Page 3 of Fundamentals in Flirting

But the honey badger part of my brain was having none of it, was rising from slumber, acutely and furiously awakened. And she was most definitely not going to let this apocalyptic transgression slide.

“For the love of God, Jonathan, why did you have to turn out to be such a total and utter bastard?” I said. Loudly. I was proud that my voice didn’t waver or wobble. I was rationality personified, even if my intestines were looping the loop and sickening bile was rising in my throat as my love life crashed spectacularly down around me.

All writhing and grunting stopped. A corner of the duvet was lifted and his face came into view, all flushed skin, panting obscenely, and sandy hair dishevelled.

“Hannah?! It’s not?—”

“If you’re about to tell me that it’s not what it looks like, I will legitimately get the phenobarbital from the car and draw up enough to kill a horse,” I interjected. An angry self-righteous violence, likely from my Viking ancestry, was rearing its head in the face of the dreadfully clichéd way in which our relationship was going to end.

A dark-haired head appeared next to his, her eyes wide, fearful. Christ, this was even worse. Totally humiliating and disgusting. On all levels.

“You’re shagging your PhD student, really, Jonathan?”

“We’re in love,” he muttered.

I stared in disbelief, his once familiar and attractive face now like a blob of vomit in my brain. Initially I had found him confident and charismatic. I had been amused by his slight condescension that was thinly veiled as humour. Impressed by his innate ability to ingratiate himself to all around him with an affable, upper-class charm. He had been so pleasant and helpful, championing my burgeoning career and always quick to offer his contacts or knowledge to further my research and allow me to flourish. And when he’d told me that he wanted me, that he loved me, so early on in our relationship, I’d felt like I’d won the romance lottery and would get my happily ever after. But now, seeing this betrayal first-hand was a hideous punch to the guts, the cold realisation, the sudden stark acceptance, a slap in the face. I really had meant nothing to him. He had, in fact, just been a cheating and disingenuous wanker all along, and I had fallen for him, hook, line, and sinker. How stupid was I?

“Love? Is that what this is?” I directed my furious gaze at the young, impressionable woman who was desperately looking everywhere but at me. “Well, I sincerely hope he can make you orgasm, Daisy, because he’s never been able to do that for me in the entire two years we’ve been together.”

Meeting my eyes briefly, she shook her head slightly.

“What?!” Jonathan spluttered, turning an incredulous stare down at her.

“You’ve never made me come, Jonathan. I usually go home after and sort myself out,” she said, somewhat awkwardly.

Folding my arms, I leant against the doorframe to see how this would unfold, immensely enjoying his discomfort despite the nausea still bubbling in my stomach.

“What?!” he repeated. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He looked up at me. “Why didn’tyoutell me?”

I shrugged. “I thought you might have noticed.”

Jonathan rolled over and sat up, rubbing his hands over his face while Daisy, his PhD student (and possibly now ex-lover), scooted out of bed and began gathering her clothes together.

“I’m so sorry, Dr Havens,” she said to me. “I was in real danger of failing my first year and he said he would help me.”

I shot a disbelieving look at Jonathan, who had the grace to look suitably ashamed.

“That’s appalling behaviour from your supervisor. You should definitely report it to the Dean of the Graduate School. No student should be coerced into having sex with a professor to improve their grades, or for any other reason whatsoever.”

Dressed in record time, Daisy nodded and skirted around me and out of the door, leaving me staring at the person I’d thought I knew – the person I’d fallen in love with but who was now so unfamiliar and repulsive to me that it was like looking at a stranger. A dirty, libidinous stranger. The sort of person who made you feel as if one look would cause your skin to crawl entirely off your body.

“I think I’ll just go,” I said. This was his very grand house after all. He was the senior lecturer and professor of veterinary medicine here while I was just an academic research fellow and still paying off my student debts. I wasn’t exactly flush with cash. And even after two years together, he hadn’t even let me move in with him. Instead, I’d been renting a poky little room in a dingy house near the vet school with some other research fellows and PhD students. The true and heady heights of success in my thirties.

“Hannah, don’t go! We can work through this.”

“But you’re in love with her, Jonathan, and I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice, least of all to a sexually coercive prick such as you.”

“Hannah, please,” he begged.

“Perhaps you’ve done me a favour. I might actually have a chance of finding a guy who can satisfy me in bed now.” I was still scarily calm; a picture of cold indifference. I had the temperament of a complete bitch. It was a bit like having an out-of-body experience, watching this cool and collected ice queen laying into this man as if she couldn’t give a crap. Yet inside, my emotions were in turmoil: rejection, disgust (at myself as well as him), and failure swirling in a sour mix that boiled under my skin.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, head bowed in dejection.

My resolve faltered for a moment because, despite how I appeared outwardly, I was still wishing that this could all be undone somehow, unseen, unknown, my uneventful little life returned back to its normal status quo.

“Jonathan, I…”

His expression changed, like a lion spotting the weakest member in a herd of antelope. “You know you still need me, Hannah. You know you still want me. I want you too. Don’t throw this away because of one silly mistake.”

---