In the end, they all decide to make get-well cards for Niall. I can’t help but find this funny. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly in the wall when he gets fifteen hand-made cards for an affliction he doesn’t even have. I’m definitely going to get these cards to him, not just because I’m feeling passive aggressive right now, though in my nervy state that’s motive enough. The reason I really want to send them to him is I want him to come back. I miss him. I want to see him.
I’m beginning to realise what it is I truly want.
“Let me see.” I try to duck under Niall’s outstretched arm so I can twist myself around his body, but he’s too quick for me. Grabbing the shoulder of my t-shirt, he stops my progress.
“Wait. It’s not finished.”
I change tack and nuzzle my face into his neck. If swiftness doesn’t work, maybe seduction will. “Please, please,” I whisper into his throat. “Show me my picture.”
We’ve been doing this for six nights now. Each night he comes to my room we either smoke a joint or pop an E. Then we have sex, followed by a furtive moonlit trip to the art building. He paints into the night, staring at me and then at the canvas, mixing colours frantically like they’re going to disappear.
At first I liked the way he looked at me, with his eyes narrow, and his mouth slightly open. But then he started paying more attention to the canvas than me. A few times, I even fell asleep. When I woke I caught him leaning on the table, staring right down at my naked body, and it sent shivers down my spine. Then I realised he was studying me a little too intently, with pupils that failed to dilate. For a moment, I felt like an object.
“You can see it after exam week,” he murmurs, cupping the back of my head. “It’ll be ready by then.”
Exam week. The words are enough to kill the mood—studying, revising, test practice. All things I’ve failed to do for the past few weeks. My face must fall because the next minute he’s holding me in his arms, kissing me hard and promising I can see it soon.
I kiss him back, but for the first time I’m half-hearted because all I can think is that I’m going to fail. I’ll have to go home and explain to my mum and dad why I’ve managed to royally fuck up my life in the space of a few weeks.
Seeing the painting doesn’t seem half as exciting anymore.
15
“Why do you think you have to choose?” Louise asks. I let my head fall back on my chair as I look around her consulting room. As always, it’s perfectly tidy.
It’s been three weeks since I kissed Niall. The relief I feel about finally voicing my doubts is palpable.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Torn between two lovers? I can’t just string two men along, it isn’t the done thing.”
“It’s interesting that you call Niall a lover yet you’ve only kissed him once. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.” I frown and rub my eyes. “I think he wanted more.” Or was it me? Am I just projecting my emotions onto Niall? What if all he wanted was a quick, uncomplicated fumble?
He sure chose the wrong girl for that.
“Do you think your shared history has anything to do with it?”
I’ve told Louise everything. Laid all my secrets out like a dysfunctional offering. Shared things with her that I’ve never told a soul, not even Lara. She listens and smiles and empathises with me. Her acceptance gives me a peace I haven’t had before.
“Maybe I’m putting more emphasis on it than I should. But the way he looked at me when I left that night, and the fact he hasn’t been back to the clinic for three weeks...” I let my voice trail off. For the past two Thursdays Niall has sent a stand-in. Michael is nice enough. Good with the children.
But he’s no Niall.
“Okay, so let’s assume he wants something more. It’s still not a simple choice between two men. Can you think of a third option, maybe?”
“Being with them both?” I wrinkle my nose up.
Louise bursts out laughing. It’s the first time I’ve seen her crack more than a smile. I wonder if that’s part of their training, trying not to show violent emotion. Perhaps there’s only space for one crack-up in the therapy room. “No, I wasn’t going to suggest you choose polyamory, though I’m not knocking it either. That sort of arrangement isn’t something you go into lightly.”
“Then what?”
She says nothing, another trick of hers. Louise uses silence the way a carpenter uses a saw. As if on cue, I hurriedly try to break it. “Choose neither?”
“Choose you,” she corrects. “Concentrate on yourself. Get to know what you really want. Love yourself as much as others do.”
I stare at her as though she’s talking a foreign language. “That sounds selfish.”
“Studies show that relationships are more likely to succeed if both partners have high self-esteem. It isn’t selfish to take care of yourself. Think of it as laying strong foundations. So the question you have to ask yourself is ‘what do I want?’”