Love Actually
Miles
I was so amped up I could barely remember my own name.
Not about the premiere, about seeing Clare.
I had to make this right between us. I felt sick at the thought of losing my best friend just because I’d been a stupid, selfish, navel-gazing dickhead. I was relieved when Mum told me that Clare would definitely be attending the premiere, because it wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d refused to go.
Then it occurred to me that she probably wouldn’t have anything to wear, so maybe that was a way back—a peace offering.
I got Honey to phone Natalia Da Silva, and she used her contacts to get something special for Clare. I’d had three dresses sent to my suite at the Dorchester, and had picked the dark green one. Then I had it couriered to her house. I hoped she might send me a text when she got it, but I heard nothing.
Of course, I was too dumb to get rid of the surplus dresses quickly. That was an interesting conversation when my mum saw them.
“Oh, love! Why didn’t you tell me?”
I frowned at her.
“Tell you what?”
“Not that it matters. I’ll love you whatever you do.”
“Thanks, Mum. Any particular reason you’re telling me this now?”
“Well, I don’t think magenta is your color, love.”
“What?”
“You know. Your, er, dress.”
What?
“Bloody hell, Mum! Those dresses aren’t for me! I got them for Clare.”
The relief on her face was more than a little apparent.
“Oh. Oh, well that’s all right then. I just thought, you know, now you’re a proper actor…”
“Yeah, thanks, Mum. Please stop talking.”
“Don’t you be cheeky!”
“Whatever.”
“Mind your lip! And while I’m at it, have you planned what you’re going to say to Clare?”
“Other than ‘sorry’. Not really.”
“For goodness sake, Miles! You need to come up with something better than that. Can’t you, you know, act it or something?”
“Yeah, well, I need a script for that, and I don’t think that would work with Clare.”
She sighed. “No, probably not. Just sort it out, will you. I hate seeing you both so miserable.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Of course it is, love. I’m your mother.”
The screaming crowd, followed by the walk up the red carpet, had been a real head spin, but it was worth it just to see Clare waiting for me, looking really fucking hot. I’d definitely picked the right dress.
And then the moment, the very fucking second that we started talking, I heard the crowd booing Lilia.
I couldn’t leave her to deal with that by herself—it was a mob out there, and they sounded like they were out for her blood. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Whatever they’d done. Or whoever they’d done. And I hadn’t forgotten how gut-wrenchingly horrible it had felt the first time I’d gone on Ellen, and the audience had yelled things at me.
But once I’d got Lilia inside the cinema, the producers were all over us like a rash. I suppose they were just happy to see us in the same room without lobbing rotten fruit at each other.
Lilia disappeared to the bathroom, and before I could get back to Clare, Donald Hyde grabbed my arm.
“Goddamn freakin’ masterstroke, Miles! You couldn’t have planned it better.”
“I didn’t plan it at all.”
“No, sure, sure, but it’ll play real well. The fans loved it!”
I wrenched my arm free, trying to calm the fuck down before I did something he’d regret.
“Is that all you care about? Why on earth wasn’t there more security? It could have turned really nasty out there—nastier.”
He waved a hand.
“I’ll deal, don’t sweat it. Look, kid, enjoy tonight, and we’ll talk about the sequel when you get back to LA.”
“The what?”
But he was already sliding away, oily bastard that he was, and then I heard Lilia’s soft voice behind me.
“Miles. Darling, can we talk?”
I was aware that people were staring and hoping to eavesdrop on our conversation, but more than that, I really didn’t want to talk to her.
“There’s nothing to say, Lilia.”
“Please, Miles. Just a minute, please? I can’t … not here … please?”
I should have been expecting this, but for some reason I thought she’d just ignore me, or pretend nothing had happened.
Ah hell. “Fine. You can have one minute.”
She pouted. I used to find that hot.
“Somewhere private,” she whispered. “Everyone’s watching us.”
Against my better judgment, but curious as to what the hell she could possibly say, I let her lead me to a small room next to the cinema’s booking office.
I leaned against the desk, and she closed the door behind her.
“You look good,” she said, with a small smile. “But then again you always did. Right from that first day.”
Seriously? She wanted to do small talk?
“Just say what you’ve got to say, Lilia.”
“Don’t be angry with me, Miles,” she gasped, her voice breaking.
God, I hated it when women cried. It always made me feel like such a shit.
“I’m not angry—now,” I replied, watching as she bit her lip. “I just don’t particularly want to talk to you.”
She took a step closer.
“I’m sorry about what happened. I … I love you.”
“I doubt that very fucking much, Lilia. You don’t fucking cheat on someone you love.”
A sob escaped her chest, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
I tried really hard not to care what she said, but I kept seeing the images of her with Joe Blow. I closed my eyes, but the pictures were still there.
“Miles? Please, baby?”
“Why? Why did you do it?” I couldn’t help the words spilling out. “Were you with him … the whole time we were together?”
“No, of course not!” she cried, even managing to sound upset. “I … I was drunk … It was just that once.”
I studied her face. She seemed so sincere. If nothing else, Lilia was a brilliant actress. She’d win an Oscar some day.
“And the woman—the other guy? Was that just once, as well? Are there any other ‘just one times’ that you want to tell me about?”
“You’re being hateful!”
She was crazy if she thought I’d feel bad about saying that. And she hadn’t answered my question.
“How can I believe a word you’re saying?”
“It’s true, Miles. I promise.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you.”
“Then what can I say? What can I do to make it right?”
Her voice was pleading, but there was a hint of calculation in her eyes, and I remembered that Clare had never liked her—or trusted her.
“That first evening, when we went to the Metron Awards … do you remember that?”
“Of course,” she smiled, relaxing a little. “You were so nervous.” She giggled, and placed a quick kiss on my cheek.
I leaned away from her touch, and she looked irritated. Well, screw her! We were going to finish this conversation she’d been so desperate to start.
“And do you remember when I saw … when I saw him with that woman in the men’s bathroom.”
“Oh,” she said, softly, lowering her eyes.
“How did you know?”
She looked up and frowned.
“How did I know what?”
“You said, He does that. It’s his thing. But how did you know? Unless you already…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence because I was afraid I’d vomit.
There was a long, heavy silence.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she said at last, her voice crisper, harder.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“The business!” she snarled, all pretence falling away, all acting finished. “You don’t know what it’s like!”
I stared at her in disbelief. “I think I’ve got a pretty fucking good idea!”
She snorted.
“You’ve done it for eight months. You’ve been a star for just a few weeks.”
The bitch actually used air quotes when she said ‘star’.
“Do you really think you know how it works? I’ve been in this business since I was seven years old. Seven! Have you any idea how difficult it is for a child star to be taken seriously? To win real, adult roles? Do you think anyone actually cares about you? Because they don’t. It’s all about money. It’s all about who you know.”
“So, you just thought … what? Give some head to get ahead?”
“You bastard!”
“Yeah? Well, I took you seriously, Lilia. I cared about you! But that wasn’t important. You just ripped my fucking heart out like it was worthless, like it meant nothing.”
I was struggling to get the words out, and I tugged roughly at my bow tie before I managed to undo it and loosen a few buttons on my shirt, allowing air into my lungs.
“I’ve had hate mail,” she said quietly, her lip trembling.
“Yeah?” I said, harshly. “It’s probably from my mum.”
“Miles, please.”
“Please what, Lilia? What do you want from me?”
She took another step closer, and her hand drifted down my arm, coming to a rest on my waistband.
I flicked her hand away.
“Can’t we be friends?” she pleaded.
“No. I’ve got all the friends I need.”
“Like Clare!” she hissed, her face twisting with an ugly sneer.
“What the fuck has Clare got to do with anything?”
“She was always there—always in the way!”
I couldn’t believe she was spouting this shit.
“We went to that fucking premiere together, Lilia. You and me. Remember? You offered to blow me in the limo. Maybe you remember that, or were you confusing me with him already? You left the party without a word. You got high. You got laid. I wasn’t there. Your responsibility, Lilia. No one else’s.”
I was so finished with that conversation. I brushed past her and got the fuck out of the room.
As I walked back to the party, my heart was racing and anger was firing jets of fury through my veins. I took several deep breaths and tried to look like I wasn’t about to smash something or hit someone.
Clare was talking to Mum and Polly, and I felt better seeing her there, calm and assured as ever. She pushed her hand through her hair and another wave of sudden anger washed over me. She wasn’t wearing the bracelet I’d given her.
And then I realized what had happened.
She hadn’t wanted to come tonight. In all likelihood Mum had talked her into it. A sick, hollow feeling squeezed my heart. How had I let this happen? And, more importantly, could I make it right?
I walked up to Mum, trying to smile.
Clare’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me. Then she turned her back. My smile died on my face and I was going to say something to her but Mum grabbed my arm.
“Let me fix your bow tie,” she said, tugging me toward her. “You look a mess. And you have lipstick on your cheek,” she hissed, scrubbing furiously at my face with a tissue.
Before I had a chance to say anything, Hyde stood up to give a quick speech, thanking everyone on some ridiculously long list, including God, and then we were all ushered into the theater. Mum was sitting next to me, and Jo-Anne was on my other side, with Lilia next to her. I couldn’t see where Clare was sitting and I slumped down in my seat, knowing it would be another two hours before I could talk to her.
I sat through that fucking movie, hating every minute of it.
I was amused and embarrassed when the sex scene came on, and Mum watched it through her fingers.
“That’s not something I ever wanted to see,” she whispered. “I saw enough of your backside when you were a baby!”
“Didn’t mean anything,” I muttered.
Although that wasn’t strictly true: at the time, Lilia and I had been together. That was one of the things that had made filming that scene so hard. Probably what had made me so hard that day. Now, the thought left me cold.
I wondered what Hyde had meant about a sequel. As far as I knew, Laura Dorien hadn’t written a second book, although that didn’t mean much in Hollywood. Fuck! I realized I’d better get Melody or Rhonda to check my contract—I might have signed up for a sequel without knowing it. That would just be my fucking luck.
I was glad Mum’s house purchase was going through. If the studio sued the pants off me for breach of contract—refusing do a sequel—she’d be protected.
The theater lights came back on and I was only vaguely aware of the applause. Mum was crying and hugging me, and people were standing up wanting to shake my hand, but I was looking for Clare. I couldn’t see her through the crowds of people who surrounded me.
Lilia caught my eye, and gave me a small, hopeful smile.
Shit. She just didn’t give up.
The premiere party was being held in the Palm Court of the Langham Hotel, near Regent’s Park. You know, palm trees, piano and harpist, Gothic charm that film studios loved. Whatever.
Everyone wanted to stop and talk and smile—except I still couldn’t see Clare.
After an hour of smiling and being polite—and avoiding Lilia at every turn—I’d had enough. Even Mum, who loved a good party, had already left, complaining that her new shoes hurt her feet.
I craned my neck, trying to find anyone that looked green, well, wearing green. Luckily, I spotted Polly and strolled over. Wow. Orange was not her color.
She was pasted, and when she wrapped her arms around me and started crying and warbling on about pretty babies and cherubs, I smiled my first real smile for hours.
“Pol, put a lid on the waterworks! Have you seen, Clare?”
“She went home, but I’ll keep you company.”
“Home?”
Clare had gone. Again.
Shit.
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I got my arse out of there and grabbed the first taxi I could find.
It took ten minutes to get to Clare’s house. Ten damn minutes too long.
I thumped on the door and rang the bell.
Clare
Mum and Dad were out at Aunt Paula’s party, so I had the house to myself.
I was glad of that, because I wanted to wallow. Preferably with chocolate. I got lucky when I found a Black Forest gateau that Mum had bought to celebrate with Prue, and proceeded to stuff my face. I ate well over half of it. A generous half. The kind of half that a miserable sod might call three-quarters. Whatever. I felt full and nauseous. All I needed now was a sappy love story on the TV, and I was all set for a classic wallow in the time honored tradition.
The evening had been a complete and utter nightmare. From the moment Lilia had arrived, everything had gone wrong. And then she’d dragged him off to her lair, and when he came out again his shirt and tie were undone, and he had lipstick on his cheek. It was soooo obvious what they’d been doing. Especially when she followed him out, a smug smile pasted across her ugly trout pout.
She’d told me she’d get him back—it looked as though she was right. I really didn’t think he would have succumbed that quickly. I hated being proved wrong.
So I was as irritated as all hell when some bastard rang the bell and knocked on the door.
The last person I expected to see was Miles waiting on the other side, looking ridiculously beautiful and debonair in his tailor-made tux.
I, on the other hand, had changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. One of his. Oh, and I had crumbs down my cleavage.
The cold air rushed in as I stood in the hallway, my mouth open more widely than the front door.
“You left,” he said.
“You were busy.”
He frowned. “Can I come in?”
“If you want.”
I let the door hang open, then turned my back and headed into the warmth of the cozy living room.
I heard him close the front door and follow me inside. It had been a long time since we’d been in this house together.
He stood awkwardly while I gestured for him to come in, my eyes fixed on the TV.
After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the living room door shut and hovered near one of the armchairs. We were alone together at last.
“I missed you,” he said, softly.
And I didn’t know if he meant tonight, or the last few days.
I folded my arms tightly in front of me and tried to smile.
“Yeah, me, too.”
He rubbed his head as if it ached, and took a step toward me.
I backed away, knowing that I’d crumble if I let him touch me. And I couldn’t go back to living like that.
He looked hurt and bewildered as I moved to the other side of the room, and slumped down onto the couch.
“You didn’t wear your bracelet,” he said, quietly.
“What?”
The pain in his voice tore my eyes away from the TV screen that I was pretending to watch.
“The bracelet I gave you—you’re not wearing it.”
“Oh…”
I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Clare, I know I’ve been an idiot…”
“Yeah, you have. But that’s okay, I’m used to it.”
I was letting him off the hook, and he knew it. He gave a small smile.
“Around you I just seem to open my mouth to change feet,” he agreed.
There was an awkward silence. We’d never been uncomfortable sharing the same space, but everything had changed.
“So,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, “how’ve you been?”
“Bloody hell, Miles! You make it sound like you haven’t seen me for a year. I saw you a couple of hours ago.”
“Feels longer.”
True.
When I didn’t respond, he sighed heavily and went to lean against the wall by the window, staring at the wintry street outside.
I fiddled nervously with the hem of my … his … my t-shirt.
I didn’t want him here.
Except I did. And I didn’t.
“Why did you leave like that?” he said, his voice soft and a little husky.
So fucking clueless!
I felt a spike of anger. “You don’t get it, do you?”
He shrugged helplessly.
“No, I don’t. Not really.”
In that moment, I realized we were never going to square this circle. There was no point prolonging the agony.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I just … I think you should go now.”
I hated saying the words and Miles looked stunned, but a tiny germ of self-preservation was forcing its way to the surface.
“What? Now? But…” his words ended abruptly, and he rubbed the back of his neck in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Please, Clare, I’m trying here.”
I held back a sigh.
“I know. It’s just … better if you go.”
His expression morphed into one of anger.
“Why did you even bother coming tonight if you don’t want to talk to me?”
Fury, long held back, flared inside me, and I pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Because your mum and my mum nagged me until I said I would.”
“You weren’t going to come at all?”
“No.”
He shook his head, tiredly. “I don’t get it.”
“I know you don’t.”
“Then please give me a fucking clue!” he shouted.
“I’m sick of it!” I yelled back. “All of it! I’m sick of being in the way! I’m sick of being second best!”
I could see from his face that he still didn’t understand. Frustrated, angry, and on the verge of tears, I stood up and headed for the door.
He blocked my way.
“Christ, Clare, I’m fucking begging you now. Please don’t. Talk to me!”
I shook my head, my eyes stinging and my throat aching too much to reply.
I reached out for the door handle and started to open it, but Miles was quicker. He slammed it shut, trapping me in the room.
“Let me go,” I sniffed.
“No. If you go, I’m going with you.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I’ve got a headache.”
“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to come?”
No.
“Mostly, yes.”
His eyes narrowed but I think he knew that if pushed me now, he’d get the opposite reaction from the one he wanted.
“Let’s both get out of here,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Find a pub and just … have a couple of drinks. Okay?”
“I don’t feel like going out again.”
He tugged his hair in frustration and swore softly.
“Look,” I said sighing, giving in grudgingly, “dad’s got some beer in the fridge if you want a drink.”
He smiled uncertainly. “Okay. Sounds good. Thanks.”
I pulled myself away from him, grabbed two cans of lager from the kitchen, and handed one to him.
He sank down into an armchair and popped the tab.
Suddenly, he stood up again.
“Fuck this!” he said, and came to sit next to me on the couch.
I looked at him in surprise. There was a determined look on his face.
“Clare, I’m not with Lilia, no matter what you think you saw.”
My heart started to pound.
“You had lipstick on your face.”
“Yeah, she kissed my cheek. That’s all. She said she wanted to apologize.”
“Did she?”
“Sort of. Not really. Mostly, she was trying to make excuses for what happened.”
He rubbed his eyebrow with his index finger.
“I don’t want to talk about her,” he said. “She’s history. She means nothing to me. But you…” he hesitated… “You’re my best friend. I miss you. You mean more to me than all that shit. I miss you so much.”
He stared into my eyes and slowly his expression changed. I watched as his gaze dropped to my mouth, and he licked his lips.
I swear I was holding my breath, feeling the electric pull of the tension mounting between us.
And then he leaned over and kissed me.
His lips were soft and gentle, the kiss so tender and loving, it took my breath away.
I sat there, unmoving, as if a taxidermist had managed to yank out my guts and stuff me in the last ten seconds.
He pulled back slightly as I remained frozen.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I thought … I guess I was wrong. Sorry.”
He started to move away, and that’s when I launched myself at him.
I heard his sharp intake of breath, and then we were all lips and tongues and teeth, panting and breathing hard as we caught up on years of sexual frustration—certainly on my side.
His mouth was hot and wet against my neck and I moaned like a maiden aunt at a Chippendales party.
He wrapped his arms around my hips and dragged me onto his lap, and I could feel how hard he was beneath me.
Bloody hell! That felt gooood!
“I want to make love to you,” he snarled against my throat, his fingers digging into my waist. “Right now, Clare. Right fucking now!”
“Upstairs!” I gasped.
He stood up quickly, even though I was still in his arms. Jeez, I was definitely going to send a thank you card to Hilda the Nazi fitness trainer, because Miles could hoist me around like a delicate elf, instead of my 140 pound, five foot nothing carcass.
He knew the way to my bedroom—we’d spent enough innocent hours in there over the years. He slammed the door shut with his foot, dropped me onto my bed and flung his jacket on my chair. Slowly, he loosened his bow tie as he prowled toward me.
My lady parts were celebrating, so heady with anticipation, that they were practically singing the Hallelujah chorus.
“I want you so badly,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire and need.
Holy hell!
I thought I was going to combust on the spot. It would be just my luck if I passed out or died before we got to the really good part…
…And just as my brain is about to seize up, he lunges at me and pulls me to him, kissing me hot and heavy.
Oh my God! Oh my God! His body feels so amazing! Jeez, all those hours in the gym have really … mmm, ooh, oh the way his tongue feels on my neck. Oh, God, he’s kissing me, really kissing me. And his hair feels so soft and…
Oh my God he feels so hard! That’s for me! He feels that for me! I’m in so much trouble here.
Fuck, she’s so hot. I never thought … uhh, that feels… oh, fuck…
Don’t break my heart, Miles. You know I love you. I’ve always loved you. Those other creeps—no one could compare. Oh my God, he’s got his hand under my t-shirt. When was the last time I shaved? Oh, hell, I’m wearing that old bra. I’ve been meaning to throw that out and… Oh my God! He just touched my nipple. Damn, that feels so … oh, yes … oh, yes.
Fuck, she’s got great tits.
Oh Miles, I know I’m not in your league; I’ve never been in your league, but no one will ever love you as much as I do. And I know you … I really know you. All your insecurities, your shyness, your bizarre sense of humor. Oh my God, he’s trying to unhook my bra. Huh, where did my t-shirt go? When did he take that off?
What if he’s expecting me to be bare? I mean, that Brazilian grew back ages ago and no way was I going to go through that again. That was sheer Hell with a capital H. I don’t care if that’s how they do things in Hollywood. Okay, well, maybe if Miles likes it like that … oh my God, he’s got his hand down the back of my knickers. My arse is huge. Oh, don’t stop, that just feels … oh wow! I’m going to do it—I’m going to stick my hand down the front of his trousers.
Oh my God! It just jumped! I swear it jumped at me! Mmm, it’s so hot and … blimey … that’s big! I mean, bloody hell, I can hardly get my hand around it. Wow, supersize me!
Fuck, she’s feeling me up. Oh fuck.
Oh God, the light’s still on. I wonder if I can turn it off without it being too obvious? I shouldn’t have eaten that gateau. Okay, not quite the whole gateau, but most of it. Will he think I’m fat? I am fat compared to all those stick insect actresses he knows—I’m enormous compared to her. Oh God, I’m so fat.
Fuck, she’s got the most amazing arse—full and round, so soft and … oh fuck, I’m going to come in my pants if I’m not careful. One times one is one … one times two is … oh fuck.
Oh God, I just love his body. I mean, look at that chest. I am looking at that chest. He’s so bloody sexy. I can’t believe after all these years we’re finally going to do it. I love you I love you I love you!
Fuck, look at the size of those knickers! They’re huge! That’s hot.
He’s taken his trousers off. Oh boxer briefs—swoon. Yummy! Mmm, ooh that feels good. Oh my God, that feels so good! How did he know … ohh … mmmm…
Shit, she’s so wet. Oh God, I hope she comes quickly. I really want to be inside her. Hold it together, Stephens, you owe her this. One times one is one. One times two is two. Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free … Oh, thank God…
Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh. My. God! Oh! Ooooh! OOOOOH! AAAH! “Miiiiiiiiles!” Oh, God, I said that out loud. Oh wow. That was ah-may-zing! He is a stud, a sex god! I am a goddess! I am all powerful. Oh, what’s he doing? Oh, ouch! Oh, wow, wow, wow! Oh my God—I think he’s pushed it all the way into my spine! OH GOD!
Fuck. Shit. God. Oh God. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. UH! UHHH! MMM. Damn, she feels so good. Sooo good. Goooooood! Oh, God. I can’t. I can’t. Shit. Fuck. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh.
What’s happening? Again? What? No! Again?!! I mean … oh, wow. Oh wow. OH WOW! Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh. “Miiiiiiiiiiles!”
He shoots. He scores. Gooooooooal! “Fuck, Claaaare!”
Clare
I can’t believe it. I didn’t know sex could be like that: what I felt, what I still feel. Two orgasms, I mean: two! How the hell did he do that? Oh, God, I really don’t want to think about where he’s been practicing—and who on. Oh, why do I have to have all these thoughts? That was so wonderful, making love with Miles. Was it making love for him, too, or just me? Oh, just look at him lying there; he looks so, so fine. Just think, women all over the world want what I’ve just had—that’s so weird. I mean, they want the character he plays—Nuriel—in the film, not Miles. Okay, some of them want Miles; okay, most of them, but I’m the one who’s had him.
God, I can’t believe I’m thinking about him like some sort of trophy: he’s Miles—my friend. My best friend. And tonight has been the best night of my life.
Miles
Oh God, have I just made a horrible mistake? She doesn’t look happy. I know Clare—she’s thinking it over, she’s regretting it, I can just tell. God, she looks so gorgeous, all sort of heated and with the most fantastic, soft curves. Shit, I could get hard again just looking at her. But she’s got thinking face: that’s not good. Oh hell, I hope I haven’t just gone and lost my best friend for good this time. I know Clare’s not the kind of girl who could be a fuck buddy, and I wouldn’t want her to be that. If I’m honest, I don’t want her to be with anyone but me.
She’s having second thoughts, I can tell. Shit, shit, shit! I couldn’t blame her: these days I live on one fucked up merry-go-round. Why would she want to be part of all this craziness? I mean, she has a life—a good life. She’s clever and funny and loyal and really cute—she could have any guy she wanted.
And she knows me—she knows I’m not the image that they’re selling. I can’t believe she’s here with me. She knows all the shit that went down with Lilia—hell, she saw most of it. So why is she with me? Maybe she was just trying to make me feel better; yeah, that would be like Clare, always trying to make me feel better.
Oh, shit, is that all this was? Her trying to cheer me up? A mercy fuck? That’s not what I want! Is that what I want? No, it felt so amazing with Clare—it felt right.
Oh, God, she’s turned away from me. She doesn’t want this; she’s regretting it already. Fuck, what do I do?
Maybe it wasn’t good for her? I mean, it felt amazing to me, but she obviously doesn’t think the same. It couldn’t have been that bad, could it? She had two orgasms. Oh, God, she was faking it—obviously—moron. They didn’t feel fake, though; it felt pretty damn real. Yeah, because I wanted it to be real, obviously.
So what do I do? I guess all I can do is to make it easy for her; easy for her to leave me. Damn it, Clare.
Clare
Oh, he looks so serious. I can’t look at him. It felt so amazing but now it’s so awkward. I just want to snuggle into him; I want to fall asleep in his arms and wake up with him in the morning. He probably just wants to go. I should let him go. I don’t want him to go.
“Clare, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’m not fine! I’m confused—and still kind of turned on.
I feel his warm hand drift down my arm and I swear the skin tingles, as if he’s just trailed an ice cube across me, or passed an electric current up my arm. Oh, Miles, don’t stop touching me! He’s stopped touching me. Oh no.
“Um, I guess I should go?”
Is that a question? No, of course not. He’s just being polite. He knows this was a mistake. Oh God, I can’t speak. If I try to speak, I’ll cry, I know I will.
The mattress moves underneath me and I know he’s sitting up. I can’t help looking; one last look. Oh, God! Look at that back! How did I miss that before? Oh, right, because he was on top of me. Look at those muscles; and, oh my God! He’s really got that triangular shape. I never noticed before—not from the back. Broad shoulders, going down to a slim waist. He’s so gorgeous—and so out of my league.
What’s he doing? Why isn’t he going?
I really want him to go now. I don’t want him to go now!
“Clare?”
“Yes?”
Say something, Miles! Say something!
Miles
Oh God, I should say something. What should I say? Does she want me to go? I should just go. I don’t want to go.
“Clare?”
“Yes?”
“Um, I know this is kinda weird…”
She’s sighing. Oh shit.
“It’s okay, Miles, don’t worry about it.”
She’s brushing me off. She wants me to go.
“Um, I’ll just go then?”
“Okay.”
Okay? No! It’s not okay!
“Right. Um, thanks for having me. Oh God, I don’t mean having me like that. I meant … er … thanks … um … I’ll be next door at Mum’s.”
“Okay.”
This is the worst day of my life.
Clare
He gets up and dresses in silence. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear him. How could he do this? How could he sleep with me and then be so cold? I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong? Maybe I was bad in bed. That must be it: I’m crap in bed. I’m a lousy lover—a lousy lay. He’s seen me naked with the light on, that’s it. He’s seen all my wobbly bits—on both sides. He’s repulsed; my body repulses him.
Oh God, I’m so embarrassed. No, it’s worse than that—I’m breaking apart. I can’t let him see me breaking apart. I’ve got to hold it together. Just another minute and he’ll be gone. Gone. I don’t want him to go.
Miles, don’t go! I love you!
Miles
Oh God, she’s so quiet. I’ve really screwed it up this time. My best friend. My best friend! What the fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. Okay, I was thinking with my man parts—Miles Junior. I can’t help that. Little bastard led and I followed. No, that’s not true.
Clare, I think I love you!
She won’t want to hear that. She’ll just laugh at me. She’d probably think I was joking anyway.
Hey! Maybe I can say it to her and if she thinks it’s a joke, I’ll just laugh it off.
Fucking coward. Yeah, yeah.
“Um, Clare?”
“What now?”
Oh wow, she sounds really angry. Maybe this isn’t the best time to say anything.
Say it! Say it!
“Um, I think I love you.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You said something.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did—I heard you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I bloody well did, Miles! You said … you said you thought you loved me. What does that even mean?”
“Um … that I love you?”
“Well, do you or don’t you?”
Is that a trick question?
“I do?”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” And more than you’ll ever know.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to be clear.”
“Yeah.”
She’s not laughing. Does that mean…?
“Just so you know…”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too, Miles.”
“You do?”
“Of course, you moron.”
Oh wow! I thought she was mad at me. She loves me?
And then I pull her into my arms and kiss her like there’s no tomorrow.