Page 67 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

My confidence in the technology dwindling, panic sets in, as if the steam function is a new machine gun that has let me down mid zombie attack. PLEASE, DON’T LET ME DOWN. NOT NOW.

YOU ARE SO FUCKING HOT, LOWE. YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL RARE CREATURE IN MY GRASP. An exotic bird that has flown into my open window by mistake. And I’m worried you’ll wake from this dream and you’ll be butting your head against the glass, wanting to leave …

Come on, Ella, deep down, you know he isn’t better than you. I’m nineteen years old and I am on form, boy. I am magnetic. Electric. Kinetic. Scalextric? Whatever. I’m not the chubby one who friend-zones herself with knotty hair, who wears oversized baggy jeans and Limp Bizkit t-shirts and bitten-down nails any more. I’m on the cusp of womanhood. I’m almost at peace with my stretch marks and bumpy skin. The spots on my bum and in-grown hairs. My sharp, characterful nose. And wonky boobs. And touching thighs. I know the word vulva is not a brand of car; I have looked at my vulva face on in the mirror more than once and I am trying to be OK with the view. Even though she looks like a snarling human-eating plant and nothing like Georgia O’Keeffe’s Orchid.

In the shower there is a little fold-down seat like the jump seats on planes.

Lowe sits.

And suddenly I have one thigh between his knees. Did I put myself there or did he bring me closer? I test it, pull away a little to see if he’ll draw me back in, and he does, but with a touch so light it could also not have happened.

What is this?

I try to catch glimpses of him. Secret photographs with my eyes. His shoulders. Snap. His wrists that I’ve watched so closely I could draw them by heart. Snap. His knuckles, that I’ve watched wrap around the handlebars of a bike, the neck of a guitar. Lovely fingernails, hands, near my jelly-scared legs. The fabric of his grey boxers dampens with condensation. I’m too scared of what happens next. I’d only been with Nile before and it was love, yes, it was sweet, honest, wholesome, I got lucky – sure, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t Lowe.

Nobody ever is. That’s the problem.

And eventually, the steam creeps in.

You took your time.

Before I know it, we’re hot boxed in.

OH SHIT!

A flaming flamingo-pink hot high voltage, drumming through me like a marching band, firing off alarm bells. I’m a lolloping piñata mid-smash. Not butterflies but albatrosses fly here. The dull thump in my knickers when I’d make my Barbies kiss. Is this what it feels like to fly?

No, this is love.

It’s not normal for a heart to stop and start as much as this without it being considered a medical emergency, surely?

Say it. Don’t say it. Go on. No, don’t fucking say it. Ella, this is your chance. Think about it – you’re drunk. Ella, you’re not drunk but you can pretend you are if it goes wrong. Don’t do it. You’ve only just got close again. But if you don’t, it will be too late and you’ll regret it like before. You’ve grown up – look at you! You wear bikinis – you’re cool now. We’re cool.

Do it.

Somewhere, a lioness is about to lunge at an antelope. Someone is about to cuff a Wanted Man, take the final penalty, pull the table cloth at a magic show. About to take that leap. And so am I …

‘Lowe?’

He doesn’t look up; his fingers gently brush my legs, sweeping past my thighs so gently.

Don’t ruin the moment, Ella; you don’t have to talk. See how he’s speaking with his hands; can’t you do that? But the words are detoxing from my pores with the steam; the confession is bacteria.

‘Lowe, I know you’ve just met somebody; I know you’re really into her but I just have to tell you that … ’

A long moment passes.

…

‘I love you.’

…

There.

I said it.

I’m numb and stinging at the same time, I’ve been feasted on by leeches, rolled around in nettles. It’s like I’ve unpacked a box and everything just won’t go back in its place, the lid won’t close. The physical withdrawal kicks in, like a thorn has been removed from my side. But could the procedure be fatal? The feeling boils down to a hot burning gnarl. My bright-red heart is clanging, beating outside of my chest like a cartoon.

---