18. Charlie #5
“I’m fine,” I assured him, squeezing his hand.
Then I had a mad compulsion to draw him closer.
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, pulling him against me.
He nestled into my side immediately, his head coming to rest against my collarbone with a tiny noise of contentment that made my breath catch.
Bat stared down at my phone’s home screen. “You know, it still baffles me, these bloody things that everyone’s obsessed with. I swear that if I hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have got sucked into the craze.”
“I think we’ve moved beyond mobiles being a ‘craze’ now,” I said. “They’re practically human biology at this point.”
“Hmph. I just don’t know why you need all these buttons.”
“You mean apps? Well, they all do different things. Like listen to music, which you loved the other day.”
Bat’s finger hovered over the screen, then tapped on an icon—a stylised heart. “What does this one do?”
I laughed as the app loaded. “This, my friend, is a dating app.”
“Dating app?” He sounded horrified.
The screen flashed up immediately with a photo of a man’s chest. No face, just an impressive amount of muscle and his happy trail disappearing beneath low-slung jeans.
“Well, dating slash hookup app.”
“Ah. I’ve seen the workmen use similar,” Bat said, wrinkling his nose. “Shouting about swiping right on the woman with the biggest tits.”
“Well, this app is just for gay men.”
“So, we’re swiping for big dicks?”
I burst out laughing. “Well, they’re not supposed to show their cocks in their profile pics, but as soon as it goes to direct messages, the dick pics come flooding in.”
Bat started swiping left on every image that appeared, all mostly muscled gym rats. Wiltshire clearly was full of them. Maybe it came with the farming territory. “And these are the sort of guys you like?” Bat’s voice sounded funny, strained.
“Not really,” I said, chuckling. “I usually only swipe right for clothes and faces. Those guys tend to want more than a quick fuck.”
“And you use this thing all the time?” That same odd tone.
“No, not for ages, actually.” I shifted slightly, adjusting my grip around his shoulders. “After I broke up with my last ex, Ryan, over a year ago, I haven’t found the energy to date.”
It was partly that I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of being almost thirty-five with no career, no aspirations, and a dwindling social life, but also partly that I…
couldn’t be bothered. Dating in London was so incredibly draining.
I was so bored of the same questions, the same outcome of not clicking with them in real life even if we’d exchanged some nice messages.
“You’re right about social media being awful, though,” I said. “You’re lucky it wasn’t like this in your time. Like, for example, every time I’m on social media, I have this horrible compulsion to click on my ex’s profile…”
I demonstrated, navigating to Ryan’s page and scrolling through pictures of him and his new boyfriend—some sort of environmental lawyer with perfect hair and a trust fund smile.
The most recent uploads were holiday pictures from the Canary Islands.
I remembered Ryan’s parting words about us not matching ambition-wise.
To be fair to him, he probably wanted someone who could afford more than a camping holiday once a year.
“He looks… nice,” Bat said politely. “You must miss him lots, if you still look at photos of him every day.”
“God, no.” I clicked out of the profile. “I don’t miss him at all. We weren’t right for each other. He was boring, honestly. Didn’t even like music.”
Bat gasped theatrically. “Didn’t like music?”
“I know. Should’ve been a red flag from the start.” I pocketed my phone. “But I think I just… stayed because it was easier than being alone. And that’s not fair to anyone.”
Bat went quiet for a moment. Then: “And now?”
“Now?” I met his eyes. “Now I’m not looking for easy. Or boring.”
Bat’s fingers traced the rainbow bracelet around my wrist, his touch gentle and reverent.
“All the technology crap aside, I can’t help but be sad…
jealous, even… that I didn’t get to live in this era, right now, where we’re finally at a place where most people don’t give a shit about who people choose to love.
” His voice grew wistful. “I still can’t believe gay marriage is legal now.
” He shook his head in wonder. “And I can’t believe you can just open up your device, tap a few buttons, and arrange to have sex with someone. ”
“Now, that part is pretty great,” I said, “if you’re into all that.”
I tucked my phone away and stood, wincing as my ribs protested. “Let’s go downstairs.”
Bat sat up, eyes lighting up. “Oh?” he said. “Is the mood striking you?”
I laughed. “Do you remember the part where I was just flung across the garden into an apple tree? My body needs a tiny bit longer to recover, as much as I want that mood to strike me.”
Bat’s face crumpled into an exaggerated pout.
I leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re bizarrely cute when you pull that face, you know that?”
He frowned deeply, only enhancing the effect. “I’m not sure bizarrely cute is the look I was going for.”
We made our way downstairs, heading towards my room. The end of the corridor blurred into indistinct shapes—a stark reminder that my glasses were fucked. I pulled them from my pocket, the two parts to the broken frame dangling uselessly from my fingers.
“These are my only pair,” I told Bat. “You’ll have to be my eyes from now on. I’m awfully short-sighted.”
When we reached my room, Bat said, “Stay there. I’m going to get something.”
He popped out of existence, startling me. I’d never get used to that. He soon floated back through the open door, carrying something small.
“Superglue?” I said. “That’s sweet, Bat, but I think they’re a bit beyond saving.”
Bat tutted, snatching the glasses off me and floating over to the bedroom dresser. “When I was a teenager, I used to superglue the soles of my Converses back on all the time. My parents refused to buy me more pairs because they hated them.”
“Hated Converses?”
Bat shot me a look. “Remember my name isn’t actually Bat.”
“Oh, really?” I deadpanned. “I’m so shocked.”
“My full name is Bartholomew Frederick Whitmore.”
“Wow.” My hand twitched to whip out my phone and google it, to see what there was online about him. There had to be something. Possibly. It was before the explosion of the internet, but…
Anyway. Boundaries and stuff. I wouldn’t break Bat’s trust.