Page 87 of Heartfelt Pain
“Because it’s easy. Because you’re tired and stressed and you fucking wanted coitus.”
I laugh at her use of the word.
“It’s why people fall back into it with people they shouldn’t.”
She passes the joint back.
“Ben looked at me like I’d lost my fucking mind when he found me with Roma last night. And then he looked so fucking disappointed. Like I’m an idiot for going back to the person who hurt me so bad.”
“But how did you feel?” she asks, my own personal therapist.
Seconds tick by as I think. “In that moment? Like a kid being caught when you break the rules. But if you’re asking about the whole ordeal, sleeping with Roma again, I don’t know. Part of me wonders if I’m being lazy.”
“Why?”
“Like you said, people fall back into bad things because it’s all they know. When I was at Hartright’s I just wanted to leave. I didn’t want to put any effort into anything. There’s a reason single people don’t try dating again. That shit sucks.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “It’s a lot of work, breaking someone new in.”
She wanders to the kitchen and comes back with a pizza box. We each take a cold slice.
“You’re obsessed with perfection, you know?” She licks tomato sauce off her thumb.
“What?”
“Look at you.” She points her pizza at me. “Even in sweatpants you look nice.”
“They’re your clothes.”
“Nobody thinks I’m hot in them when I wear ’em.”
“You’re joking right,” I say despite my mouth full of food.
She pats my cheek. “What’s that? Hundreds of pounds worth of skincare.”
I slap her hand away. “I have sensitive skin.”
“Panties that cost two hundred quid.”
I knew she wouldn’t let that go. “What’s your point?”
“Hooking up with Roma means people will judge you ’cause everyone knows something happened back when you first got here. And you can’t stand that ’cause who wants to be judged. But I know you, Ren. There ain’t nobody who will judge you as hard as you judge yourself.”
“God, you’ve been listening to self-help podcasts or something.”
She smacks her lips together, grabbing another slice of pepperoni. “I don’t know. Do you think you can move past it? The past.”
“What, you think I should actually consider taking Roma back?”
“I mean you clearly still like him or you wouldn’t be letting him finger you in a cab.”
Isolde’s my safe space, but my cheeks flush anyway.
“You can do whatever you want,” she says. “You can say fuck it, and take him back. You get to make that choice. The question, though, is can you move forward with him. It’s like when couples cheat. You can’t keep holding it over his head, you know.”
Something hard crushes my chest. Last night we did argue about the past. And the conversation isn’t truly over because we’ve never properly had it out.
“Don’t you think it’d be funny,” I ask slowly. “Me dating a mafia prince?”
