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New Irish Writing

New Irish Writing: Love Junkie by Mike Guerin

June’s winning story

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New Irish Writing illustration by Stephanie Teixeira Agbele

New Irish Writing illustration by Stephanie Teixeira Agbele

Mike Guerin, the winning short story selection for New Irish Writing in June

Mike Guerin, the winning short story selection for New Irish Writing in June

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New Irish Writing illustration by Stephanie Teixeira Agbele

I watch him sleep. His chest has a few white hairs on it. It’s an impressive chest; tight with muscle even when he is at his most relaxed, it’s like something you’d imagine Clooney had in his prime. He is handsome, strong forearms, scarily blue eyes — he is so my type. He was funny, sweetly self-deprecating but not afraid to use big words; he thought I was clever too. He listened to me and laughed and smiled. I love him. I can feel it. The love started to course through me after we had sex again at dawn. I feel like a teenager. I feel like writing poetry. I feel like writing his name on my diary. I feel like naming an over-hugged teddy after him. I am overwhelmed by the potential of our life together, will he want children, will we travel, will we do jigsaws together whilst I wear his jumper and nothing else, him eyeing me like a wolf, waiting to pounce? The fantasy futures are piling in on top of each other, the possibilities are endless. Air seems to fill my lungs in a way that was not possible yesterday, here in this room, a room full of the smell of morning person, full of the musky scent of what we did, here, air seems purer. My eyes, even in this curtained room, feel sharper, reality is realer. The touch of the bog-standard bed sheet on my thighs feels like a silk caress when I move, it makes me flutter.

At the meal, I touched my hair a lot. I accidentally touched him. I touched the back of his hand on purpose. I smiled all the time. And it’s the same as smiling. The wellness gurus tell you that if you smile, you feel happier. I believe it to be true, I believe in all the endorphins and hormones. If you do all the things that women are supposed to do when they fancy someone rotten, you start to fancy them rotten, and it makes it so much easier to fall madly in love in a short space of time.


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