Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I wished, as I lay in my bed, which felt small and uncomfortable after the luxury I’d unexpectedly become accustomed to, I could talk to my mum one last time. I wanted to let her know how happy I was, that I was doing okay, that she needn’t worry. Life didn’t hurt so much anymore. I’d heard people say that grief got smaller with time, but I don’t think that’s true. My memories of my mum were the same. A giant piece of my heart would always be reserved for her. Instead, I think grief stays the same, but life gets bigger around it. Mum was still there, right in the centre, but new experiences, memories, and emotions were growing all around her. I hoped she could see that, wherever she was.
Sometime later, I texted Hugo. I missed the feeling of him against my back, the smell of him on the pillows.
Me: What am I thinking?
Hugo: You’re thinking about getting in a cab to my place so you can climb into bed with me, where I’m waiting for you. Hard. Naked.
Dear God…
Me: No gold star for you. I’m thinking…isn’t it weird how you know what absolutely anything will feel like on your tongue just by looking at it?
Hugo: I can’t see what I want to lick right now. Call a cab, Heli
In all my years of dieting, I’d never had my willpower tested this badly. Temptation pooled between my thighs, tugged at my heart, dried my mouth. No. Pushing the thoughts away, I tapped at the screen…
Me: I assume you’ve never licked your lightshade? Look at it, you’ll know what it feels like on your tongue anyway. Think of anything. Random stuff. Dirt. Concrete. Wood, rough or smooth. I dunno, the curtains. Can you feel them?
The little dots didn’t appear at the bottom of my screen and I envisioned him, naked and hard like he’d said, looking around his impressive bedroom seeking out things to imaginary lick.
Hugo: Your mind is a marvel, Helen Helicopter. Come to bed with me.
Goddammit.
Me: Goodnight, Hugo. See you tomorrow. <3
With that, I placed my phone, screen down, on the bedside table and turned over to the cold side of the bed. I didn’t expect to sleep well and, selfishly, I sort of hoped Hugo didn’t either. I liked the idea of him thinking of me while I thought of him.
“I love you,” I whispered into the empty pillow, hoping, somehow, he would feel it.
I reached for my phone the next day before my eyes had even fully opened, only to be disappointed by a blank screen. I’d assumed Hugo would have replied to my goodnight text, maybe pleaded a little more. He must’ve fallen asleep, too. Sighing, I began the obligatory morning scrolls through social media. Technically, that should be afternoon scroll. The time read 12:16pm in the top corner of the screen. I really did need to start behaving like an adult soon. At least today, I could blame jetlag.
Opening Twitter, it was the first time in a while where I didn’t feel like I was participating in some kind of sordid affair. Hugo detested the socials, couldn’t understand why I bothered with them. I told him I used it to keep up with my friends, keep an eye on the latest brands and fashion trends. I didn’t tell him that I loved the celebrity gossip, too…which felt wrong now I’d seen the other side of it, the real side, yet I still couldn’t resist a sneaky peek. I had a good reason today, though. I was hoping to find some coverage of last night’s awards. A little vain voice in the back of my head wanted to see my name dropped, ideally alongside some praise for Hugo’s outfit.
As they say, karma is a bitch.
Who is Hugo Hayes’s plus-sized pal? And are they JUST FRIENDS?
Click to find out more…
“Oh…my…fuck.” Right there, under the headline, was yet another photo of me and Hugo, this time sitting outside an LA coffee shop. Nothing to do with the fashion awards. I didn’t know whether to be more offended that they’d included my size in the headline or that they’d chosen a photo of me squinting from the sun. Jesus. If I’d known they were there I’d have breathed my belly in. I shouldn’t have worn a white dress that day. Christ, I looked pregnant.
My thumb hovered over the link while my mind debated whether to click. If this story had been written about literally any other celebrity in the world, I’d have finished the article and discussed it with Chrissie already. Celebrity. For fuck’s sake. I wasn’t a frigging celebrity.
Sod it. I clicked it. But as it started to load, someone started hammering the hell out of my front door. I gave my phone the evil eye, wishing pain upon whoever had taken that godawful photo, and ran downstairs to grab the door.