Page 65 of For Real

I told myself it was a relief to be talking about this, rather than keeping it like a dirty secret. “Well, because he’s nineteen, and I’m not, and he keeps…” It felt a little strange to admit aloud something I’d been resolutely ignoring for weeks. “He keeps saying he loves me.”

“Holy shit.” Sam gave a theatrical gasp. “That’s terrible.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve only known him for a couple of months, and we basically only have sex. I’ve made sure of it.” Well. Sex and breakfast, my new favourite part of the day.

“You mean,” asked Grace, “you only want to have sex with him?”

“N-no. It’s just anything more would be wrong.”

“Um.” She blinked. “That makes a hundred percent zero sense.”

“It makes a hundred percent perfect sense. It’s just about on the edge of morally acceptable to let him fuck me until he gets bored. I can’t trap him in something that has no future.”

“But if he’s in love with you anyway—”

“Thinks he’s in love with me.”

“I’m not trying to start a debate about phenomenology,” put in Sam, “but is there a difference?”

I made a frustrated noise. “Yes. It’s just sex and infatuation…and…and youthful enthusiasm. That’s not love.”

“Well, what is?”

“What I had with Robert.” The words were out before I could stop them. Before I’d even realised they were there. They crashed into the room like crockery, and suddenly none of my friends would look at me.

“That poor kid.” Grace let out a long, slow breath, almost a sigh. “In love with someone so emotionally unavailable and sexually over-available.”

It wasn’t a particularly flattering description, but it was probably accurate, and at least it showed she finally understood the magnitude of the problem. “I really don’t want to hurt him.”

“Because it’s morally wrong, or because you care?”

“Jesus, Gracie, both. I’m not a sociopath.”

“Oh, so you do care.”

“Of course I fucking care. That’s not in question. But we’re not in a relationship, we can’t be in a relationship, and I don’t want to encourage him in this…I don’t know…delusion.”

Sam was nodding, and I briefly thought he was on my side. “You know”—unfortunately, it was his sarcastic voice—“when I was nineteen, and I fell in love, I was delusional.”

So much for that. My friends were not my allies. That was probably why they were friends.

“You don’t understand.” I made another desperate attempt to explain. “He’s very… He’s too open. He trusts me. I can’t betray that.”

“So instead you’re pushing him away?”

I looked round at their bewildered faces. “Only because it’s the right thing to do.”

Grace frowned. “Laurie, I love you, but you’re hurting my brain. Are you seriously saying you’re feeling bad about sleeping with this kid because you like him?”

“His name is Toby,” I muttered unhelpfully. “And I’m exploiting him.”

“Um, I think if you were exploiting him, you’d be less concerned about exploiting him.” Grace untangled herself from her lovers, leaning towards me across the coffee table and my plate of cold pancakes. “It’s obvious you like him back. It’s kind of cute, actually. And if you don’t want to call it love, that’s fine, but if he does, that’s fine too.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Because it seems like I’m encouraging him in something that’s bad for him.”

“Let me think about this.” She sat back, stroking an imaginary goatee. “I’m nineteen years old, I get to have quality kinky sex with a hot older guy. A guy who seems to genuinely care about my welfare and is far kinder, far sweeter, and far better to be with than he ever gives himself credit for?” She abandoned her absurd mime. “Y’know, I think I’m good.”

“The only bit of that which feels like it’s true is ‘older.’” And the next thing I knew, Grace had jumped into my arms and I was being ruthlessly hugged. I gave her an awkward, abashed squeeze. “Not that this isn’t nice, but…uh, why?”

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