Page 84 of Open Water

“You don’t have to look after me,” I huff at Hedda as we jog down the stairs, my chest heaving a little with exhaustion. I need a nap. I need a hug. I need my baby to stroke my hair and hold me and whisper, “I love you, Pumpkin,” in my ear.

“I know I don’t, but Max, level with me. I like Matteo. I like you. Matteo freaks about you being alone. I like having you around. It’s not like I have loads of friends, and neither do you, so let’s just help each other out, okay? Let me be this annoying girl who hangs around like a bad smell, and in return, I will give you a hug when you need it, and make Matteo feel better knowing you are not alone. That’s all there is. Please.”

She stops and looks at me, and she kind of looks sad. Like she needs a hug as much as I do. She’s bloody annoying, but I still do it. I scoop her up in an awkward hug, full of arms and boobs and girl smells and hairspray and she lets out a little giggle.

“BFF,” she says matter-of-factly. Like I am supposed to understand what all the shit that spills out of her mouth means.

“Whatever.” I smile and lean my back against the heavy door leading into the school yard, holding it open with my body as she skips past me in a flutter of words.

And that’s kind of how the rest of my day goes. Being babysat by Hedda, then Reim, then some bloke called Holger who is apparently in our Drama class, but who I can’t remember ever having met before, and then, Sverre high-fives me in the third floor corridor and I kind of have a good day. Kind of. Oh yeah, and when I check Insta, I have like five new followers, including this Sverre person, which makes me feel oddly proud. In a weird way.

Because Matteo’s shite piss-take of a mobile has apparently died, so he can’t ring me, and his friend is on Pay-as-you-go and he only let him send two texts from his tight-arse phone, but at least, I know he is alive and coming home to me tonight. Home. He writes home and my heart goes all fluttery.

I still hold a grudge. I still love him. I still want to scream and shout at him as his key glides into the front door lock and the creak of his footsteps echo through the silence as he tries to sneak in. He’s home. Him. My baby.

I have it all ready in my head. All the reasonable arguments why he hurt me. Why I am upset. Why I have every right to be jealous of his best friend, who is a girl, but still gets his attention when I should have it all. It doesn’t make any sense, but neither does the fact that I run barefoot down the hallway in my t-shirt and boxers, leaving the blanket from the sofa in a snake-like trail behind me. Neither does the fact that I kind of jump in to his arms and burst into tears like a baby. I sob into his collar. Fist his hoodie and blubber into his neck. All whilst his hands stroke my back and his lips are against my cheek. Whispering little words of comfort as my mouth blabbers out a load of bullshit that makes absolutely no sense.

“Pumpkin,” he says quietly.

“Baby,” I wail.

“I’m here now. I’m right here.”

“You weren’t here yesterday. I hated it. I hated that you weren’t here.”

“So bloody clingy,” he giggles into my ear and kisses my earlobe. “I love that you missed me. Love it. And I missed you too. So so much.”

“I hate Tilda,” I say. I don’t mean it. Honestly.

“She hates you too. She says you have stolen her best friend and she wants to punch you in the face. Hard.”

He’s smiling.

I am too. Giggling a little. It’s ridiculous.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you too,” he replies. Placing a little kiss on the tip of my nose. “Can I just grab a sandwich and cram it down my neck, and then, can I suck your cock for dessert?”

He doesn’t even blush and I just shrug my shoulders. “I suppose I could let you do that. Maybe.”

I lean my body against the doorframe watching as Matteo messes around in the fridge. Grabs a roll from the bread basket and sticks a slice of ham between the bread, not even bothering with butter.

“I’m still mad at you,” I start. I need to say something. Get some of it out, even though I have kind of already forgiven him. I mean, just look at him. Smiling at me and breaking off a small piece of bread to pop in my mouth, followed by a featherlight kiss.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he whispers.

“Fuck that. I don’t want any absence. I’m clingy as fuck. I’m kind of pathetically attached to you. I want you with me all the time, and I’m fucking jealous.”

“She’s a girl, Pumpkin. She’s my best friend, apart from you. But you come first. Always. You know that, don’t you? That you are the one I love?”

Why does he always say the right things? How can he just look at me and make my legs turn to jelly? How does he stand me? Because I am pathetic. Sad. Jealous. A child.

“And I don’t need your friends to look out for me,” I stutter out, and he presses his lips to mine. Folds me into one of his hugs. The all-consuming hugs that make me feel safe. Safe and loved and protected and… whole. When it’s him and me. Just him and me. Safe.

“Yes, you do. We all need people to love us, and you, Pumpkin, are loved. Just let people love you a little. Let people be your friends.”

“I don’t need friends.” I sulk and kiss him. I suck at arguing. I suck at fighting with my boyfriend, because I am getting absolutely nowhere. Instead, my cock is twitching in my pants and my dickhead boyfriend is licking his lips. Cocking his head towards the hallway. Towards my room. Our room.

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