Page 39 of Bad at Love
“So even someone like Simone never knew aboutthis.”
I laugh. “This. You make it sound like I keep locks of hair from all my ex-girlfriends in a shoebox under my bed or something to that nature.”
She looks horrified.
“Which I don’t,” I go on. “It’s sad that I had to clarify that right now. Anyway, it’s just for fun. It keeps the pressure off and no I don’t blindly do what it says. I’m not that daft. But it helps in a pinch.”
Her eyes study me intently for a moment. Then she nods. “Yeah, it’s still weird, I don’t care how you justify it.”
“Then I guess we’re just a pair of fucking weirdos aren’t we now?” I stare down at the ball, then close my eyes and say, “Should I kiss Marina goodnight?”
I shake the ball vigorously, open my eyes and take a look.
A blue triangle that saysLOLfloats to the surface.
Marina bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, it has a sense of humor! Is it sentient?”
“Obviously this is the upgraded version. I have the old-fashioned kind at home,” I tell her as I stick the ball back in the glove compartment and shut it. I know I should probably feel like a bit of a wanker or something for showing her that, let alone actually asking the bloody thing if I should kiss her or not. But I have zero regrets.
So far…
“Well, sorry to tell you then but if the 8 Ball says it’s a laughable idea, it’s a laughable idea.”
“Fine. But if you’re willing to accept the answer tonight,you should be willing to accept whatever answer it gives me on our next date.”
“Since when did dating turn into gambling?”
“When you agreed to go out with me, Bumble.”
“Guess I should have seen that coming.”
CHAPTER SIX
LAZ
“WALKING IN MY SHOES”
I wake up feeling inspired.
I have to thank my dreams for that.
I don’t exactly remember them but I remember the feelings they gave me, imprinted somewhere inside. It was warmth and happiness followed by self-sabotaging and despair. Something beautiful and wonderful had happened to me and then I ruined it all, more comfortable being cold and alone. I wear misery like a worn coat and in my dream it was no different.
It sounds slightly morbid, but it’s the best kind of dream I can have. You know, from a creative point of view. Emotions at a high, swirling inside me, based on nothing. Nothing in my real life is at stake, everything is the same, and these feelings are fleeting. Harmless. So I immediately grab my pen and paper beside the bed and start writing.
I end up filling six pages full of one whole poem, something I can easily break apart later into sections and then parcel it out on Instagram. I’ve been posting so much old stuff lately that I think people might be getting sick of it.
I could actually write more but my phone rings and justlike that, all the creativity is drained out of me, like it was never here to begin with. I know it’s my mother calling, she’s the only person I know who doesn’t text.
I stare at the cell for a moment and rally together the strength to talk to her. It would be so much easier for it to go to voice mail but I hadn’t talked to her in a few weeks now, which I feel guilty about, even though she hadn’t called me either.
“Hi mum,” I say into the phone.
“Lazarus, sweetheart,” she says. “It wouldn’t kill you to call would it?”
More than a decade outside of Manchester and her accent is as strong as ever.
“Sorry mum, just been busy. How are things?”
