one

eighteen

Maeve's point of view

I blindly walked into the kitchen, taking the kettle off the stove with my right hand almost unconsciously. Living alone for me had become such a consistent part of my identity that it seemed odd now to think that I used to struggle so much with basic things like changing the gas canister and making a toastie on the stove. Sure surviving primarily on vodka and instant noodles probably wasn't the healthiest way to live, but it was quick and easy and when you're trying to do half the year's coursework essay in one night speed becomes intensely important. Besides, Soph forced me to eat salad when I came round to hers so I feel like it must all even out in the end.

Soph was complicated. Or at least that's the extent of what I told Aimee when she asked what was going on between us a couple of hundred times a day. If I'm honest I still didn't know what she was to me, more than a friend that's for sure but in a romantic way, I didn't think so. It wasn't that I wasn't attracted to her, I actually don't think I've ever been attracted to anyone more in my life but I couldn't get the thought out of my head that she remained a girl and I just wasn't interested, or at least historically I hadn't fancied girls. Come to think of it though I had never really been attracted to boys either, sex with men was alright but I hadn't been inclined to actually date one, rather it was just more conventional than not. I glared at myself in the mirror above the door and turned back round, pulling a tea bag out of the pot on the windowsill and placing it in the red cup I always saved for Sophie when she came over. She actually wasn't here yet and probably wouldn't be for another half an hour but I wanted to be totally ready. Okay I was a bit excited, slaughter me.

Returning to my train of thought I clicked my nails angrily on the counter "when the fuck have you ever been interested in being conventional" I scorned myself. The opposite was in fact much more often true. I had always been different, or at least vaguely alternative and had learnt at a fairly young age that repressing that part of myself just made me sad. Besides, my style might have the potential to be scary but at least it wasn't basic. The thing is, the cowardly part of my brain replied, I've always been normal, or well not normal but not not straight. Being Queer isn't necessarily about being alternative but about having something fundamentally special about you. You can't just turn it off when you want to visit your boyfriend's parents, it's a part of who you are. Besides that group all seem to hang out together at school and I've never fit in with them. Surely further proof that I am indeed straight. "But Sophie" my mind reminded me, every feature twisted uncomfortably with confusion and self discovery.

The problem was is that no outcome seemed good. If I was indeed straight I felt like I had cheated Sophie, not just by blowing her kisses but my blushing, genuinely flustered when I was around her. In contrast though, if I was in anyway Queer and I did indeed like her then I had lied when I said I wasn't interested in girls. So really I just felt like a bit of a dick. 

I groaned and grabbed my phone, opening safari and aggressively typing "how do I know if I'm a lesbian" whilst I still had sufficient adrenaline to deal with any potential outcome. I filled in the quiz, that had come up, step-by-step, still pacing nervously from the kitchen to my bed in the corner of the other room, simultaneously attempting uselessly to convince myself that it didn't mean anything, no matter what my result ended up being.

I heard a knock at the door and clicked submit to find out what the outcome was. Seeing it was Sophie looking through the window though, I chucked my phone onto the sofa and walked over to the door to let her in. It's not like it mattered to me anyway, I would just check later.