Page 46 of Fighting Mr. Knight

For the first month, the loneliness was difficult. I was on autopilot, as unsettled inside the flat as outside.

Dad actually asked me to move in with him. I couldn’t but it broke my heart to break his heart.

Breaking up with Max left a big hole in my schedule. Breakfasts eaten alone. Evenings alone. Weekends were the worst, Sunday mornings especially. I arranged lunches, dinners, drinks and walks with friends but still couldn’t fill all the hours.

Being with Max was all I knew for so long that I forgot how to just be withme.

Then after a few months, I began to appreciate the positives of solo living. No one to snuggle with but no snoring in my ear either and I didn’t have to listen to that constant clearing of Max’s throat that made me want to choke him in his sleep. The toilet seat remains down permanently. I can do whatever the fuck I like within these walls without judgement.

I pee with the bathroom door open, listening to my reverse harem audiobooks. Volume hitched as high as it will go. I pig out on takeaways in large pants and watch365 Dayson repeat getting unreasonably emotional. It’s strangely liberating.

I need new hobbies.

My phone buzzes.

Nisha:Have you set it up yet?

Me:Give me a minute.

I only dropped her off thirty minutes ago and she’s already nagging me about my dating profile. We agreed in the car that I need to cast my net much wider, i.e. men I’ve never met before.

I should really go straight to sleep. I have to pack two days of work effort into one tomorrow.

Except Nisha said it would only take five minutes to set up a profile. I might as well have a quick look. See what the pool is like.

The belly flutters over Jack Knight might have been misplaced, but they gave me hope that I could put myself out there again. Finding out that Max is dating again came at me from out of left field. When we were both in a weird limbo, not with each other but not moving forward, I was okay. Now Max has stirred everything up.

But I can’t let a few bad cocks skewer my judgement of dating.

The first part of filling out the profile is easy. Almost feels like applying for a passport.

What do I say about myself?

Who am I?

Bonnie. 28. Architect. Runner.

Is that it? Is that the culmination of me? Do I have GSOH?

Oh! I make my own jewellery. Though I’m not sure if that’s going to be a good hook to reel in the blokes.

Bonnie. 28. Architect. Runner. I listen to smutty audio books while relaxing on the toilet. Sometimes I text from there too. Occasionally I eat dinner directly from the saucepan. My phone is full of hundreds of selfies of me sitting on the sofa, just because. I’m in desperate need of a sex life that involves warm living penis. Maybe plural.

Nope, nobody needs to know the truth.

All my photos are with Max or the girls. I find one photo of me on my own where I look half decent.

Easy. Now I’m into the catalogue.

How far should I cast the net? I’ll stick to the London zones. That should be a few million single guys to work with.

What am I looking for?

Sensitive, emotionally mature, intelligent man to build new hobbies with. Good head on his shoulders.

Fuck that.

Arrogant, half-Italian, half-Cockney alpha who looks like dirty sex and thinks he rules the world.

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