The way he looks at Gretel … If only I could be looked at like that by a man. I pretend I am her, because it’s easier, because it’s nice to pretend for myself sometimes. Pretend I am fun, carefree, that I’m not dragging myself through life with tonnes of trauma and baggage trailing behind me like chains, pinning me to my sadness. I need a cold shower, I say. He needs one too. We shower together, shrieking at how cold we can make the water go. Kissing with our bodies slick, him looking like a child with his hair wet, teeth clashing with teeth, laughter turning into shivers, wrapping ourselves up in his towels and rubbing one another dry. We inevitably make love, and I not-so-inevitably find myself climaxing again. Clutching onto his hair and turning my head into the pillow.
‘Are you OK?’ he whispers, between my legs.
‘Yes.’ It’s the truth.
We lie together afterwards like pretzels that weren’t separated properly in the factory. A tangle of limbs. He keeps stroking my face. I can feel so much love coming off him, but it’s not for me. It’s not for the person I am. I want to hide in this moment. Curl up in it. Pretend it’s the truth. Pretend a man is capable of loving me the way Joshua seems to love Gretel. Does any woman get to feel like this? Better women? Ones with less raggedy edges? It seems so unfair that the people who deserve love like this the most, the ones who have gone through the most torture, are the ones who are the least likely to get it. How the legitimate need for it repels it, and increases the odds that you’ll never get it. We reward simple people with love. People without trauma. And we punish those who dare to get scathed by life, even when it’s not their fault, like their pain is a contaminant.
I lie in Joshua’s arms and focus on his touch as he traces my stomach with his thumb. ‘I’m going to miss you this weekend when you’re away on this hen do,’ he says.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ Gretel says.
I will miss him.
And what that means scares me.
• Gretel’s Guide to Becoming The Girlfriend and Staying The Girlfriend
* * *
You’re a girlfriend now. That changes things. Girlfriends have different requirements from girls who are merely dating. You’ve made it past the first round of tests, but the stakes are higher now, and therefore the prizes better.
Girlfriends need to be that bit more nurturing than dating girls. You need to cook him meals and rub his head and ask how his day was and actually give a shit about his response. Don’t nurture too much though, it annoys them. If you overdo it, they will flinch and act like you’re trying to break them. ‘It’s not a big deal, don’t make it into a big deal,’ is a sign of over-scrambling the nurturing eggs. Best not to talk too much when you’re nurturing. Stick to the cooking and the head rubs, the silent nodding, and the occasional bland words of encouragement. Less of the hardcore talking, you annoying bitch.
You can be dirtier in bed now. In fact, it’s good to save the filthier side of you for the Girlfriend Zone. He’ll be worrying slightly that, if you do indeed pass all the invisible tests, he’ll be stuck having sex with just you for the rest of his life. This will concern him, poor thing. I mean, he deserves a life of good, filthy sex. Can’t give that up for just anyone, especially not you. Amp up the whore to counteract all this new commitment. You need to reward him for declining his natural impulses for the compromise of you, and reassure him that, if you do end up getting married, he can still slap your arse or jizz across your chest or do it hanging upside down, or whatever the hell it is he needs to do to feel like he’s not sacrificing any of his sexual self by agreeing to put up with you.
By the way, now that you’re his girlfriend, you have to be totally OK with every single thing he’s doing with his life. Do not expect too much quality time, certainly don’t need it. You’re his girlfriend now, God, isn’t that e-fucking-nough?
The elephant in the room at this point in proceedings is pretending you don’t know that he’s looking at you and thinking ‘are you Wife Material?’ That’s the test. If he can’t see you as Wife Material, you’re out on your ear, sista. Table for one at Spinstersville. By the way, Wife Material is slightly different for every man so have fun figuring that one out. But being a girlfriend = imagining a future, so make sure you’re fitting his version of what his future can be. Paint a masterpiece every day of the life he could share with you.
When it comes to kids, he’s thinking about you and them now. Wondering how you’ll mother up. How much you will fuck up his precious children – without considering whether he’ll bring any fucking-upness into the equation. But he’ll be looking for signs in you. So don’t have any mental health problems, or hereditary diseases if you can possibly help it. Remember though, he may not be ready for children. He certainly doesn’t want you to be ready for them until the exact moment he’s ready for them. So, maternal-wise, walk the tightrope. Sure, yes, you want kids ‘some day’. I mean, the man has to spawn his replicates and you are the vessel to provide that. Don’t not provide that, you selfish twat. Don’t be one of those weird women who hate children. I mean, there’s just something wrong with women who don’t want children, isn’t there? But don’t be too maternal either, jeez, that will freak him out. He doesn’t just want to be a sperm donor, how hurtful is that to his feelings? ‘I want children when I’ve lived my life enough,’ is a good thing to say. Nice and vague. Say that a lot. When and if he brings it up.
Never, ever, bring it up first.
That goes for lots of things by the way. Do not say ‘I love you’ first. Do not want to move in. Do not want to know ‘where things are going’. Why are you so needy like that? Don’t put pressure on him. He’s your boyfriend! That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Why is it never enough for you? GOD! So ensure that every single step forward in the relationship is totally his idea. Pretend you’ve never thought about it. Be casual. You can be casual, can’t you? I’ll tell you who can be casual – people made out of fucking Wife Material, that’s who. Wait for him. Just enjoy it. I mean, it’s a huge massive test cluttered with landmines where the rules always change and, if you fuck it up, then you’ll probably die alone or have to freeze your eggs, and you don’t have the money to freeze them, and even if you did, it only has a twenty-six per cent success rate, but definitely don’t let him know that you know that, but anyway, yes, it’s really really important that you don’t fuck up this giant test, but ENJOY IT OK? I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’RE NOT ENJOYING IT.
Also, don’t nag*. Nobody wants a nagging whiny controlling bitch for a girlfriend. How dare you reward his generosity of committing to you with nagging? Back off and show some fucking gratitude.
* * *
Punch the bag, punch the bag. Let it out, let it out, let it all out.
I picture Ryan’s face.
I kick and grunt. I sweat. I jab.
Why why why why why? Me me me me me?
Punch punch punch.
Why why why.
Kick kick kick.
Me me me.
My forehead has its own tap of sweat. I look uglier than I’ve ever looked in my whole life but I don’t care. I thrust my body into the sack. It never gives. Ever. It can take every punch I throw at it.