by Charlotte Amelia
“You know you’ll never fuck me, right?” She says carefully, her tone light but her face serious.
“I never – ” I begin.
“I know, you never thought about it. It’s what every boy says. But I wanted you to know. Because people – people don’t always understand. They have an idea in their head, of me, of what I am and what I do. And I need you to know, I don’t do that. I don’t fuck around with people,” she’s serious now, every ‘fuck’ rolling off her tongue like a blunt instrument falling to the ground.
“I wouldn’t,” I say.
“Wouldn’t you?” She smiles slightly, sadly.
“Never,” I say, lying through my teeth. Of course I would, in a second, yes, I would, if only she liked me the way I liked her.
“Don’t make a liar of yourself. It’s a sad way to live a life,” she says.
“Then don’t ask me impossible questions,” I say.
“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” She asks, and I begin to wonder if she’s not entirely right about that.