I could see Charlie stretching out his long legs in black jeans and Conor, juggling his bass and a case of beer, at the back of the overgrown garden. It wasn’t that I ached for a sight of Charlie: it was that looked for him in spite of myself.
I didn’t go over, afraid to look uncool. I held court in a group of boys, looking to all the world like the heartbreak girl, who would dazzle and stand out forever.
I heard my name being called and turned to make eye contact. Charlie crooked a finger at me and I raised my middle one, cool as anything, heart thumping furiously.
Charlie was too charming to be mad at, even when he behaved badly. I’d been bored with previous boyfriends; I hated the way they agreed with me.
I thought the games and accusations and silences and the drug-crazed outbursts were par for the course of loving someone so complicated.