Loveless

by Alice Oseman

“Maybe he’s the wrong person for you.” “No,” I said. “He’s wonderful. But I never feel anything for anyone.”

“Asexuality means I’m not sexually attracted to any gender.” “So …” I thought about this. “That means … you don’t want to have sex with anyone?” He chuckled. “Not necessarily. Some asexual people feel that way. But some don’t.” Now I was just confused. Sunil could tell.

“Asexuality means I’m not sexually attracted to any gender. So I don’t look at men or women or anyone and think, Wow, I want to do sexy stuff with them.” This made me snort. “Does anyone actually think stuff like that?” Sunil smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Maybe not in those exact words, but yes, most people think stuff like that.” This shook me. “Oh.”

I was curious now, that’s for sure. And I was also terrified. I mean, that wasn’t me. Asexual. Aromantic. I still wanted to have sex with someone, eventually. Once I found someone I actually liked. Just because I’d never

liked anyone didn’t mean I never would … did it?

I was going to hurt Jason, or Jason and I were going to die together wearing wedding rings. Pip was thriving—maybe she didn’t need me anymore. Why couldn’t I feel anything for anyone? Was I what Sunil and Jess were? Those super-long words that most people hadn’t even heard of?

Jason started flicking through the pages of his copy of the play. “Much Ado is such a good play. Although I don’t get the appeal of relationships where they’re mean to each other at the start.” “It’s all just buildup to the point where they inevitably have really wild sex,” I said, thinking fondly of some of my favorite enemies-to-lovers fics. “It makes the eventual sex more exciting.” “I suppose it makes a good story.” Jason flipped over a page. “It’s funny how much stuff revolves around sex. I don’t even think I’d need it in a relationship.” “Wait, really?” “Like, it’s fun, but … I don’t think it’s a deal-breaker. If the other person didn’t want to do it that much. Or at all, I guess.” He looked up from behind the book. “What? Is that weird?”

I shrugged. “No, that’s just a cool way to think about it.” “If you really loved someone, I just think you wouldn’t really … care so much about things like that. I dunno. I think everyone’s been kind of conditioned to be obsessed with it, when in actual fact … you know, it’s just a thing people do for fun. You don’t even need it to make babies anymore. It’s not like you’d die without it.”

Could we be together and just … not have sex? I stood there in the doorway trying to picture it. No sex, but still a romance. A relationship. Kissing Jason, holding hands with Jason. Being in love. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about how I felt about love, but not much about having sex—I’d just assumed that sex would automatically be a part of it. But it didn’t have to be. Sunil had told me that some people didn’t want sex, but were perfectly happy in relationships without it.

Sunil said he felt indifferent about sex. I’d never heard anyone

talk about sex like that before.

All I’d felt about sex so far was shame for not having had it.

“Everyone has to be fucking JOKING.” “What d’you—”

“People are really out there just … thinking about having sex all the time and they can’t even help it?” I spluttered. “People have dreams about it because they want it that much? How the—I’m

losing it. I thought all the movies were exaggerating, but you’re all really out there just craving genitals and embarrassment. Th...

I’d never fantasized about myself having sex. And that was different from most people. I was different. How had I never realized this before? Picturing fanfic characters having sex? Great. Fine. Sexy. But picturing myself having sex with anyone, guy, girl, whoever, didn’t interest me.

No—it was more than that. It was an immediate fucking turnoff.

There were so many things that I would never do. Would never even want to do or feel comfortable doing.

And the worst part of it was—even though I’d longed for these things, I knew that they’d never make me happy anyway. The idea was beautiful. But the reality made me sick.

How could I feel so sad about giving up these things that I did not actually want?

I felt like I was grieving. I was grieving this fake life, a fantasy future that I was never going to live. I had no idea what my life would be like now. And that scared me. God, that scared me so, so much.

I might … be starting to like someone new.” “Yeah?” “I really … don’t want to be doing that.” “Why?” “It just won’t end well.” She shook her head. “And she hates me, anyway.”

“Anyway, you’re only eighteen, you’ve got so much time—” I started to say, but didn’t know how to continue. What did I mean when I said that? That she’d definitely find the perfect relationship someday? Because I knew that wasn’t true. Not for me. Not for anyone.

It was something adults said all the time. You’ll change your mind when you’re older. You never know what might happen. You’ll feel differently one day. As if we teenagers knew so little about ourselves that we could wake up one day a completely different person. As if the person we are right now doesn’t matter at all.

The whole idea that people always grew up, fell in love, and got married was a complete lie. How long wo...

She was at her best when Pip was around—exchanging banter and jokes with her, lighting up in a way she didn’t with anyone else—but even with her, I sometimes noticed Rooney turn away, put physical distance between them, like she didn’t want Pip to even see her. Like she was scared what would happen if they got too close.

The more I drank, the more I could space out and not care about being alone, in every sense of the word. It was hard to forget, though, when every single song that was playing overhead was about romantic love.

Despite the fact that Pip and Jason had so

much to deal with on their own, I had only truly been thinking about myself.

Was everyone just having sex and falling in love all the time? Why? How was it fair that everyone got to feel that except me?

This whole time I’ve been pestering you about finding a relationship and kissing people and getting out there … I kept telling you to try with Jason and when you tried to tell me you didn’t actually want any of that, I didn’t even listen.

I was angry at the world for making me hate who I was. I was angry at myself for letting these feelings ruin my friendships with the best people in the world. I was angry at every single romance movie, every single fanfic, every single stupid OTP that had made me crave finding the perfect romance. It was because of all of that, no doubt, that this new identity felt like a loss, when in reality, it should have been a beautiful discovery.

I’d spent my teenage life feeling lonely every time I saw a couple at a party, or two people kissing outside the school gate. I’d felt lonely every time I read some cute proposal story on Twitter, or saw someone’s five-year-anniversary Facebook post, or even just saw someone hanging out with their partner in their Instagram story, sitting with them on a sofa with their dog, watching TV. I felt lonely first because I hadn’t experienced that. And I felt even lonelier when I started to believe I never would.

Unfortunately, Gran liked to pry. “And what about friends? Have you made any nice friends?” She leaned toward me, patting me slyly on the leg. “Or met any nice young men? I bet there are lots of lovely boys in Durham.” I didn’t hate Gran for being like this. It wasn’t her fault. She had been raised to believe that it was a girl’s primary aim in life to get married and have a family. She had done just that when she was my age, and I think she felt very fulfilled because of it. Fair enough. You do you. But that didn’t stop me from being deeply, deeply annoyed.

I was tucked up in bed by ten p.m. Overall, not a bad Christmas Day, despite having lost my best friends and the way my singleness was becoming an ongoing family joke. One day I would probably have to just tell them. I don’t like guys. Oh, so you like girls? No, I don’t like girls either. What? That doesn’t make any sense. Yes, it does. It’s a real thing. You just haven’t met the right person yet. It’ll happen with time. No,

it won’t. This is who I am. Are you feeling OK? Maybe we should get you an appointment with the GP. It’s called being “aromantic asexual.” Well, that sounds fake, doesn’t it? Did you hear about that on the internet?

“I … I didn’t want to admit it, because, like …” She laughed. “I am so fucking done with liking straight girls. Literally my whole teenage life I spend pining after straight girls, maybe getting, like, one kiss from a slightly curious girl who immediately goes back to her boyfriend, and then I come to uni hoping to finally meet a solid range of other queer girls … and I just immediately fall for a straight girl again.”

“There. So stop erasing my identity and tell Pip you like her.” “Don’t use your identity to make me admit my feelings.” “I can and I will.”

We sat together in lectures and walked to and from the library in the cold and we watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine one Saturday morning until noon,

“Oh. This is an asexual thing.” I laughed at myself. “I forgot other people are obsessed with having sex. Wow. That’s really funny.”

“I just care about you so much … but I’ve always got this fear that … one day you’ll leave. Or Pip and Jason will leave, or … I don’t know.”

“I’m

never going to fall in love, so … my friendships are all I have, so … I just … can’t bear the idea of losing any of my friends. Because I’m never...

Did I think she was a little bit attracted to me physically? Maybe. Did I think she’d stared into my soul, had a look at who I really am, and still wanted to be around me? No. Great. Thanks so much for making me immediately fall in love with you.

I don’t think I’m in love with Pip. But I know that I could be, eventually, when we know each other better—and that terrifies me.

Seriously, who falls asleep that quickly? Imagine being able to sleep without listening to a true crime podcast episode or immersing yourself in your imaginary dreamworld for at least an hour.