‘Shall we go get some lunch now?’ he suggests, and I beam before he adds, ‘It’s so much fun hanging out with you again, Esty. I love being mates.’
Oh god, fuckingmates. I can’t take this.
Idris, if you can somehow hear this,please reply.
EX 5: IDRIS ABARAAKA The Serious OnePART THREE
My flat
My bedroom
3.45pm
Should I cry? I should probably cry. It’s not that Idon’tfeel like crying – I do! – and I probably would’ve cried in a few minutes anyway, so crying now isn’t like fake crying.
I start crying.
He can’t be quite so angry with me if I’m crying. He’s always been so kind and lovely when I’m upset, he’ll be nicer to me now.
‘Oh baby, what is it?’ Idris stands up, crossing the bedroom and wrapping me up tightly in his arms.
It makes it so much worse. Dammit, I shouldn’t have cried.
Except now I’ve started, I’m not sure I can stop.
I keep crying, trying to find the words as he leads me to sit on the bed, stroking my hair the whole time. ‘It’s OK, baby, it’s OK.’
It’s not OK, he’s wrong.
‘I’ve fucked up, Iddy.’ I get it out at last. ‘I’ve really truly fucked up and you’re never going to forgive me.’ He gets super still, next to me on the bed. His back stiffens, but he doesn’t let go.
‘What is it?’ he says eventually in a quiet voice. ‘Just tell me. Just say it.’
But I can’t. The words won’t come and there are so many bloody tears in the way.
After a few minutes, he gently extracts himself so he can look at me. But the sight of his face is too much and I throw myself down on the bed now, sobbing uncontrollably. This time, he doesn’t join me, or offer up a cuddle. He just waits.
My face in the pillow, I manage to get it out at last.
‘I slept with someone else.’
Idris doesn’t immediately react, but the air in the room seems to change. It gets colder and my tears are suddenly dry.
‘I’m so, so, sorry – you have no idea how sorry, Iddy—’ I sit up but he has turned away now. Hunched over on the end of the bed, he’s staring at his lap. ‘Can you please look at me for a second?’ I plead but it’s like he can’t hear me.
‘Who was it?’ he says after another minute, in a voice unrecognizable as his.
‘It doesn’t matter who,’ I say softly, knowing full well it matters a fucking lot.
‘Was it Will?’ he says in the same tone. ‘Did you fuck that guy Will?’
I can’t answer. Or, I should say, I’m too much of a coward to answer.
‘I guess that’s a yes,’ he spits out, standing up and heading for the door.
‘Please don’t go,’ I beg, the tears starting again.
He doesn’t. He leans both hands against the closed door, trying to find something in himself. Some strength.
