“Like . . . upset, or pissed off. It’s not, I don’t . . . It’s complicated. I just . . . I have a lot going on. Seriously, it’s not you—it’s me.”
My mouth dropped open in disbelief at his clichéd line.
He carried on. “Sorry. I just . . . I’m going through a lot at the moment.”
Maybe his parents were dying? My face softened. “What’s going on, Jack? You can talk to me.”
He fidgeted and ran his hands through his hair again. “It’s so complicated; I just can’t talk about it. Honestly, you’re really great, Ellie. It’s just that I can’t go back with you tonight. It’s because I didn’t expect it. I just came here hoping to see you because you’re one of the only people I know in this crowd, and obviously I like spending time with you, but I didn’t think you’d want me to go back with you.”
Tears were stinging my eyelids. How could I have gotten it so wrong?
“The thing is, Ellie,” he said, getting swept up in the emotion of his speech, “I just don’t feel like I can go back with you tonight. I can’t have sex with you tonight. I’m just going through too much.”
His parents had to be ill. “But we don’t have to have sex. We can . . .” I can’t say cuddle. I won’t. “. . . hang out,” I finished lamely.
He sighed. “I just . . . I don’t feel psychologically prepared for it tonight.”
My mouth dropped down. Now I was too shocked to want to cry. I had nothing to say in response.
“Anyway,” he said. “Let me wait here with you until your bus comes.”
“No!” I cried out hoarsely. “Seriously,” I continued, trying to make my voice come out calmly. “I’m fine; the bus will be here in a second and I just . . . Please. Honestly, just go.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, concern sweeping over his face.
“I’m fine,” I snapped. “I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman. I think I can handle myself. I’m fine.”
He looked taken aback. “Okay.” He shrugged. “I’ll call you tomorrow. If you’re free, maybe we could get dinner.”
“Sure, fine, whatever,” I said, and froze while he hugged me. Then he turned around and walked back to the party. I held my breath until he was out of sight. Then I let out the pent-up tears. I sobbed and sobbed. I picked up my phone and dialed Lara’s number. “Lara,” I wept the second she answered.
“Where are you?” she asked automatically.
“Bus stop. By Old Street station. The one next to . . . Starbucks,” I gulped out between tears.
“Don’t move,” she said, and hung up.
I cried harder. I don’t feel psychologically prepared for it tonight, he’d said. Psychologically prepared. The words swam around in my head. I sat down on the bench. The other drunken people who had been sitting on it stood up and quietly walked away, leaving me to sob alone. Even the hobos didn’t want to be around me.
My body jolted to life. The digital clock on my bedside table said seven a.m. Lara was fast asleep next to me. Everything flooded back. Jack rejecting me on the streets of Shoreditch. Me, sobbing on a street corner, sitting alone at the bus stop. Lara taking me home in a taxi. Crying all the way home. Getting home and being sick. Drinking loads of apple juice. Oh God, apple juice. The thought of the golden liquid made my stomach turn.
My head was banging. Wincing in pain, I crept out of the bed quietly, trying not to disturb Lara.
I tiptoed into the bathroom. I felt disgusting. I took my clothes off and crawled into the bathtub without bothering to look at myself. Everything hurt. I remembered everything. I wished I didn’t, but I did. I felt sick. I turned the shower on but I didn’t stand up. I sat still in the bath, clasping my knees to my chest while the water sprayed me. I didn’t have enough strength to stand up. I put the plug in so the bath would fill up while the water washed over me.
When it was full, I leaned back and closed my eyes. The rejection was so awful. I’d never propositioned a guy before, except when I’d asked James Martell to take my V-plates and he said no. It was like a double whammy. It was even kind of ironic. I’d been rejected by the guy who refused to take my virginity, and now I was being rejected by the guy who actually took my virginity.
Then it hit me—I had become that girl. The idiot who threw her virginity away on the first guy who showed some interest, and then fell for him harder and harder while he looked at her in pity and wandered off in whichever direction his libidinous dick took him.
I smiled drily at the thought of him running around, pointing his pallid penis at a bunch of girls. The smile helped. It made me remember that it was okay. I was just another girl who got fucked over by a shit guy, and I would get over it. I would never see him again. I had Lara, I had Emma, and I would be okay with the fact that I’d given my virginity to someone who wasn’t psychologically prepared to sleep with me again. Had I really been that bad? I sank into the bath and tried to ignore the throbbing of my head and the sick feeling in my tummy.