‘Oh, I have already decided,’ she smiled with her obvious I-am-about-to-murder-a-steak face.
‘What’s Alfie been up to, by the way?’ I questioned.
‘He’s been very keen to announce our engagement on social media,’ she laughed. ‘I swear he’s the future bride. I have had so many friends of his congratulating us. I can’t help but think he’s been going around town with one of those pink and black sashes and a veil.’
I did have to go through some sort of slideshow of their relationship and five very excited stories on Instagram of him being extremely ecstatic over asking this incredibly complex woman to be his wife. For however many years before the inevitable divorce.
‘I’ll have this weird butternut squash number,’ I said.
The cheapest thing on the menu.
‘You sure that’s going to fill you up?’
It had to do. I would always prefer to drink my lunch-out money. Drinking while on anti-psychotics was actually a great way to buy less alcohol, as I’d feel smashed after one or two bottles.
‘Yeah. Had a big breakfast anyway.’
I was starving.
‘So where in Greece are we doing this thing?’ I asked, so I could already look at cheap flights to buy with cock money.
‘Santorini.’ She didn’t hesitate.
Sara would go there often and get spoiled rotten with all kinds of trips and presents from Alfie’s retired parents.
Why did I have to be so poor?
‘I am thinking April.’
A sensible option, as any later I’d roast under a suit.
It was only a few months away. How many limp, wrinkly, grey-haired dicks would I have to suck in order to get to the island without having to kayak the Mediterranean?
I was freaking the hell out. Inside, of course. Amongst all the other life freak-outs I’d carefully shove deep down below.
I was doing just great.
‘I think it’s going to be so much fun,’ she started pitching. ‘For my hen do, I have this whole idea of having all my friends together, rent a villa, maybe with a pool, or a Jacuzzi, maybe a chef to make good food…’
My bank account was screaming.
‘I will have to invite him, though,’ she cautiously whispered.
Of course, she had to. I was so mad at the fact that for god knows how long, I would have to deal with bloody Marc dipping his deformed little toes in my life. A quick glimpse at his social media and he had already managed to make Sara’s engagement news about him. He posted something along the lines of “My little work angel is getting married,” along with a photo of them together. I shook my head in disgust.
Not only had he taken my husband and was slowly attempting to buy my dog’s affection, but now he was putting his tentacles all around my best friend’s neck.
I could, of course, take the high road and pretend not to care, but unfortunately, I was just that petty, jealous and bitter.
And then I realised he’d probably bring Jake as a plus one. Sara was going to re-create Ex on the Beach and I was just going to sit there and watch them have a pre-honeymoon right in front of my disgusted eyes.
‘We need to find a way to not make it awkward,’ she said in a decisive tone. ‘I want you to have fun, and I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.’
Nice words, but I couldn’t find a way around it, other than sending a call to harvest his organs and sell them in the black market.
‘I’ll be fine. It’s all about you.’
She was the most important person in my life. I wasn’t going to let this drag queen in the making ruin Sara’s special day.
Nope.
She finished her cigarette and put the butt in the ashtray. Really squashed it.
‘I have to tell you something, and I am not entirely sure it’s my place to tell you.’
I looked at her with a hint of worry. What other ground-breaking news did she have? Why so serious?
‘…but we always tell each other the truth, so I think it’s better if you’re prepared.’
‘Shit, what’s going on?’ I asked, impatiently.
‘I think, and I am not fully, fully sure, that Marc is moving in with Jake soon.’
My mouth suddenly dried up.
Fuck. Fuck Jake. Fuck these cretins for making me feel miserable on a daily basis.
I was forgotten, replaced and soon, this guy I spent so much time hating, was going to live in my flat, with my husband and my dog. He was going to live the life I thought I’d live for far longer than I actually got to. Marc was going to walk my dog and feed him. Marc was going to sleep night after night in the bed I owned half of.
‘Wow,’ I muttered.
My eyes were glossy, and I was ready to cry. I was so ready to cry.
Damn. I started crying.
‘Hey. Hey!’ Damage control was in full motion. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘We knew this was going to be a possibility. We were prepared. I wanted to tell you before Jake will, because I don’t want you to be ambushed by the news. I know you like to prepare arguments in your head beforehand.’
She smiled. I smiled a little in response. She was right. Every time I’d get into an argument with anybody, I’d get completely overwhelmed, and most of the time I wouldn’t be able to mumble a word. Jake was shit. We’d been separated for nearly a year by then, and it took me many, many months, to truly come to grasp with how much of a selfish shitty little person he had become.
Not that he hadn’t been while we were together. Nobody prepares you for the amount of gaslighting you receive when you’re diagnosed with a mental issue. Nobody prepares you for how much you’ll be abused on the matter. All of a sudden, you’re a liability, and your emotions are just symptoms to be discounted.
‘That’s why you get fired from every job you have.’ Or, ‘You have no idea how many guys I had to say “no” to because I was too respectful to you.’ He would throw those at me quite often.
As most people, I wasn’t aware of my condition. I knew something was wrong, but I thought it was due to circumstances. London could have been partially responsible to cause that. You’re surrounded by an illusion of perfection. Your friends are leading perfect lives, strangers are leading perfect lives, and then there’s you. You haven’t quite figured out how to exist in such a reality. You haven’t wrapped your head around how to coexist with your condition. You haven’t quite understood what you’re good at, what your calling is.
Jake was a fucking arsehole.
‘Hey, you need to get over this,’ she insisted. ‘You need to start living your life. I know it’s not the life you had imagined, but you have to start somewhere. You don’t need to wait for Jake, because he’s moved on a long time ago. I am sorry.’
My tears kept on coming. I couldn’t pace myself. I couldn’t even say anything. I had come undone. Once again.
‘You’re worth so much more than this,’ she said while reaching for my hands that were covering my eyes. I shook it off.
‘Am I?’ I managed to hiss. ‘What is my worth? Nobody gives a flying fuck.’
‘I do,’ she declared. ‘I am sick of you selling yourself short because you feel like you’re missing out. He essentially psychologically abused you for years. He made you feel like you, your opinions, your actions didn’t matter. He treated you like you were inferior and worst of all, crazy. You’re so much better off without him. Trust me.’