Right, so presumably if you’re reading this, you’ve read my latest entry and my honey’s response to it, yes? OK, I’m going to assume you have.
I guess now would be the perfect time for me to explain just why I felt the way I did (and still do) about Laz as a person. Not just as a friend, but as someone who gets me.
It is unusual, in my experience, to meet someone like that. Who, when I explain something about how I feel, emotionally, etc, says, ‘I get it.’ Or ‘I understand.’ Or some such. And, even more unusually, I know he does get it. There’s no bullshit with him. OK, so he takes the piss out of me. That’s different. I’d be worried if he didn’t.
While I was in Inverness, as I explained previously, I realised I was in love with him. Alison had it called weeks ago. She said this was because of ‘the way you talk about him’. I had realised I talked about him a lot, but I suppose she could detect something in my voice that differed from when I spoke about other friends. And she is my best friend and knows me inside out, so there’s no hiding anything from her, even if I wanted to. So, this realisation came upon me when I figured out that I wanted to share everything with him while I was there. When we saw the dolphins at Chanonry Point, yes, I wanted my mum there – she has a thing about dolphins – but apart from that, Laz was the one person I wanted with me to say, ‘Look! Wow! This is why I love Scotland so much!’ Etc. Blah. It never occurred to me to want to share this with anyone else, but I’d got so close to Laz over the past few months that it seemed natural to want him there with me. But you don’t always want just a friend there, do you? Alison was there anyway, but she’s generally the only person I think, yeah, she’d love this, or whatever. But this time, it was Laz. And I was in love.
I had started the time there, after I’d dropped my bags at the shop where Ali works and waited till she finished her shift, by walking along Inverness High Street and checking out the hot men there. I don’t remember there being quite so many last time I’d been there, but I hadn’t been looking in quite the same way. At this stage, I was still ignorant of my true feelings. I suppose they must have been there for a while, because I always looked forward to seeing Laz after having stayed at Matt’s place for the night. My spirit lifted when I saw him, the glint in his eye was gorgeous, and so, by about the middle of the week, when I would normally have been meeting him for coffee, I began to seriously miss him.
He sent me an email, which I let Ali read, as it explained how I felt better than I could express to her in words. She got it. Of course she did. She had already warmed to Laz from what I’d told her about him before, and this email said he was used to his own space and I talk too much (I know I do, sweetness x), and it might be nice if I was his girlfriend, but I wasn’t and I didn’t want to be… Hang on. I didn’t want to be? Whatever had given him that idea? Of course I wanted to be his girlfriend. For several very valid reasons.
The main reason is because he is an extraordinary person. That’s not a word I use lightly, because I don’t come across extraordinary people very often. He is a great writer, he empathises, genuinely empathises, he listens and actually hears me, taking an interest in what I do and what I say. He’s not a macho man (with most of them, my first reaction is ‘twat’), but he’s not girlie either. My normal ‘type’ would be a rock star with eye make-up on, kind of goth, kind of vampyre-looking. Well, this was where my a-ha man did me a huge favour. He wasn’t my usual type, but he was gorgeous. So he opened my eyes to the fact that there are many guys out there who are gorgeous but who don’t necessarily fit the mould. Anyway, I digress (as usual).
With Laz, I got to know him over time. We went to writers’ meetings together, didn’t necessarily say much. I was in a bad place for a lot of that time, and he had me down initially as a miserable goth. Thankfully, that wasn’t the real me. I’m not miserable by nature. I laugh a lot. Anyway, I think it was because he didn’t know me very well that I asked for his advice as I was coming out the other side of that stifling, controlling relationship. Was I being a bitch on Twitter? Depends, he said, on why you’re saying what you’re saying. If one reason, no. If another, yes. And we just emailed back and forth, back and forth, for a long time (in fact, that part of our relationship hasn’t changed). Long emails would whizz into my inbox and I’d send another one speeding back to him. It would excite me. I like to talk, I like to get things out of my system, and I like talking especially to someone who then responds with intelligent answers. Long, intelligent answers. We would talk about ourselves, personal things, intimate things, very deep, private stuff that we might not talk about with everyone. (This was why I felt as sick as I did when I found out my emails had been hacked. There was a lot of information there that I really didn’t want anyone else to know, let alone the person who hacked into my account, who was frankly the last person I wanted to know. I’ll let you guess who that was.)
So, we kind of knew what each other was about, as regards relationships as much as anything else. I’m a hopeless romantic. I always have been, and Laz knows this, but it’s not the hearts-and-flowers type of romance. I’m not a girlie-girl (well, I am sometimes, but not in a lot of stuff). And he knew all about my emotional baggage. And there was a lot.
So then that kiss at Brighton station, and yes, I did make myself very obvious because subtle hints hadn’t worked (Matt’s cat got more attention than I did, that day, as she’s a far more accomplished flirt than I am), and I wanted to know what it would be like to kiss him. Plain and simple. I did. I like a good kiss and… well, when we did, I felt my insides melt and go all mushy.
Yes, it was a lovely kiss, and we could have left it at that, but by that point I really did want to be with him, which was why I said as much in an email the following night. I would have been insane to not at least try to make this thing work, because I knew he would make someone a fantastic boyfriend and I didn’t see why that someone couldn’t be me. After all, he’d already told me I was cute. More than once. And I had been talking to Dave about this, saying there was a friend I ‘kinda liked’, and he’d sent me a text the next day saying ‘fortune favours the bold’. (This was back in July, so you can see how long I’d been thinking seriously about this.)
So when I got the text from Laz while I was on my way to Hammersmith for the kung fu competition, a big grin spread right across my face, and I went down into the depths of Victoria Tube station feeling happier than I had in a very long time. I will repeat that: a very long time. So that also gave me a bit of confidence for the competition, where I had entered the patterns categories (under pressure from Kristina), knowing I had someone to try for other than Dave and myself. I wanted Laz to feel proud of me. We sent a few texts to each other that day (I had my phone on silent, that was the rule), and it gave me a real boost. Not only did I have an adrenaline rush from cheering on our guys and girls while they were sparring (my throat went quite hoarse at one point), I had an extra rush from knowing that now I was Laz’s girl.
So… that’s the story of us. Obviously there’s more, but the nights we’ve spent together since really are no one else’s fucking business. But the kisses are wonderful. The glint in his eye has become more sparkly. And yes, he turns me on.
OK, that’s your lot for now.