Shut Up You're Pretty by Téa Mutonji

Author:Téa Mutonji
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arsenal Pulp Press
Published: 2019-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE BOY FROM MY YOUTH

I left home with a duffle bag and no plan. I didn’t have a place to go. Didn’t have a place to sleep. It didn’t matter. I did what I was taught to do: I survived. I found shelter inside of a boy. I had let him pop my cherry, so for a week I thought he owed me this much. He was all I had and there was no turning back. I was grateful he had taken me in. It became romantic because we were both lonely and miserable and young.

He lived in his parents’ basement apartment in the Guildwood Estate. The floor spread vast and the ceiling hung high, and Dylan, at six feet tall, could stretch as wild and comfortable as he liked. I especially liked the marble floors, how the sunlight could pierce the long windows and reflect from the ground up.

A long wooden table took over most of the apartment. That was where he would study and I would read or write, and watch him. It would really just depend on the temperature and my mood. I felt most inspired after midnight. Around the table were chairs, and then a sofa. So the open dining/living concept made us feel quite domestic. There were exotic designs on the walls. Splashed colours of dirt or blood, the paintings were all bought by his father during trips to Thailand, South Africa, and India.

It was easy to fall in love with this new life.

In the morning I would make coffee. I could toast something French or fix an omelette to go along with the coffee. And I would usually have chicken simmering in the slow cooker by the time Dylan left for college. I loved this housewife role I had taken: I cleaned and did the laundry and rearranged the furniture until I found a set-up that would make Dylan feel more relaxed when he came home. He was studying to become an engineer. And when he wasn’t spending all his money on leather, he was taking his grandmother out for lunch. His cleaning lady used to come down whenever she was done doing work for his dad, but after a month of living there, I told her she didn’t need to. Cleaning was what I did to stay occupied. I would look for poetry inside an empty bag of Doritos, or a damp sponge.

We did a lot of lying around, and he would itsy bitsy spider up my back and go, “Ugh, you’re just so ugh.”

There was some truth to this—I had been made aware of it all my life. But still, I denied any suggestion that I was more than just regular pretty. Dylan told me I had a second and third puberty. The second one reserved for my breasts alone, the third for my nose, which, Dylan said, seemed to have shrunk over the years.

Dylan said I was the kind of girl that needed to be claimed immediately. Of course, I let him fuck me whenever he wanted because he was just so nice.

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