“Look, I don’t want to hear the sad story of what happened between you and Romeo, okay?”
“Okay. Do you live in my house?” It was an embarrassing question which showed how little I had bothered trying to get to know people since I arrived in Brighton.
“No, I’m friends with Ruby. She’s across the hall from you.”
“The girl with the red hair?”
“Yeah, that’s her.” So, Kema wasn’t going to win any awards for conversation skills.
“Why did you come over?” I didn’t think it was because she wanted company for her coffee.
“Ruby and I were in the kitchen when you and Romeo started arguing. We heard him leave and you crying for ages. Ruby was worried so I said I’d check on you on my way out.”
“Oh, thanks. And say thank you to Ruby, as well,” I added. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but why did you bring me out for coffee? You could see I was alive and not likely to do myself any harm.”
“Come on, Barbie.” I bristled at the nickname and all it signified. “You were a mess. If I hadn’t forced you to come out, you’d still be in that dressing gown tomorrow. I knew making you leave the room would mean you at least made friends with your deodorant and toothbrush again.”
“If you care so much, why do you have to be so nasty about it?” I couldn’t stop myself asking the obvious question.
“I don’t care that much, just enough. And I wasn’t being nasty, just honest. I’m not one for sugar-coating crap. I don’t do fake.” The way she maintained eye contact with me whilst talking made me believe her. “Seriously, though, you can’t let a guy, however much you think you love him, fuck you up like that.”
“You don’t know anything about him, or us,” I started but was stopped by a dismissive hand being held up to my face.
“I said that I don’t want to hear the details. I don’t give a toss about him. But you need to look after yourself first. He’s not here now, is he? You need to make the most of your life; not his, not some happy-ever-after future you thought you’d got planned. Your life. Now. Be a woman, not a girl.” Wow. I was speechless. “Seriously, if you rely on a man, you’ll end up being disappointed. Use them, fuck them, do what you want with them, just don’t be dependent on them. Okay?”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Kema snorted in response. “Uh, no! Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve been saying?”
“Yeah, but surely you can have a boyfriend without it being like that?” I had thought what I had with Jake was something different.
“I think you can have a relationship based on being equals, but it’s more difficult to have with a guy. I’d like to think that what Ruby and I have is different, but I suppose everyone thinks that.” And that’s when it clicked. Kema was with Ruby. Oh.
“So, what do you think I should do now?”
“Only you know the answer to that but, as I’ve said, several times now, don’t make it about him. Sort yourself out. Right, I’ve got to go to work. See you around,” was her tokenistic goodbye as she left.
Thinking about Kema’s advice, I determined to take control. This was now my life, whether I wanted it to be or not. I spent the evening at the campus launderette, washing away any lingering traces of Jake from my bedding, before putting all physical signs of him into a box under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.
If only.
When the activity stopped, and I was doing everything in my power to persuade my body to give in to sleep, my brain had time to regain the upper hand. Thoughts of Jake and the time we had spent together crowded my head: an endless montage of clips from the film of our love story. The first time he held my hand and the electricity that surged through me. The look of utter adoration in his eyes the first time he told me he loved me, making me physically stumble into his arms. The way it took him months to fully open up about why he hadn’t gone to uni, and how special I felt, knowing he trusted me enough to share the reason behind his tears.
Jake was my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. He had now become my first heartbreak, my first soul-destroyer. As my head flip-flopped between the desperate urge to ring him and beg him to change his mind and the desire to rip his cock off if he ever got within twenty feet of me again, sleep remained elusive.
After a couple of hours of brain-ache, I gave up and got out of bed. Looking out of the window, I wondered what Jake was doing. Was he also watching the moon, equally unable to close his eyes on the day, unwilling to let it end like this? Or was he sleeping the easy slumber of relief?
Taking heed of Kema’s advice, I resisted the urge to wallow in sad music and opened up my Kindle. I bypassed anything remotely romantic, eventually opening up Birdsong and scrolling through to the section in the trenches. Blood, guts and misery were what I needed. Preferably Jake’s. Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe.