Because it’s raining

Image by the fantastic Stuart F Taylor

I’m drafting this post at my ex-boyfriend‘s flat. There’s something pleasingly empty about his flat. It’s tiny: his choice. It’s neat and clean and there’s hardly anything in it, besides a fridge full of treat food and drawers full of soft pyjamas and hoodies to which he encourages me to help myself. When I’m here, it feels deliciously like I’m on holiday from the rest of my life.

He left earlier this afternoon, just before the rain started. We’d spent the last few days hauling years-old crap from the house we owned together, shifting boxes to his new place and lamenting Freecyclers who never turned up to collect the rest. Then, last night, we hung out at his flat and fucked. Like we always do when we hang out, because it feels impossible not to.

So last night we fucked. It was glorious. You’ll get some hotter stories about it in other blog posts, I promise. But for now I’m sitting here in his flat on my own, waiting for him to come back.

I should go home.

I won’t.

He told me to stay if I wanted to. That it’d be nice to see me when he gets back. He told me I shouldn’t feel obliged: go home if you need to, stay if you like.

I stayed.

Back at home, there’s a whole life waiting for me: the life I’m starting, very slowly, to build without him. There are big questions to be answered about where I’m going to live, while the clock’s ticking down to the day I have to leave the home we bought together. It’s extremely odd, and terrifying, and although on most days – good days – I can frame it as ‘exciting’, the energy it takes to do that has run out for now.

Why am I here? Why did I stay? I tell myself it’s because I’m lazy – can’t be bothered to cycle all the way home with full panniers when the rain’s pouring. That it’s because I’m horny and I just want a fuck, perhaps. I miss that feeling of greeting him when he got home from work – sitting at his feet to unlace his shoes and take them off, seeing if he’s stressed and wants downtime or whether he’s up for a mood-setting suck job to start the evening.

I assure myself it’s because I’m being nice – he’ll be tired and… here! I bought cake from the bakery! He’ll appreciate it when he gets back! Can’t possibly go home now, I’d have to eat the cake myself, or leave it. And he’d be lonely, eating cake without me, when I told him I might decide to stay.

When my Mum calls to check on how I am I tell her ‘I make bad decisions.’ Tell a friend who texts that ‘I’m a fool and a sham.’ Tell another ‘I just don’t have the energy to go home’, and realise that’s a lie. I’d definitely find the energy if I wanted to.

But right now, in this tiny flat full of treat food and hoodies and the smell of him, I can stick my fingers in my ears and let my heart lead a tantrum in defiance of my head: I don’t want to.

We have to break up, it’s the only possible thing. Yet here I sit, in his flat, wearing his clothes and eating snacks from his fridge like I own the place, looking forward to when he comes home.

He probably won’t ask me why I stayed, just be pleased that I did – he’ll wrap me in his arms and tell me it’s nice to see me. Then fuck me till I’m high on it, no questions asked.

He’s always been easy to get.

So he won’t ask me why I stayed, which is a relief. Because despite the lies I tell myself and my friends – about laziness and horn and not having the energy – the truth is simple. And scary. And not good for me.

I stayed because it’s raining, and I love him.



I feel like I owe you an ending to the love story I’ve been writing for the last ten years. Until I can write you a decent one, snapshots like this are all I have.

Remember that when it comes to the break up diaries, the timeline is fuzzy and broken, so stuff’s going up in a weird order. If you’d like more temporally consistent news, support me on Patreon where I do a bit more of the behind-the-scenes stuff. In the meantime just know that although I drafted this post at my ex’s flat, by the time you actually read it I may well be sipping cocktails on a beach sandwiched between Greg Davies and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, while that hot guy from My Chemical Romance frolics in the waves nearby. 


  • Molly says:

    Ahhh mate…. fucking love. What complicated messy shit that is.

    Stay, go…. you will figure it out. We both will

    Love you


  • Tim says:

    This beautifully articulates the hot mess that comes with the end of relationships. Your writing transports me back to relationships where I’ve been on both sides of this dynamic and I’ve still not made complete sense of 15 years later. Keep going, keep writing and being awesome.

  • eye says:

    The liminal place, where we live when we can’t go back to what was and we lack the energy/courage/desire/sufficient need, to head off into the future through the rain.
    It’s painful, delightful, and eventually, like trying to live on cake alone. Not sustainable if we desire to thrive and not just survive.
    You’ve reminded me of my own journey out of long term relationships with this writing and I thank you for that.
    Sending best wishes for the future.

  • Mark says:

    If I’m going to infer anything from this, it’s that the lack of any season of Taskmaster is making us both do some questionable things. Hold on tight girl.

    • Girl on the net says:

      I am almost as keen to know what your questionable things are as I am for the next season of Taskmaster =)

  • K says:

    Please send pics of the Greg Davies/The Rock/MCR sandwich, thank you.

    • Girl on the net says:

      Sadly Greg is very private about these things. I might have to ask Stuart to draw it from imagination!

  • Mark says:

    Nothing salaciously exciting unfortunately, spending a bit of money on self indulgences and warhammer. You know, the usual lockdown bollocks.

  • John says:

    I am so sorry to read this. I hope you know that you have many, many readers sending you love remotely and wishing you the best.

  • Phillip says:

    What would you maybe do if He had an epiphany and said. “CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE, STICK A NEEDLE IN MY EYE.” ” IF you take me back (I made a horrible mistake) I promise (needle in eye) to never ever leave you again…..never ever. This is not leaning to judgement. I don’t know what I would do. Probably ask for time to worry it to death. It bothers me that I would stall.

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