The day has finally arrived. Edward is finally leaving for New York. Sleep has made a scarcity of itself for a part of the night - I can't decide if it's the better or the worse part of it. I have been struck by feelings of loss for a good chunk of my time, although images of the fun that awaits him have consoled me.

Plus, this means his career is only moving up; so, there's not much to mourn there.

As soon as I'm dressed, I walk to my small kitchen and grab a few fruits and nuts from the fridge.

Alejandro:

You'll do good.

hi. please could you come with me to the conference

im a little scared

Of course, I'll be there.

thanks

I do wish this wasn't part of your job, though

yeah

but you'll be there, right

Of course. Whatever you need from me, just tell me

I prepare my smoothie and start preparing to make my way out, a chilly breeze sending my body into a series of convulsions. The dark convinces me that this is no time for a woman to be out in the streets. Thankfully, I have my own car and can drive away quickly should that be necessary.

I wonder if I've mourned Edward's absence - which will be real in just a few hours - enough, or if I'll still need more time. It's something I've done for a long time - preparing for my loss before it comes; that way, it doesn't hurt as much when it finally does. Sophie tried to get me to talk to a therapist. I told her I hated her and that got her off my back.

It always did.

It's not a problem, really. I just don't like feeling sad that someone (or something) isn't here when I want it to be, so I try my best to forget about them before the time comes for them to leave. No friends have complained about it in the past few years; so, I've got it under control.

I still wish to know what New York looks like. Hopefully, I will also be as successful as Edward, one day, and I will get invited to these high-class gigs.

I drive into the parish-like community of Wandsworth, immediately feeling my breath evade me. There is something claustrophobic about this community, with ancient houses built on large lots, lush greens creeping up their walls. It should be extremely welcoming, but it isn't. It's hostile to strangers - especially ones in bad cars. It's so hostile that the hospitality of its inhabitants cannot mask its menace.

Why does Edward live here?

I drive up to Edward's house, glad to find a place that holds solace behind its walls. Léo opens the door for me, and I am met by the sight of a broken man - the dark lines under his eyes, the grease settled on his hair.

"Léo, are you sleeping?" Edward screeches, making me wince.

Well, that is solace, alright!

"I'll be with you soon, honey!" Léo responds, looking over his shoulder.

"Be with me now!"

Again, I find myself wincing.

Léo turns to me. "Please help me. He's been like this all night."

The words make me wish I were dead. "You mean he hasn't slept the whole night?"

He lets out a despaired sigh. "I tried to get him to bed, but you know how he gets."

Few things in this world are worse than dealing with a sleep-deprived Edward: if he's bullysome when he's well-rested and fed, he becomes a tyrant when he isn't. Instantly, I know I will have to be on my toes for the whole morning if I don't want to be met by his wrath, and the fact that his boyfriend is ditching me when I just got here feels very much like I'm being set up.

"Okay. I'll deal with Edward. Go take a quick nap," I tell him begrudgingly.

Making my way to the bedroom, I prepare myself for the bedlam I am about to be met with. I can only hope that it's not as dramatic as it sounded when I came in, but, knowing Edward, it's probably as bad as it sounds - the guy is the personification of 'Go big or go home.' Everything has to be grand - his entrances, his exits, his parties, his outbursts. He's once told me:

'Everything you do - you must excel at; otherwise, no one will ever take you seriously. Modesty is for boring women. If men tell you you're a crazy, emotional creature ruled by her period, then show them just how crazy you can get. Be so crazy that they never want to fuck with you again. Be so emotional that they think you're in a soap. That's what has served me all my life.'

Those words have become an integral part of how I choose to do things: they are partly what inspired the part of me that sets my life up as a film for everyone around me. They're how I've managed to convince everyone around me that everything was in my control, and it's crazy how much they've believed it. And they will hopefully get me through the press release I have soon - the one that involves me intentionally discrediting a woman for the benefit of a disgusting man.

"Where's Léo?" Edward asks as soon as I step inside the bedroom.

"I told him to take a nap," I rise to the challenge.

Pause. "Who gave you the right to do that?"

"He was tired, Edward."

"Well, there's my supportive partner!"

I study him. Edward has nice skin, I'll admit it, and missing sleep is not as harsh on him as it is on the rest of us, but I can see that his body is begging for some shut eye. The circles under his eyes are not as prominent as they probably should be, but they're there. His eyes look unfocussed when they're met with light.

"He tells me you haven't slept."

He throws a hand. "Sleep's overrated."

"You need to sleep, Edward," I insist.

"If you're not going to be helpful, Edgar, you're free to leave."

Knowing I'm probably not going to win because-sleep-deprived Edward, I offer to bring him a coffee instead. He smiles, surprising me, and tells me he's sorry for being rude.

"It's okay. I understand."

After dragging me in a warm, grateful hug, he lets go and sends me on my way. I love Edward because he always recognises when he's wrong and makes sure to correct his errors - or, even when he doesn't recognise that he's wrong, he'll listen to you when you explain to him that you don't like something he's done, explain himself, and apologise if you tell him that's what you want from him. If only more men in the world could do that, I know we would all be in a better place right now. I feel like men hold on to power - even if it's only symbolic and is only maintained through passive- and microaggressions - not because they like being in power, but because they fear that if they let go of that power, they'll be screwed and will be stripped of everything. I've heard it from men that say they would shit on the graves of feminists. I've heard it from men who claim that feminists have deviated from the true goals of feminism. I feel like they only hold onto power because they fear giving it to women. That can only change if more men become like Edward.

Edward and I work in silence. It allows me to think. It makes me think of how different my life will be with him gone. It makes me wonder if he'll make new friends in New York. It makes me wonder if he'll forget about me. It makes me think of how Millie must have felt when I left Scotland. Did she feel like she was losing me? Was she excited for me? Was she scared?

Isn't anxiety just misplaced excitement?

I don't like what the silence is making me think of. I can only wonder what is going through Edward's mind right now. I wish I could step inside and see for myself. I wonder if he needs me to reassure him that he'll be fine, or that he'll do well.

Okay, he'll be gone for just a couple of months. They'll pass quickly, and soon, he'll be back to bully me.

I offer to do all the leftover work if he'll take a power nap, then we can start making our way to the airport.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I'm fine."

"I'll manage."

"Thank you," he mouths and leaves.

I remember this t-shirt I'm folding from uni, when Edward had a crush on some guy who was a surfer; so, we'd go to the beach, and he'd always wear this shirt with short shorts and white Converse sneakers. We always ended up having a great time together and we'd forgo the mission of trying to impress the guy and just have fun together. I miss those days, sometimes.

The fact that he's kept this shirt for so long makes me feel strangely sad as I realise I have nothing from my days in university to dedicate to him - or to anything: I was always too depressed to pay attention to the small things that made me happy, and I gave everything away when I was done, never anticipating that they may help me access some nice memories. To me, it seemed like I was getting rid of baggage, but this shirt shows me that I was wrong.

I put it in my bag and pack everything else. I'll give it back if he asks for it.

Léo is the first to come down after I've finished and am enjoying a cup of coffee on the couch. He gives me a groggy smile. "Thank you for getting him to sleep."

I smile back. "I knew he needed a nap. It won't do much to help with the jetlag, though."

He lets out a soft giggle. "I feel so sorry for him: he's about to hate his life."

I chuckle lightly.

He pauses. "Thank you for being such a good friend to him."

I fall silent. Am I a good friend to Edward? I mean, I hold nothing but love and adoration for the guy, but I don't think that makes me a hero. Edward has been a good friend to me and he's done so much and continues to do so much for me. I don't think I should be getting a badge from his boyfriend right now, thanking me for being a 'good friend.'

"It's nothing," I dismiss.

"It's not nothing." Pause. "Edward wouldn't be the person he is today if it wasn't for you. He tells me all the time how the two of you depended on each other in university - how you studied together; how you would be his pillar when he felt like he was unloved; how you'd share food when either of you had no money. He tells me of how you're the one friend he feels comfortable telling everything and anything. That's big. It means you're a good listener. Don't be so quick to invalidate your value."

Another thing I hate about gay men is that they are basically walking teddy bears, and they don't believe any of the nonsense you tell them - and yourself - about you. They see through it, and they tell you the truth - sometimes one you've spent a long time convincing yourself is a lie.

"Wow." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Yeah, wow! You're an amazing woman, and I know that a lot of gay men need a friend like you. A lot of men like Edward, whose only wish is to get a call from their daddy asking them how they are, they wish to have a friend like you. And Edward is lucky that he doesn't have to wish."

I realise that I'm crying when I jump into his arms. Validation is extremely important to me, and hearing from someone that the things I do are important just sends me into a frenzy of euphoria and sadness that I could not see the value of my actions. It makes me happy that someone sees it for me.

Immediately that Edward is up, we are rushing to the airport. We arrive a bit early and, after checking him in and dropping off his luggage, we go to the lobby. The couches in here are more comfortable than my bed - that's hardly surprising. The snacks taste better than the food in my fridge - that's hardly surprising.

We sit and imagine all the crazy things Edward will get up to in New York. Léo expresses his wish that he may have a camera follow him, which quickly becomes a wish to leave with him. An expressive kiss from Edward quells any doubt that he may do anything to break the sanctity of their bond.

Soon, however, it is time for Edward to leave. Léo offers that I may be the first to say my goodbyes. I take his hands in mine and stare into his eyes, struggling to find any words that may reliably tell him how proud of him I am, while simultaneously wishing he could stay. He seems to be going over a battle of his own, trying not to let everything spill. When a single tear falls from his eye, though, we both try to laugh it off.

We fail. Miserably.

The only words I find myself being able to utter are: "I love you." I don't utter them as much as croak them out.

His face contorts in agony. I imagine mine is the same - if not worse.

"Oh, Edgar." He pulls me in an embrace.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

"Me too."

"I want you to get there and show the Americans how it's done. Modesty is for boring gays. If they tell you you're a crazy, emotional creature-"

He laughs and lets go of me. "You could try to be original!"

"But I mean it. If you're going to leave me here, I want you to end America."

"I'll try. I love you, too."

The intercom tells us that Edward should be preparing to board his plane. I make way for Léo and apologise for taking up his time, but he seems to be too busy fighting demons of his own to even hear me. He is shaking every two seconds, but I blame the weather.

"I'll miss you." He struggles to say the words, barely seeming to be able to get his mouth to open.

"Me too," Edward affirms.

A pause for Léo to study his lover, as though he's not ready to let go, as though he wishes time would stop so he can get a look of him. He looks at him like this is the last he's seeing him. For a second, I forget that Edward will be back in about six months - or that Léo can simply fly to New York if he gets really desperate to see him.

"I love you, Edward."

Edward sighs, tears spilling from him once again.

"Tell me you love me."

"Léo, you are my purpose for living. I've never loved anyone the way I love you. What we share - only hell can tear us apart. For as long as I breathe, I breathe for you. As long as my heart beats, it beats only for you."

Léo fails to hold himself together. The tear that's been peeking out of his eye feels comfortable enough to make its presence known to its owner's boyfriend and the audience they've both garnered.

Léo sucks in a breath. Then, he reaches into his hind pocket and genuflects on his knee. The crowd cheers. It's strange that, just a hundred years ago, this wouldn't be happening. Edward and Léo would be thrown in jail. Today, scores of people cheer for them and film them on their phones to post on the internet about how cute and wholesome they are. It's funny how the world changes. It makes one wonder: what are the things we're doing today that future generations will find laughable? Will our growing polarisation and inability to talk to people with opposing views serve as fodder to them? Will our idolisation of celebrities - so much that we let them get away with releasing tons of carbon emissions into the air because they're so divine - make us look like simple-minded people? Or will our insistence upon keeping cows for food, even when they grunt in our faces, make them think we are modern Neanderthals?

Edward buries his face in his hands.

"I know you have this weird relationship with marriage, but I really love you, and you leaving right now has only shown me that I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I love you - a lot. I've never loved anyone the way I love you. You're a magnificent human being. Sure, you bully me-well, all the time, but you also push me to be a better man every day. It's all for you. I want to improve every day because I want to live up to the kind of man I want to be for you. What I'm asking from you is that you give me the opportunity to show you just how beautiful marriage can be."

Edward slowly shows his face. When Léo notices that he's still a bit reluctant, he continues:

"My daddy got this ring from his mother to give to my mother, and she was given it by my grandfather, who got it from his mother. I want to, right now, give it to you, to show you that I'm committed to you. Please, take it."

"I don't know what to say," Edward squeaks, his voice breaking.

"Say yes!" one woman from the back shouts.

A man concurs: "Just marry the guy!"

These two inspire the crowd to erupt in a loud, somewhat-harmonious series of: "Say yes!" Again, if this was just twenty years ago, at least one person would've come out and preached about how their soul wouldn't let them watch idly by as the two men led each other down a path of darkness, and they would have to, at least, try and show them to the light so that, even as they burned and writhed in hell, their conscience would be comforted by the knowledge that they had tried to show them the correct path; however, today, they are being cheered on and told to get married.

Edward waits for the crowd to stop their chanting, but when he realises that they aren't planning to stop, he kneels down to Léo's level and leans into him. Their lips connect, apparently sealing the proposal and making the audience scream with delight. Flashes go off - no one can say this never happened.

***

"I'm sorry, Edgar, but I love him."

My chest collapses on itself. "What the fuck do you mean: 'You love him'? Do you even know what that means?"

Her eyes widen. "Of course, I do! You wouldn't understand; you've never had anyone love you."

I was wrong - my chest is only now collapsing on itself. I feel my breathing stop and my heart violently tries to tear my chest open, as if life is not worth living anymore. All I'm able to do is exclaim: "Wow!"

She keeps her sharp focus on my eyes, refusing to back down. "You don't scare me."

I laugh scornfully - there's nothing else I can think to do.

"Wow. You know what? It's fine. Just-I'm done. I just want you to make sure that you don't come crying to me when you find yourself in the middle of a shower of shit."

"Oh, trust me I won't! Why would I go to the jealous bint who's been rejected by virtually every guy she's ever tried to get with?"

Deep breaths, Edgar. Deep breaths.

"It's cool. I hope you have friends to catch you when you fall because this-it will all go up in flames, and I think I should remind you that I've always been the one to pick you up when your everything you've ever loved went up in flames.

"Remember when I first met you, and you would struggle to remember your own name - let alone the name of the guy you last had sex with? Do you remember that I had to step in and stop men from putting you in their cars? I didn't enjoy that, but I did it because I knew what it was like to feel like the entire world is against you, and I didn't think men should be able to take advantage of you. I had to pay extra rent in my apartment because you didn't have a place to stay, and I couldn't let you stay in the streets. Do you remember that?

"Or do you remember that I took you to rehab time-after-time, watching you relapse and run from me. I always went looking for you so I could take you back. I would get phone calls at three in the morning from nurses telling me that you'd escaped. I'd find you and put you back in there. Everyone there would ask me why I was so committed to helping a girl I didn't even know so much - and I didn't have an answer for them. To this day, I could never tell them why I did everything I did except for that I fucking loved you!

"I loved you! I loved you so much that I watched you suffer through eating disorders - walking around looking like a fucking toothpick! It broke my heart every day to hear the things people would say. It hurt me to see your body waste away. It scared to think that I could come home and find you dead because your body could not sustain itself anymore. To force you not to go to the bathroom immediately after eating and watch you scratch yourself like a fucking psycho! You would puke all over my carpet when I first started treating you. Do you remember that? You couldn't hold it in; so, you would just puke all over my furniture, and I would clean up after you because you'd feel weak and go to sleep immediately.

"Do you remember that first time that you told me what your uncle had done to you, and how that had led you to your first eating disorder? Do you remember that? Do you think I enjoyed having to sit and listen to you recount - in great detail - every single thing he ever did to you: how he would touch you; how he spoke to you; what he made you watch and say to him; how he would stick his dick inside you before you even had boobs? Who listened to all that? Me. Or how your family disowned you after you told them everything because they didn't believe you? It was always me.

"Even now, as you told me of when Harry told you of his sick affair with his sister, I sat and listened! I sat and listened to you tell me of how the man you stole from me hurt you. No one would ever do that. I did. Because I fucking loved you. All I've ever done was try and make sure you're safe, but you've never even tried to do the same for me, and now I'm tired.

"But I'm not spiteful. I just hope you have someone to do all that for you when this whole thing with Harry comes crashing down. Because it will. And, this time, I promise myself I won't save you from yourself."

A/N: So, I've just realised that I am projecting myself onto Edward, which is a bit crazy to me because I always laugh at writers that insert themselves into their fictional worlds. But come now, Matt Walsh cast himself as the voice of reason in his book; please let me have my main character moment. Thank you very much💅🏻

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