For twenty-four hours I don’t say anything to Joel about my appointment. Once I tell him, it’ll make it real. I manage to hold him off with a message that simply says: Yeah, I’m OK. Can explain more tomorrow.
But tomorrow is now, so I’ll have to tell him. It was Valentine’s Day on Wednesday and tonight is our chance to properly celebrate, which makes having to tell him the news even more shit. I know he’s got plans for us, and I don’t want to ruin them. But the only other way to put off telling him is to cancel and I’m not going to do that.
So here I am, hopping off the bus, feeling rather sorry for myself and expecting to see Joel at the bus stop as usual. But he’s not there.
He’s always there before me on a Friday.
I pull my phone from my pocket, but have no messages or missed calls from him. That’s weird. The bus hisses as it pulls away, and everyone else who got off at my stop disperses, leaving me standing alone, trying to look like I’m not being stood up.
I perch on the narrow metal bench, its coldness seeping through my trousers and making my bum numb. I try Joel’s phone, but it goes straight to answerphone. On cue, it starts to rain – not a gentle patter, a zero-to-one-hundred deluge hammering the flimsy plastic shelter.
I fire off multiple messages to Joel in quick succession.
Where are you?
Are you OK?
I’m worried!
Call me!!!!!!
Everything stops at one tick – not delivered. I try to call again, but it still doesn’t ring. He’d never stand me up, would he?
“Rose!”
Wet slapping footsteps grow closer and through the rain and smeared windows of the shelter a tall blur of ginger, grey and red comes into focus.
I stand as he swings round the corner.
Water droplets run down his nose and drip off the tip. His curls are flat and plastered to his forehead, and what I assume are his light grey joggers are three shades darker than normal. He’s clutching a bunch of roses to his chest. He thrusts them at me and runs his hands through his fiery hair.
“What a mess! This is not how I planned it.” He’s out of breath, but he’s smiling the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. That cheeky glint in his eye is back. I throw my arms round him, roses still in his hand. His neck still smells like him despite his aftershave being washed off by the rain. Freezing-cold water drips down my sleeves and collar and I squeeze him tighter. God, how am I going to tell him what the specialist said?
Joel tries to pull away gently, but I don’t loosen my grip. He chuckles. “You OK?”
I nod into his neck. “Yep, just love you.”
He chuckles again. “I love you too. It’s only been five minutes.”
“Seven,” I correct him. “I thought you were standing me up.” I release him and take the roses, admiring their velvety folds. “Thank you for these.”
“You’re welcome. And the reality is way less dramatic I’m afraid. There was a queue at Foliage and Florals and my phone’s dead.”
Silence hangs between us, only interrupted by the odd car splashing past. I stare at the roses again, willing myself to be lost in their hypnotic swirls.
I let out a sigh. “I need to tell you something.”
Joel looks at me, eyes creased with concern. “Is everything OK?”
“Yes. No. Ish?” I push Joel on to the bus-stop bench, put the flowers down and stand in front of him, tucked between his legs. I want to look him in the eyes, but I can’t, so instead I busy myself fiddling with his collar.
What I want to say is: Oh my God, I’m so scared and confused. Please cuddle me and tell me everything is OK and that I’m worth sticking around for. But I can’t say that. I don’t want to scare him into thinking this is a huge thing.
I finally find my voice. “I need to debrief you on yesterday. Basically, the doctor said that when I was a baby they think I had a skin condition that left scarring. It means the skin down there is tighter and the hole smaller. There are options to fix it, though.” I take a short breath, but don’t stop long enough for Joel to say anything. “I can try these things called dilators and also a vibrator.” I finally meet his eyes.
“Apparently it will help me stretch during physical therapy. The other option is an operation, which I REALLY don’t want to do, but I’m on the waiting list. So, yeah, that’s the current situation.” I stop and take a deep breath. There’s no going back now.
Joel’s eyes dart all over the place, clearly processing what I’ve just said. Finally he speaks. “How’s a vibrator different to my dick, though?”
Is he serious? That’s all he’s going to take from that?
“Out of everything I said, you’re focusing on that?” I search his face, waiting for it to soften, but it doesn’t.
“It’s just a bit weird.”
“Weird for me or weird for you? I’m not exactly thrilled at the thought of using a vibrator in front of an old lady at a hospital.”
His brow creases. “You’ll use it in front of her? We’ve never even done anything like that.”
There were many responses I was expecting from him, but this was NOT one of them.
“Do you not fancy asking if I’m OK? Or, you know, saying what a decent boyfriend would say – that you’ll support me through this? Is the only thing you’re arsed about the fact that I’ll own a vibrator?” I pull back from him and cross my arms.
Joel shrugs. “I’m just saying if you can fit a vibrator, then you can definitely fit me.”
I’m momentarily lost for words, before too many words come at once.
“It didn’t even cross my mind you’d be jealous of that, given it’s SO RIDICULOUS. The doctor has literally prescribed it to me. I don’t WANT IT. I NEED IT! What’s wrong with you? Maybe you’re joking? Surely that can only be a joke … SURELY?”
I start pacing the pavement. I don’t care if there are other people around – what the hell is wrong with him?
“So are we going to stop trying then?”
My eyesight blurs with furious tears. I blink them away and stare at him.
“WHAT PART OF WHAT I’VE JUST TOLD YOU IS ME NOT TRYING? ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SUPPORT ME AND BE PATIENT.”
I worried so much about telling him and spent so long choosing exactly the right words so he didn’t have to feel as crappy about the whole thing as I do, and he’s throwing it back in my face. I dismissed my own feelings, and for what?
“I’m leaving.” I spin away from him and start striding away. I have no idea what my plan is. I just walk, despite the downpour.
“Where are you going?” Joel shouts after me. “Rose, wait. You left your flowers.”
“Keep them,” I shout back, not turning round.
“Please don’t go. I’m sorry! Please just stop for a second.” Joel’s beside me now.
His apology halts me and the tears I was holding back come thick and fast. I stop and stare at the ground, frozen.
“I mean it. I’m really sorry.” He cups my head and pulls it into his chest. He kisses my hair and I lean into his firm chest. “I don’t know what to say. I feel useless and pushed out and I panicked. Please take this as my pledge to you that I want to fix this with you, whatever that looks like, dildo included.”
I feel my soul relax into him even more.
“I forgive you. I’m sorry too,” I mumble into his chest, although I’m not sure why I’m apologizing.
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was a massive dick.”
I choose not to say, Yes, you were – anger placated somewhat by his pledge, the comforting scent of his damp, musky chest and the blur of red from the roses squashed between us.
When I get home, I put my roses in a vase and stare at them. I know I’m lucky to have Joel, even if he doesn’t always say the right things. No one’s perfect and he did make it up to me by taking us to Wagamama’s and then snuggling while we watched a film at his after. We didn’t do anything sexual because I was all touched out from my examination yesterday and just wanted a cuddle. Thankfully, he didn’t complain.
My phone buzzes as I settle into bed.
Holly: Secret intel incoming
Holly: Rob and I are back on. He asked me to be his girlfriend again!!!
Rose: OK. Why do you wanna keep it a secret?
Holly: Rob does. He thinks it will take the pressure off us
Rose: Are you OK with it?
Holly: Yeah! It makes sense tbh. I’m sure Monica and Demi would have plenty of opinions on the matter!!!!!!
I also have opinions on the matter, but I know if I get too vocal about Robert she’ll still see him, but deal with it alone rather than having someone to talk to. I’m diplomatic with my reply.
Rose: They only care about you, though, like I do! I’m still worried about you but I trust you’ve got this. You know where I am if you need me xxxxx
There’s also a notification in the chat.
Anon_69: MyVagVicki just posted this – might be useful to you @Roseycheeks_x
I click on the link. In the video, Vicki is talking about her dilators and how she’s excited for her first physio session. How on earth can she be excited? She then shows them on screen, talking through the different sizes and marvelling at the cute little bag she’s bought to keep them in.
“So there are five sizes, starting with the smallest, just larger than a tampon,” she says as she waves the little white tube in front of the camera as if she’s a beauty influencer showing us her new #gifted lipstick. “And it goes all the way up to the largest.”
Bloody hell, the size of it! It’s like a large can of deodorant – wide as well as long. Vicki then waves the plastic stick base that the tubes attach to like it’s some sort of phallic magic wand.
I watch the video three times and afterwards I can’t work out if it’s made me feel better or worse. It’s nice to know I’m not the only person in the world facing physio, but Vicki seems to be taking it in her stride. She’s confident and chill, excited even, all things I am absolutely not. She’s here showing the world what I can’t even bring myself to share with Demi – one of my best friends – and, as the date of my physio ticks closer every day, all I feel is utterly horrified.