Super Associated

Layby

I've never been so angry as I am right now, having Chelsea Pierce berate me for my love life in the presence of not only the man that I'm casually seeing but also Francis' assistant and a following of thousands. The listeners were loving my humiliation, too, if the barrage of calls and social media posts were any indication. One girl even told me to grow up. I'm twenty-six-years-old, I think I'm already a grown up. 

"Is your boyfriend just a layby?" One listener asked after Chelsea answered their call. "From what I'm hearing, you're just using him until a better option comes along."

I tap my foot in irritation. "Ok, first of all, he's not my boyfriend. We're just... super associated, that's all." Chelsea couldn't contain her snigger at that label. I really couldn't care any less. "Secondly, he isn't a layby."

"Then what is he?" The girl demanded, putting me on the spot just like Francis and Chelsea probably wanted. "No offence but you sound like a high maintenance kind of girl who probably can't keep a boyfriend and that's why you push them away- get rid of them before they get rid of you."

The accusation hung in the air but I wasn't going to bite. The idea of her statement being true was hilarious and not worth wasting oxygen on refuting but I could see, from the corner of my eye, Francis was watching on, his focus on me. I wasn't about to give him the pleasure of looking in his direction and instead kept my focus on Chelsea. She was loving the drama but even she could tell that I was on the verge of flying across the table and strangling her. Taking a break from the calls, she played a song for the listeners, giving us a few minutes to talk, off the air. 

"Romy-"

"You call yourself my best friend but then you go and pull this kind of crap?" I seethed in her direction. The headphones came off and the chair flew backwards as I stood up and place my hands on my hips. "You could have asked me about this before springing it on me. I'm being attacked by people I don't even know about the choices I make in my life and you're using it as what? Entertainment? A way for me to express my undying love for Francis? To prove that I really am the heartless bitch that people call me behind my back?"

The door behind me opened and from the way Chelsea's eyes darted to the ground and a blush crept up on her cheeks, I didn't need to turn around to see that Francis had walked in. Under normal circumstances, Chelsea would have walked out, giving Francis and I some privacy but nothing about this was 'normal' and instead, she tried to make herself appear as invisible as possible while I was about to do battle with my... super associated guy. 

"You're coming across as really aggressive, Romilly, and the listeners don't like it," Francis announced. Spinning to face him, he wore those stupid round Harry Potter-esque glasses that made him look like those irritating hipsters that Mel and I joke about. Even his name was hipster. Francis always reminded a little bit of Clark Kent with his spectacles; geeky with them on, ridiculously hot with them off. An iPad was in his hand and he was scrolling through the show's Twitter feed. "If you tone it down a little bit and try to be less defensive, that might help endear you to the audience."

What flying fuck did I give about the audience? This isn't my show; demographics and listener shares were boring to me unless I could use it to spin a really good story in the press. God knows I'd love to have something positive to report, just not on my endearing personality as I discussed my intimate private life with complete and utter strangers. 

The song that was playing, Familiar by Liam Payne and whoever else featured, came to an end and once again, Chelsea was charming the pants off the listeners. She recapped what had been going on before the music break and said that she was going to lighten the mood for a while by reading out 'positive stories of your successful dating life in a digital age.' 

I wanted to vomit from some of the sappy stories that they were sharing. Who wants to know how Meg from Lancashire fell in love with Rob from Leeds after meeting on a hen party in Blackpool when she was the maid of honour and he was part of the exotic dance troupe that was in town for the evening? I gagged as Meg from Lancashire went into detail about how she's tamed Rob from Leeds and they have moved in together and are now known as Meg and Rob from Sheffield. The story about how Rob from Sheffield asked Meg from Sheffield to marry him when they returned to the place where they fell in love on their sixth month anniversary. How the hell do you know that you want to marry someone after just six months?

Francis and I have been super associates for four times as long and there's no way in hell Romilly from London would ask Francis from Cambridge to bloody marry her. Marriage is an outdated concept, anyway. It's just a massive party for your guests to enjoy before life kicks the newlyweds in the teeth when they're landed with the twenty-grand bill and seven toasters because Aunts Moira, Nanette, Patricia, Susan, Lorraine, Sharron and Kimberley couldn't get to grips with the online gift registry. 

"Your story sounds utterly charming, Meg," Chelsea cooed into her microphone, clearly buying into the spiel that Meg, originally from Lancashire but now from Sheffield, was peddling. "Good luck with the wedding! Now, onto our next caller. Michael Taylor from London, are you there?"