Page 1 of The Promise

Chapter 1

Molly

I swear my head is no longer attached to my shoulders.

It’s all my own fault and I know that. But in the moment, when I'm swaying to the music, my best friend moving next to me and handing me yet another vodka and coke, I don't care to think about the consequences of my actions. I definitely don’t think about the fact I have to run five times around a 200 metre track the next day, without buckling at the knees or spewing last night’s mistakes all over my brand new running shoes.

This day is already off to a solid start, with my brain feeling like mush as I fight to peel my swollen eyes open. I don't even remember what I did last night, or more importantly who I did. I look down at the tattooed arm that’s slung across my bare stomach, recognising it immediately and letting my head sink back into the pillow with relief. It’s Ollie, thank god because he’s the only guy I'm currently sleeping with and I’m not an all you can eat buffet, for any guy to dip into whenever they feel like it. Don't get me wrong, Ollie and I aren’t together, there are no labels when it comes to our situation, but I don't like being one of many girls. If I'm going to fuck a guy, I want to know I'm the only place he’s currently dipping his stick. So I usually do a deal with them, they fuck me and only me, until one of us gets bored and moves on. If you ask me, everyone should live this way, avoids any danger of heartbreak or complicated feelings getting involved. My best friend Callie would disagree, she’s a relationship addict and has only had one casual hook up in her life, hating it and swearing off them for all eternity. Luckily for her she has Sean now, who totally dotes on her, following her around like a love obsessed puppy and jumping to her every need. The thought of a guy being like that with me makes me physically sick, having another person to constantly consider in my life is not for me and never will be, I'm quite happy on my own.

I launch Ollie’s heavy set arm off my bladder and hop out of bed, shuffling across my carpeted floor to the bathroom down the hall. I almost leak all over the carpet before I get there, my alcohol laced bloodstream making my vision woozy as I collapse onto the toilet.

“Fuck, what was I thinking?” I mutter, sinking my palms into my eye sockets in a desperate attempt to clear my hazy vision.

“You weren’t thinking, that’s the problem.”

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” I launch the empty toilet roll at Callie, as she leans against the bathroom doorframe, coffee mug in hand paired with a smug grin.

The girl drinks like a sailor and rarely feels it the next day. She’ll go to the gym today, probably fuck her boyfriend three times and still be buzzing with energy by 6pm tonight. I on the other hand, am already ready to go back to bed, even though I woke up precisely two minutes ago. I stand up, yanking my undies up my legs. “Are you just going to stand there with that annoying grin, or are you going to help me?” I groan, holding onto the marble sink for support.

Callie crosses the room and grabs my elbow. “You know you can’t go to training today right? You can’t even stand up straight.” She titters and if I had more energy I'd slap her.

Ironically, Callie is usually the spicier of the two of us, rolling her eyes at any minor inconvenience and lashing people with her feisty tongue and quick wit. But today, apparently we’ve switched roles, she’s very bright this morning, like a glowing ray of sunshine and I begin to wonder if she’s an imposter.

“Are you the real Callie Burch? Because you’re freaking me out with your constant smiling and positive vibes.” I swat at her when she laughs, playfully karate chopping at her stomach and receiving a swift kick to my shin.

She leads me back to my bedroom, her hand tight around my middle. “I’ll call Mike for you and let him know you’re sick.”

I grimace, knowing that my coach will totally hang me out to dry if he finds out I'm not in fact sick, just massively hungover. “Tell him I have the plague or something.” I moan and Callie snorts. “Something bad, that means I need a few days to get over it.”

“A few days? Maybe I’ll go with the flu Mol, the plague not only doesn’t exist anymore, but would also have you six foot under the track you’re supposed to be sprinting around.”

Callie sits me on the edge of my mattress and Ollie stirs, swiping his arm across the bed, searching for me. Callie gives me a knowing nod and leaves the room, as Ollie sits up straight, locating me and my sickeningly pale complexion.

I don’t even remember drinking that much last night, normally I know when to stop, so I don’t feel like shit the next day. Callie obviously plied me with alcohol and didn’t care to stop me, before I lost my god damn mind and got so pissed I didn’t even know who I was going home with. “Hey you,” Ollie purrs and my stomach sloshes when I twist to look at him. My face falls into my hands and I shake my platinum waves, denial taking over. “No, no, no,”

Ollie plants a warm hand on my shoulder. “What’s up Mol?”

I lie back into his lap, letting him thread his tattooed fingers through my tangled hair. “I feel like death on legs.”

“Ha,” he snickers, dropping a light kiss to my clammy forehead. “You don’t look like death, you look beautiful.”

I crack a lid and raise a ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ eyebrow at him, which only makes him laugh again. He hoists me up, so I'm sitting straight, staring out of my window at the surrounding forest and greenery that spreads for miles around the university. I know how lucky I am to be here, that my parents could afford to send me to Redwood, but sometimes I look out at the nothingness outside and miss London life. The street noises, the constant beeping of cars and the regular drunken fights outside the clubs on a Saturday night. I live for that shit. There’s none of that here, the nearest clump of bars and clubs being half an hour away and full of pretentious men from Redwood, who absolutely reek of private school.

Ollie climbs around me, heaving me to my feet and dressing me like a child, lifting my arms up and pulling a t-shirt over my half naked body. “Thank you,” I sigh and he pecks my lips, the rum still fiery on his breath and my stomach sloshes again in response. “Are you leaving now?” Ollie nods, collecting a bundle of clothes from the ground. “Yeah, better get my arse in gear if I want to get to the court on time this morning.” Ollie is a basketball player and a fucking great one at that. He totally dominates the court when he plays and is a perfect mix of stellar muscle and looming height. Just the right amount to make my pussy dance when I look at him. The muscles in question ripple along his torso, as he stands straight again and my eyes can’t help but linger.

Ollie has been my favourite hook up of all time. He’s gentle with me emotionally, but rough as an elephant when he fucks me, just the way I like it. Sometimes he’s a little too emotionally clingy for me though, occasionally attempting to blur the lines we’ve set in place to prevent any feelings developing. It’s strictly sex between us, which I think he tends to forget — intentionally blinding himself when it suits him — and I'm forced to remind him that the boundaries only loosen when I decide to let them. This deal between us is pretty much all on my terms and I know that, I like being in control of things in my life. Growing up in foster homes will do that to you. Being dumped in a group home with other unwanted children, to then being passed out between couples who only want you for the government money, would damage anyone’s emotional security. I like to feel wanted, who doesn’t?

My parents have helped to heal that part of my heart, they adopted me when I was 14 and worked so hard to tame the scared little kitten that I was deep down. I guess I still am scared, scared to feel anything for anyone in case they leave me, like my biological parents did. I don’t remember them much, they dumped me when I was only five years old. Erasing any tiny glimpse of their faces or their smells from my memory, has been my brain’s way of coping with the trauma of being abandoned.

Ollie pulls me from the well of painful memories that I just voluntarily launched myself into. “Hey, I lost you there for a second, you good?” I nod sharply, getting to my wobbly feet and walking Ollie to the front door, his hand grasping after mine in that needy way he does sometimes. I can feel the question on the tip of his tongue before he even asks it and I consider telling him to just spit it out, as he stands in the doorway looking at the ground.

“Hey Mol, so I was thinking…”

I tilt an impatient eyebrow at him. “You, thinking? That’s new,” He chuckles, albeit nervously. “Did you change your mind about the date thing?”

Oh god, here we go.

“No,” I snap, “I didn’t change my mind and I won’t be changing my mind any time soon.”

---