Chapter Text
The first relationship you have defines what you expect in the future. Defines what you expect from yourself… what you think of yourself.
My first relationship is shit. I don’t even know how I ended up with him, but Ben Hope is not the boyfriend I imagined I would ever have.
Call me a romantic, call me delusional, but I guess I thought having a boyfriend would make me feel better. I thought boyfriends were supposed to smile at you, tell you they love you, wave to you in the corridor as you walk past on your way to class. They’re supposed to text you in the middle of your most boring lecture to help you stay awake, to wish you good luck before a final exam, to provide a shoulder to cry on when you leave the exam pretty sure you’ve fucked it up, and then celebrate with you when the result comes back that you aced it.
Ben is none of those things.
I used to think he was ashamed of me. Now I know he is. I used to think it was because he was closeted, now I know it’s because I’m not enough for him.
I’m sitting on my bed, waiting for him. It’s date night and we agreed to watch a film at my flat. My roommate is out tonight, staying over at his girlfriend’s flat. Ben wouldn’t come here otherwise. He was supposed to be here at 5.30 when his last class finished. It’s nearly 7.00.
He will roll in with some excuse. I am not important. I have nowhere else to be and he knows it. So, I’ll wait here for him and be grateful when he shows. I’m flicking the rubber band on my wrist. My anxiety is high peaked tonight, and Ben being late isn’t helping.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been flicking the rubber band, but I look at my wrist and there’s a distinct red ring where it’s hit time and time again. The skin is raised. It’s intriguing. I run my finger over the ridge I’ve created. It’s soft to touch, but it stings underneath. I press it gently, feeling the blood pulse, heavier under the bump.
I have visions of blood bursting out with each beat. It would only take the slightest of cuts. It would free me from my pain. I think my flicking has made the area numb. A cut wouldn’t hurt. My anxieties could seep out of my body as if they’re attached to the blood drops themselves. A larger cut though. What could I release with a larger cut? My life perhaps?
I flick the band again.
The sharp sound of the snap and the sting on my wrist remind me why I don’t cut anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve cut. I promised Tori I wouldn’t cut again. I told Geoff I never wanted to cut again. He’s the one who told me to snap a rubber band. I can feel the pain in my wrist that cutting provides without needing to break the skin. Some psychology mumbo jumbo, but so far, it’s been successful.
The ridge on my wrist, though, has me fascinated, and I find I’m targeting it. I wonder if I can tear through my skin with only a rubber band. I flick incessantly, watching the ring become more pronounced. I’m not sure this is an effective coping strategy anymore. I’m not sure if I’ll bring this up with Geoff. He’ll probably take away permission for me to do it.
I jump and am pulled away from my self-harm as I hear the door open. Ben walks in, apologies written all over his face. I am interested to hear what his excuses are this time.
“Charlie, I’m so sorry,” he starts. “Class ran late, and my phone is dead.” He waves his phone in my face to prove his point. He’s holding something behind his back.
“And as I was walking out of class, I ran into Fourteen! You remember him, don’t you?” I don’t know how I could forget Fourteen. He nearly knocked me out in my first and only rugby match. Interesting how we’re peers now.
“It took me a while to get rid of him. I don’t know why he insists on talking to me. You were the rugby nerd, not me. Anyway, finally after I left him, I felt bad that I couldn’t ring you to tell you how late I was going to be, so, I figured, seeing as I was already late, I stopped to buy you these.”
He pulls a bouquet of daisies from behind him and presents them to me. I am stunned. He’s never bought me anything. I look in his eyes. He looks sorry. I take the bouquet and stare at the flowers. They are pretty. I feel my eyes well and I leap forward to pull him into a hug.
“Ben,” I whine. “You didn’t have to do that.” But in my mind, I am so glad he did.
He wraps his arms around me, reciprocating my hug. “You deserve it,” he says. “I’m sorry I left you waiting so long.”
My heart leaps and now I think it makes sense. Ben just needed time to get used to us. Yeah, maybe it took him longer than it would most people, but three months isn’t that long in the scheme of things. He thought about me today when I wasn’t with him, and he bought me something. He’s coming around. This could be the first step on his way to coming out.
He pulls back to look at me but doesn’t release me. He smiles. “You’re so cute.”
I guess I kind of am being a bit cute. My smile is large, and my eyes are wet because I’m just so pleased he’s done something nice for me.
I don’t know how to respond to You’re so cute, so I just say, “Okay” with a little giggle I can’t suppress.
He leans forward and kisses me, soft, tender, warm. I melt into his kiss, unwilling to part from him. Things are good. Tonight is going to be good.
🍂🍂🍂
We’re sitting on the bed, backs against the wall, half watching a movie, half feeling each other up. He’s kissing my neck; his hands are under my shirt. My hand is caressing his thigh. I’m staring at the daisies sitting on my desk, stuffed into a drinking glass as a makeshift vase.
He traces my nipple and gives it a light squeeze. I never knew nipples could be erotic until the first time he touched me. I can’t stand to not kiss him anymore. I turn to him and meet his lips with mine. He pushes me down on the mattress and climbs onto me. My hands are in his hair, clenching, pulling his head closer to mine. I need him to be closer. He’s kissing my mouth, but he’s still not close enough.
He moves back to my neck. I feel his teeth as he gently nips at the skin. He sucks and kisses across my collarbone. I can’t help but let out sounds that used to be embarrassing. Ben has heard them all. I know he likes them; he gets more fiery when I make those sounds.
He pulls off my shirt, and his mouth is on my chest. He kisses all over, settling on my nipple, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. He reaches down to my crotch, knowing full well how hard I already am. He touches me gently. I buck my hips, craving more of him.
It all feels so right. We’ve had sex before. Plenty of times. But this feels different. He feels different. He feels loving and kind and I feel my heart might explode. His kisses are trailing lower as he starts to unbutton my jeans. I know where this is going, but I want to give to him tonight.
My hands are still in his hair. I tug his face back to mine and kiss him before saying, “Let me.”
He pulls away from me, stunned, and I realise, this is the first time I’ve ever offered him a blowjob. Usually he demands or begs, but I have never offered. I’m too caught in the moment to care, or to analyse what any of this means. I push him gently so he falls onto his back. He props himself onto his elbows and gazes at me with a look I can’t discern. Surprise? Pride? Eagerness? Lust? Perhaps all of the above.
I shift myself so I can kiss the light patch of hair below his belly button while I undo his pants, kissing down the trail as I remove them. I free his dick from the confines of his pants and smile as it rubs against my face.
I take him in my hand and start dotting kisses down his shaft. I stroke him a couple of times before placing him shallow in my mouth. I hear him, those deep throated moans he tries to hold back. I feel him; he clenches his fists into the sheets beside him. I can make him happy.
He smells of vanilla, musk and flowers. I’ve smelt this before. I take him deep into my throat and wonder again why he smells so good just here. My mind wanders as I try to place the scent and I must not be doing a good job because his hands are on the back of my head, and he pushes me down on his dick so I gag. My eyes water but I keep composed. I continue to taste him, forcing myself to focus, but my brain finally registers the fragrance.
I sit up and look down at him. His eyes burst open, and he stares at me, mad. I shouldn’t ask him. I know I should ignore it, but my brain won’t let it go. Perhaps I am boldened by the daisies. Maybe my brain hates me and knows I deserve the inevitable wrath.
“Who…” I pause. I consider my words. Accusations aren’t pretty. He’s still staring, offended I’ve stopped to speak. “Why do I smell perfume?” Now he is angry.
He drops to his back and covers his face with his arms. “I always want to smell good for you.” He spits sarcastically. I don’t believe him. I’m not meant to believe him. He sits up and looks at me, rage in his eyes. “Fuck, Charlie. Why do you always have to make it so weird.”
My brain is fighting. I can tell he’s deflecting, but my brain holds on. “Are you getting with Becky still?” I have only ever smelt that perfume on one other person. I am angry. I am too brave. I will be punished, I know, but I speak before I think. “Is that why you were late?”
He is off the bed and redressed. He is pacing. “For fuck’s sake, Charlie. Can’t you just be happy with what you’ve got?” He hasn’t answered my question, but we both know. He stops and stares dead into my eyes. “You really think you’re enough for me?”
And there it is. I am not enough.
I mindlessly snap my rubber band, seeking the sharp stings to regulate my thoughts. I shouldn’t be surprised. I know I’m not enough.
“For the love of God, Charlie. Stop with that fucking rubber band!” He snatches it off my wrist and breaks it. He throws it to the ground. I am frozen.
He pauses and looks at me solemnly. I think I see remorse. It could just be wishful thinking. He sits next to me on the bed and brushes my cheek with his thumb.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, but he can’t look me in the eye. “You were doing so well. Why did you have to spoil it?” His voice is soft, though his words are sharp.
“I don’t know.” I croak. Because I don’t know. It’s just what I do. I find ways to fuck things up. I should have ignored it. I told myself to ignore it, but my brain fooled me into thinking I was strong. I didn’t need him to tell me. I knew already. I should have finished sucking him off. We may have cuddled until he left. I could have cried about it later.
I should not have fucking said anything! I hate myself. I reach out my hand to his, eyes pleading for forgiveness. My throat is constricting.
“Sorry.” I choke the word out and it sounds more like a squeak.
“Are you mocking me?” He stands and puts as much distance between us as he can. I want to follow him, but my legs are lead. My psyche is weak. I need him to know that I’m sorry, but I’m not quite sure that I am. I’m still trying to figure out what exactly I’m sorry for. I just know I should apologise. I fucked it up.
I manage to push out a weak “no” before he rages. His eyes are fire. “I don’t believe you.” His words are acid.
I bring my knees to my chest and sink my head down. I am ashamed. I don’t want him to be my boyfriend anymore.
“I bought you flowers Charlie! I was just trying to be nice! I won’t make that mistake again.” He swipes them off my desk to the ground. The glass smashes and water soaks into the carpet. The daisies lie scattered and sad.
“I’m not talking to you anymore tonight. I can’t even look at you right now.” He slams the door. I look at my rubber band on the floor.
He is gone, and I have no outlet.
🍂🍂🍂
I am spiralling. I can’t make sense of what just happened. He speaks like it’s my fault. But he’s the one sleeping with someone else. My brain tells me it’s my fault.
I am rummaging through my shelves, digging in bags, desperate. I made promises, so I made it hard for myself. But I have my fallback just in case. I just need to find it.
I should call Tori. Or Geoff. That would be the healthy thing to do. But my mind won’t slow down, and it promises me relief will only come this way. I can’t catch my breath. I am frantic. I can’t focus on my search while I try to analyse what happened. I can’t analyse what happened while I try to focus on my search. I haven’t been this bad for a long time. I should call Tori.
I don’t stop my rampage. Tori can wait. I need to find my razors. I can’t find them. I can’t find my fucking razors! I dig my nails into my thighs, hoping the pressure will ease my panic. It does not help. My head is spinning. I’m not sure if I’m breathing. I drop to the ground before that choice is made for me. I tuck my head in my arms and rock on my knees. I am not okay.
My head is conflicted. He was so nice, and then, this. I try to straighten the events, but they tussle in a jumbled heap in my brain. I see the words as if they float in front of me. Are you mocking me? You’re so cute. Why did you spoil it? I stopped to buy you these, you deserve it. Why can’t you be happy with what you’ve got?
I am not enough.
I press my cheek to the floor. My fingers lock into my hair and pull. I take a breath ready to scream.
I see the broken rubber band. I remember the beautiful ridge it created on my wrist. I reach out like someone lost in the desert, finally finding their Oasis. I examine it. Aside from where it broke, the rubber is still strong. And it stretches.
I hold one end to my wrist where a red mark lingers. I stretch the rubber band as far as I can and start wrapping it around. Stretched so far, the rubber is thin. Wrapped so tight, it digs. I can see the colour in my hand deepen as the blood is constricted. I pull tighter as I wind, helplessly waiting for the skin to break. Who knew skin was so tough? It cuts so easily with something sharp.
I haven’t heard the door open. I only hear his voice. “You’re not being fair Charlie! You can’t just leave me with blue balls!”
Fuck.
I don’t want him here. The calmness I just found has vanished and suddenly I don’t feel in control anymore. I desperately need the skin to break. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull tighter. I try to ignore him. He stands tall over me.
He notices the band around my wrist and scoffs. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He seems genuinely intrigued. I am a mess. I am an anomaly. I should be studied.
He pulls me to my feet by my elbow. It’s rough and erratic. I do nothing to stop him, but I lose my grip on the band. It lets go and unwinds itself quickly before falling back to the floor. I study my wrist. There are indents and grazes, but the skin is intact. My skin could not break, but I am broken.
Perhaps I should be grateful he’s back. I never got to cut myself. I know logically it’s a good thing. Tori will be pleased. Geoff will think I found another way. Reality is I was too fucking stupid to find the blades. I was so desperate I thought rubber could do the job.
Logically, I know it’s good. But my brain wants… needs… the pain.
He pulls me towards him and starts to kiss me. It takes a moment for me to register what he’s doing. I push him away. I start to speak, but he cuts me off.
“You fucking owe me Charlie!”
My brain is in pieces. I try to find the words. I want to tell him to fuck off. But all I can manage is, “No.” My tiny two letter word has angered him. I try to leave my bedroom, but he has me captive. He is locked around my wrists. I can’t leave him.
I struggle, but I am weak. He continues kissing me. I don’t kiss him back. I just keep trying to break away.
“Charlie. Come on. I know you like me. I know you like this.” He says the words against my lips. I do not like him. I don’t like this.
I find some fight. I do not know from where. I bring my knee to his gut, but he is fast, and he is strong. And now he is angrier. He turns us and pushes hard. My head hits the wall inciting flashes of black. I welcome it. This is pain.
This will do.