Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

I liked it.

But I don’t like how it’s making me feel.

I hate that I’ve become this pathetic human who is looking for her self-worth, or some sort of salvation, in someone else’s eyes.

I hate that I’m unhappy when I’m not with Emma, and I also hate that I feel like I’ve swallowed a bucket of popping candy when I’m with her.

I don’t want someone else to make me happy, because what happens when they are no longer there to do it?

Look at Mum. I obviously didn’t know her when Dad was alive, but from what Kate’s been telling me, I know that when he died, Mum changed. And now she’s running away from everything and everyone all the time, and when she stands still for a moment, she’s got to be the center of attention, and who’s actually really like that?

And what would happen to Polly if Tristan left her? Or worse, if he left her for someone else?

I don’t want to be that weak.

I can’t give that sort of power over my life to another person.

I wonder now what’s easier: being in love with your partner, or not being in love with them.

Maybe there’s a point to an arranged marriage.

Wednesday, July 11 #TheBlindLeadingTheBlind

Polly and I had Starbucks in Kingston today.

For some reason, things escalated, and she ended up telling me every detail of her sex life, and now I know what Tristan looks like without any clothes on.

I also know everything about the curvature of his penis and that the tiny hole on the end is slightly off-center.

Oh my God.

Then she was like: “Honestly, Phoebe, I can’t wait for you to fall in love. I think it would be hilarious.”

That’s the moment I figuratively dropped the ball, and because I didn’t say anything straightaway, Polly suddenly shot up from her seat and was all in my face like: “Shut. Up.”

Me: What?

Polly: You’ve met someone.

Me: No.

Polly: Don’t lie to me.

Me: I’m not.

Polly: Liar. Who? When? Where? Now.

Me: Fuck off, I’m not in the mood.

Polly: Who?

Me (shaking my head):…

Polly (reaching for my hand): Phoebe?

Me:…

Polly: I’m sorry I said it would be hilarious. You know I’d never make fun of you like that.

Me: Maybe you should.

Polly: Tell me?

Me: We sort of kissed, but not really. On Saturday.

Polly: Tell! Me! Now!

Me: Emma.

Polly: FUCK! OFF!

Me:…

Polly: How am I that thick?

Me:…

Polly: It was totally obvious, and I didn’t realize. I’m so stupid, of course. You’ve been hanging out with her, like, every free second this year.

Me: Only because you were busy with Tristan and forgot about me.

Polly: You didn’t call me, either, P. I thought you’d gone off me. Oh my God, did you fancy me by any chance? Were you jealous?

Me (laughing, because, really, what’s wrong with people?):…

Polly (punching me in the shoulder): Rude! Anyway, tell me. You kissed her. Oh my God, Phoebs, you big lesbian.

Me: Fuck off. And she kissed me.

Polly: And then what?

Me: Then nothing. It was outside her house. She went inside, and I ran home.

Polly: And then?

Me: Nothing.

Polly: But today is Wednesday.

Me: And?

Polly: Are you going to kiss her back?

Me: No.

Polly:…

Me: I can’t do all that, Polly. I’m not like you.

Polly: You can’t do what? The kissing? Have sex? You don’t have to do it all straightaway, don’t be stupid.

Me: No, yes. The whole … love thing. I can’t do it. It’s too … I don’t know …

Polly:…

Me: Big.

Polly (clutching her chest): You’re such a romantic, Phoebe, I literally want to cry.

Me: You and me both.

Polly (still clutching her chest, looking at me with pity):…

Me: I don’t recognize myself anymore, and I hate it.

Polly: You fancy her, though.

Me: I don’t want to.

Polly: But you do.

Me: Of course I do.

Polly: And you think about her a lot.

Me: I mainly think about how to un-think of her, but yes.

Polly: You do realize that you can’t help who you fall in love with?

Me: Apparently not. But at least I’m trying.

Polly: You know, Phoebe, for someone so clever, you are remarkably stupid.

10:10 P.M.

I texted Emma to ask if she’s coming to my birthday party, because she still hasn’t confirmed on the Instagram group conversation.

10:30 P.M.

Emma just texted:

Not sure yet if I can make it.

So that’s that, then.

Thursday, July 12 #MowglisNewAdventures

I wanted to see Emma so much, but I ended up not going to the thrift shop this afternoon for that exact reason.

Just like my brain, Polly won’t shut up about it all, and now I regret having said something, because the last thing I need is someone else’s hysteria added to my already volatile brain chemicals.

Polly called me at lunchtime and was like: “Any news?”

Me: No.

Polly: You know, Phoebe, being in love with someone isn’t a disease.

Me: Why do I feel sick, then?

Polly: That’ll go away.

Me: Like a headache?

Polly (sighing): Emma’s embrace will work like Tylenol.

Me: I don’t want drugs.

I don’t want to be sixteen and in love and stupid!

Intellectually I know that the best outcome to the whole Emma situation would be if Emma didn’t come to my birthday on Sunday.

Because then it wouldn’t have to be awkward, and we could just never see each other again.

I can always tell Kate that I have to concentrate on school, and learn Russian, and that I have no time to come to the thrift shop once Mum’s back. I mean, I’d be really sad not to see Alex again, but I suppose we can still have Sprinkles dates and stuff.

And I can pay Kate the remaining kitten money back at a later stage. Like when I’m on the mission to Mars.

Hm. I never thought about it, but I wonder how much astronauts earn. It must be really good money, because it’s such a dangerous job, and you have to be highly skilled.

And you’d have, like, zero expenses, because you’d be in a spaceship. I wonder if it’s tax free. I feel like that would be fair.

Anyway, Kate can have back her money then. Plus interest.

PS: Tomorrow after work we’re going to Kingston to get the flat ready.

Dusting, hoovering, food shopping, the usual. Plus