Pretending: The brilliant new adult novel from Holly Bourne. Why be yourself when you can be perfect?(11)

‘It’s OK.’ I put my hand up. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘It will be nice.’

I shake my head. ‘Simon, can we just talk about what happened last night already? You don’t have to buy my breakfast.’

Even in my anguish, there’s a part of me that enjoys watching a man’s inner turmoil when it becomes obvious he’s going to have to talk about his emotions. Simon’s eyes widen, like he’s a vegetarian that’s accidentally bitten into a meat pasty. I leave him in the silence he needs and brace myself for impact.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he says, finally, without making eye contact. ‘I’m still not sure what happened.’

‘Well, you didn’t ask me what happened, did you?’ I point out. ‘You didn’t talk to me about it at all. You just went to sleep.’

He takes the hit, hesitates, and then recovers. ‘Yes, sorry about that. I was just shocked, and you see, I’m so stressed with work. I could’ve handled it better, I admit.’

I wait for the ‘but’. I arrange my face into battle mode.

‘But …’

Here it comes.

‘The thing is, I’m not really looking for anything serious at the moment. And—’

I cut him off. ‘Don’t lie.’

‘What?’

‘You are. Just not with me. At least own it, Simon.’

He runs his hand through his hair, and that’s the moment I notice his receding hairline. The widening space above his forehead. He’s got a year or two, max, before those two patches merge and then he’ll have to start shaving it off. ‘I don’t understand why you’re being like this.’

‘I just think we’re both old enough for the truth.’ I sigh and shake my head.

‘We’re not exactly old …’

‘We’re in our thirties.’

‘That’s not old.’ He looks genuinely offended that I’ve suggested such a notion. I shake my head again and wish there was a betting website where I could put my life savings on the odds that he’s referred to himself as Peter Pan, proudly, in the last year.

‘Look, anyway, let’s just get on with it.’ It’s rather incredible that I’m not crying. In fact, I sound quite chill and disconnected and sassy and all the things I’m sure would’ve kept this relationship going if I’d been able to summon them last night instead of being triggered. Simon seems equally as thrown at my character transformation. Doubt settles in just above his eyebrows. He’s going to follow through though because he’s still not making eye contact.

‘I really like you,’ he starts. It’s how this always starts. ‘You’re pretty and you’re smart and you’re funny and you’re kind.’ I nod. All of those things are true. They don’t seem to make me lovable though – too unchill and broken for that. I wait again for the second ‘but’. The ‘but’ that’s been the butt of all my misery my entire adult life. ‘But, to tell you the truth, I’ve not been feeling it …’ he trails off.

I close my eyes. I count to three. I take deep breaths. I let the rejection, once again, soak through me.

He can’t handle the pain he’s caused me. Simon thinks he is a nice guy. Maybe he even is, to women who aren’t me. He’s started scrambling around for modifiers to make himself feel better. ‘You’re great, you’re so great. Last night was just … well … Again, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me.’

I manage to look up at him. ‘For fuck’s sake, stop lying.’

He jerks back, his demeanour switching into defensive-mode right away. ‘I’m not!’

‘You are, and it’s boring. Just tell the truth. God.’

‘Look, stop making me into a villain! As I said, I’ve not been totally feeling it, but I thought there was enough there to see where it went. And, well, last night … I’m just not sure I’m the right guy to take on something like that, April, OK? I’m not evil for wanting a normal sex life rather than …’

The word ‘normal’ hits harder than a bullet. It explodes on impact. He doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s made it clear: I’m the problem, not him. He crosses his arms. He can’t physically look at me. Bottom lip stuck out. All ‘look what you made me do’.

I stand. I can’t, I just can’t any more. I will cry I will cry I will cry, but I won’t give Simon the satisfaction of seeing that. ‘Goodbye Simon,’ I say, putting my sandals on with as much dignity as it’s possible to muster.

‘We can still get breakfast,’ he tells the floorboards hollowly.

As I stuff my belongings back into my handbag. I can practically hear him whinging to his mate.

She was acting like I was such a jerk, but I was the one offering to take her out to breakfast! I was the one trying to be mature about the whole thing! Nightmare! She’s just taking whatever happened out on me which is so unfair. I’m not a bad guy. I was just being honest.

Or even worse, he won’t mention me at all. I’m not significant enough.

I bend over, my heart feels like it’s going to tumble out of my mouth. I’m thirsty, and hurting, humiliated, and done.