Dom looks straight at me, but he’s not smiling. Was that the wrong thing to say? I thought he’d be amused.We’ve joked about windingTDup before. Dom even offered to send him a cock shot. Which I would’ve allowed, had I been any drunker.
After atoo-long silence, Dom pastes on a clearly fake smile and says a little too forcefully, ‘Yes, let’s send thatshit-for-brains scumbag a picture of us, why not eh?’
He takes the phone from my hand, his long arms better than a selfie stick, and clicksthe shot. He hands it back to me dismissively, without examining the picture, turning immediately away to talk to Patrick.
I feel a bit stung. I really don’t know why he’s being weird. I don’t think anything’s happened, has it? I thought he was at least marginally excited about today as well. Maybe he’s annoyed that Isy and Ethan are here? I didn’t have a chance to warn him beforehand. Itcan’t be a problem with Patrick being here. They get on super well because of something about American football and the Super Bowl, which no British person will ever understand. The only thing I know about the Super Bowl is that the adverts are really important, right?
Feeling weird, I readTD’smessage. For once, it contains proper words and multiple syllables.
It is surprising.
‘Hey Alice,’ it reads. ‘I hope you’re having a fun time out there. It feels like you’ve been gone ages. I know I don’t deserve it but maybe we can grab a drink when you get back and have a chat about everything. I miss you.’
For a second, something in me leaps: hope.
I force it back down again. No! UghTD. I know he isn’t for real – thatthisisn’t for real. I’ve seen him do this before.He’ll treat me badly; I’ll swear off him. He’ll call; I’ll go back. He’ll treat me like shit again; and I’ll swear off him for definite this time. Maybe I’ll last a few weeks; then he’ll say something charming and apparently heartfelt – like this – and I’ll give in.
But not this time.
Not. This. Fucking. Time.
But maybe ...
What if ...
Maybe he means it this time? Maybethis is different. Maybe me being away has genuinely made him look at his life and change his ways. Maybe he’s realised I am what he wants – that I am The One – and everything will be good between us again, like it was at the beginning. Maybe the last few years haven’t been a waste of my time. Maybe maybe maybe.
I hate the way my brain and heart are different people. I hate it so much. I hatethat I – my rational me – knows,knows, that me andTDare not meant to be together. I absolutely know this, and I know that every time I reply or go back to him, I am making myself into a fool. I am being used, and being a user. Iknowit makes me just another stupid lovesick idiot. So why does the other me still want him? How can the other me still have this vain hope?
It makes me hate myself,which makes me more vulnerable, which makes me more inclined to give in. It’s a vicious circle or cycle – I never know which – that I wish I could escape.
We are nearing the front of the queue and in aquick-flash decision – a moment of strength – I deleteTD’s message and I block him.
I breathe out. A weight falls away from me. I’ve done it. I know it’s the right thing. It has tobe. I can’t waste this brain space on him any more. Do I really want to still be having these arguments in my head in another four years? I can’t do it, I can’t.
I take another gulp of oxygen and it is like new air in my lungs.
I reach for Dom’s hand. He lets me take it, squeezes mine, but then pulls away. I guess, whatever I’ve done to upset him, I’m not forgiven yet.
Our groupfiles onto the ride, and I find myself sitting opposite Dom in a circle. He looks off into the distance and I kick his shoe gently as the attendant makes his way round checking everyone is strapped in safely.
‘Are youOK?’ I mouth silently when he looks over at last.
He gives me a dismissive thumbs up and looks away again. I reach over, the belt straining against me, and put my hand onhis leg. ‘What is it?’ I say, out loud. I feel Patrick glance over at us, but I don’t care.
Dom shrugs, as the ride attendant passes our way.
‘Have I done something?’ I say, louder this time.
‘Nope,’ he says, aggressively.
The ride starts.
‘Why are you being so moody, then?’ I say, anger in my voice as we begin to move.
He’s ignoring me! For no reason. I don’t deserve this,I don’t even know where it’s all come from!
‘I’mNOT BEING MOODY,’ he shouts, looking away again as we start to swing into the air.
