I mean. Fuck you, Oliver.”
“I don’t see how that’s helpful.”
“It’s not meant to be helpful.”
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Given how terribly the evening had gone, I was really looking forward to taking a quiet cab ride home, sticking my head under a duvet, and dying.
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Maybe, and I’d suspected this for a while now, I was fundamentally unhelpable. Because somewhere along the line, I’d turned getting ahead of the story into a lifestyle.
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This was the problem with, well, I was going to say “the world” or “relationships” or “humanity in general,” but I guess I really meant me. Because when I let someone into my life, it went one of two ways: either they carried on putting up with me, even though I’m clearly not worth putting up with. Or else they pissed all over me and walked out, occasionally popping back to piss on me some more.
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“Will you,” I asked, “will you come with me? If I go.”
“Of course.”
“You know for…”
“Verisimilitude,” he finished.
He still hadn’t moved his hand. I didn’t ask him to.
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