“Nothing changed. I just…I realized I like myself better when I’m with you.” We stared at each other for a drawn-out moment before Connie arched her eyebrows. “So…Can you stop being a grumpy prat now and come to bed? I’m still Baltic here.”

“Don’t think this is an excuse for you to bully and boss me around.”

“Oh please. You love it when I boss you. Get in the fucking bed before I change my mind.”

All through the night a chorus of my own worst enemies chimed through my head, their song composed of one simple word; maybe.

Chapter 9

July—December 1994

It became a regular thing between us, almost like a hobby. I came to understand our situation even if I would openly admit that it never fully made sense to me. We slept together, we hung out, we were inseparable. I deduced that Connie saw it as some college-type lesbian experiment come early, or maybe some sort of defiant rebellion against her family and their perception of her. I figured that maybe it was the thrill of it all—the sin, the secrecy, the danger of being caught—that drew her to me. Eventually, it was something that came naturally to us when we were alone together, just another fundamental part of our friendship.

And I didn’t care that Connie believed she was straight. It was something that rarely entered my mind at all after we began. It wasn’t as if it made a difference; our situation would have been the same even if she accepted that she did like girls. We would never come out, never have a real relationship, open and accepted. And who was I to complain? Connie was so charming, so seductive in how she carried herself, with her captivating manner and her beguiling demeanor. And wasn’t it enthralling to think of something so taboo, so forbidden, as our illicit secret? Wasn’t it alluring to know that every boy in Halford sought after her but it was me that she had chosen? To know that they longed for her affections but it was me that saw her in her most vulnerable moments—who knew her more intimately than anyone else in the world? Everybody wanted her but I was the one who had her—even if I would only ever have her in the shadows.

And yes, I longed so desperately for a normal relationship; I longed to be able to hold her hand without the irrational fear that we were being followed, and I longed to be able to kiss her by the lockers in school rather than behind the walls of the car park when it cleared mere seconds before the bell rang. I longed to be able to spend every minute in her presence without the fear that somebody might put two and two together gnawing at my insides. I wanted everyone to know that it was me she had chosen. I was the one who left her breathless and aching, the one who knew just where to touch her and how to tease her. It was me—not Aidan, or Jim, or any other fucking boy.