I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 25: cherry root

Dominic used to say, "You're so good for me, bunny."

You're so good for me, bunny. You're so good for me.

I wanted to believe it meant that I was good for him just as he was good for me, that we were compatible as a couple despite the differences that people who didn't understand would criticise.

But it meant I was good for him, I was good for him. He mined the pleasure he sought with ease because I was good and didn't resist, because I was good and said I enjoyed it too, because I was good and never told him to stop.

I don't know why or when I ended up outside Dominic's old apartment building, but I stare at what used to be his window from the street opposite. Though I'm fully aware he doesn't live there anymore, I imagine storming up the stairs and banging on his door until he comes to open it. Even better, until Iain comes to open it.

'I've gotta tell ya summat,' I'd say without introduction — D'you remember me from eight years ago? I remember you. 'Your boyfriend's a cheater. A groomer too.'

Iain's face would fall, yet there would be relief etched somewhere between the fourth and seventh layers of skin because a part of him has always known, and now he finally has confirmation. He silently invites me into the flat, and Dominic slowly looks up from his lunch — no, from his work, which he does on a laptop as he drinks his third cup of coffee. For two-thirds of a second, he tries to smile until terror sneaks in.

If Dominic opened the door, I would say nothing. Words would crumble in my chest. Maybe he would invite me inside. 'Please, one brew,' he'd say. 'I insist.'

I'd hesitate on the doorstep, but what am I supposed to say now when I was the one knocking? "Sorry, wrong flat?" He'd know I'm lying.

I end up sitting across from him at his table. Is the table the same small kind that only fits two, or four at most? Or does he have a larger one now? Maybe he and Iain have a friend group of other couples, and they host dinner in turns. So the table is large enough to fit eight. I sit across from him with the wide expanse of birch spread out on either side like the no-man's land during battle, and yet our hands could so easily touch.

He only loves me in the trenches. Maybe I'm only lovable in the trenches.

'How've you been?' he asks, his smile so bright that he doesn't look a day over twenty-five.

I have to fight the urge to look away, to tangle the string of my tea bag into the handle of the mug until it'll have to be cut off with the scissors forgotten on the table. Unless he's left them there on purpose to prove how easy it will be for him to cut me open.

'Aye, can't complain... You?'

'Grand.' Dominic has always known how to smile at the same time he talks. It should've been a warning, shouldn't it? There's no reason to keep reminding me of his teeth. 'You really look good, Miles.'

The compliment makes my insides squirm.

'I've not seen you around.' It's not a question, but I answer it anyway.

'Aye, I live in Brighton now.'

'Brighton? You really went all the way south.'

The way he says it makes me feel like a traitor — worse, a coward, like I've had to run away from him. He's won some war over Leeds, and in my losing, I've lost the entire north, too.

'It were for my mum's work,' I defend myself. 'We moved when I started year twelve.'

'Right, I remember Jacob mentioning summat like that...' Dominic pauses to drink his brew. I've not touched mine. 'So are you seeing someone?'