Page 94 of Glitterland
“Aw, babes.” Darian was grinning at me. “You’re totes romantic.”
I stared at him, stunned and horrified. “Oh God, it’s true. I do. I actually love you. I really do.” I laughed. Not entirely without hysteria. “I love you.”
“Yeah.” Darian nodded sagely. “I fought you did. Then I fought you didn’t. Then I fought youreallydidn’t. Then I fought you did again. It’s all good, babes.”
I leaned into him, because maybe I could do that now. It was awkward because he still had my hands, but I didn’t care. He could keep them, forever if he wanted, as long as we could stay like this. Foolish thoughts, because everything changes, always, even—apparently—me.
“Is it?” I asked, suddenly too exhausted by tears and truths, too much emotion and frightening four-letter words to quite believe it might be. “Is it really all good?”
“Yeah. You know I fink you’re amazin’.”
“I’m sorry I’m such an utter wanker.”
“Aww, babes, you’re not really. You just pretend you are for some reason. I dunno why. Cos you’re a bit weird sometimes, I fink.”
I nodded. That was a fair assessment of my character. And more generous than anything I would have said or thought.
His hands slackened on my wrists and I looked up to see he was frowning again. I groaned. “Oh fuck, what do you want now? The moon on a stick?”
He still didn’t smile, and fresh anxiety slipped down my spine like a silver blade. “D’you mean it, babes? Abaht wanting to be wif me. Abaht maybe possibly maybe maybemaybebeing in love wif me? Everyfing you said before?”
Sheer, giddy relief expressed itself in exasperation. “Of course I fucking meant it. Do you think I just carved my heart into pieces for shits and giggles?”
“Calm dahn.” Now he grinned, that beautiful, generous, absurdly glittering grin. “I was just checking. Cos, y’know, even though it’s a totally meaningless linguistic fart—”
“Feint.”
“Yeah, that. I fought you might maybe wanna know—”
“That’s not necessary.”
“—I might feel like being in love wif you too one day. Y’know, if you ever learn ’ow to use a cheese grater prop’ly.”
“No deal.”
But it was no use. The idea had taken root like a weed. Darian Taylor might one day feel like being in love with me. Like everything else in my life, it was nothing I would ever have thought I wanted, but I would learn to cherish it. Maybe the day would come that depression would take him away from me—one way or another—but for now, it was enough. More than enough. More than I could have dreamed possible.
Darian was looking serious again. “So, lemme get this right. We’re gonna make a go of it. You and me? Togevver? Even though I’m orange and you’re mental?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, please.”
And I, once again, threw myself enthusiastically into the embrace of a man in a Union Jack onesie. Darian’s arms enfolded me, sweeping me into his warmth, and I pressed my face into the safe darkness of his shoulder. “I can’t promise it’ll be simple. I can’t promise there’s any future in it, and I certainly can’t promise I’ll watchStrictly Come Dancingwith you—” He gave a horrified gasp. “—but I will try. I know I don’t deserve it, but please let me try.”
“Yeah.” I heard the familiar smile in his voice. “Ahwight.”
23
Now
He catches my face between his hands, his painted fingernails twinkling like stars, and when he kisses me it feels a bit like fear and tastes a bit like tears, but it’s as bright and sweet as sherbet, and I decide to call it joy.
