Page 68 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

Did the words even leave my mouth or did I dream it?

Did he hear me?

Should I say it again?

Have I got this all wrong?

Am I dead?

I feel the words retreat now, afraid; they’re hiding in the trenches of my throat.

He looks up now so I can’t take it back. He suddenly doesn’t seem one bit drunk but immediately lucid, present and stone-cold sober. His big eyes clap on mine. He licks his full lips. I can’t see his reaction through the continuous clouds of steam pumping out like a dry ice machine at a teenage disco, pssstttttt. This isn’t sexy any more; there isn’t sexual tension or chemistry. I just need an answer. DO YOU LOVE ME BACK OR … ? I mean, he must know.

‘What?’ he asks, with a smile that’s about to break into laughter, like it’s a prank.

‘I love you,’ I say, firmly this time. ‘I’ve always loved you.’

And then he laughs. Why are you laughing? Please don’t laugh at me; I’ll cry if you laugh. He shakes his head like I’m winding him up. Like this can’t be real. He needs further convincing. I go in harder.

‘Since we were kids,’ I try. ‘How did you not know?’

Like it’s his fault for not helping me out with this freight in my heart.

‘Did you really not know?’

‘No.’ More seriousness now. He’s in shock. Total disbelief.

I see it hit him for the first time.

‘I didn’t know,’ he says. ‘I thought you wanted to be just friends. I honestly had no idea.’

‘Well … ’ I gulp. ‘You do now.’ OH GOD. ‘And I know you’ve just got into this new thing with this girl Heather and obviously like I’m SO happy for you.’

I stand with my back against the cool dripping tiles, hands behind me like I’ve been cuffed. Like I’m in trouble. I speak almost defensively, apologetically.

‘ … And I would never normally get in the way of anybody’s relationship, especially yours – I want you to be happy, Lowe – but I feel that if I don’t say this now, I might never and the idea of … I don’t know … let’s say dying without saying it … will be ironic … actually … because that could … very well be the very thing that in fact kills me.’

THAT’S ENOUGH, ELLA!

‘In the autopsy, my cause of death will be keeping in the secret that I love you as much as I do.’

He is too shocked to laugh at my terrible humour.

‘Look, I don’t want to cause any harm. You’ve not been with her long, so before it gets too serious with her’ – it’s rude to say her – ‘With Heather —’

He interrupts. Is he angry? Hurt? This is the least calm I’ve seen him. ‘You told Ryan you didn’t feel like that about me. The next thing I know Ryan’s going around telling the world and his mates that you’re going on some date with him and then you go on holiday!’

Ryan? That JESTER? What kind of Shakespearian tragedy is this?

‘Ella, I honestly thought you just wanted to be friends.’

‘And then you met Heather?’

He says nothing. He hunches over with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Then he puts his hands over his mouth and stares out into space.

‘I’m not looking to have an affair.’

Affair – please, girl, you’re nineteen.

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