Page 74 of The Reunion

I sigh again, wipe some of the water off my face, only for more droplets to take its place. The sprinklers are relentless and I wish I hadn’t bothered to waste that time holding her close and kissing her and just let her go figure out how to turn them off instead.

The fire alarm keeps blaring, but I barely hear it.

Maybe Ashleigh and I are like one of those doomed, tragic couples from the books the girls all used to gush over in the common room. Linked together in a way that can’t be broken, destined to ruin each other.

And I’m so fucking tired of it. Isn’t she?

‘Ryan …’

I pretend I don’t hear her.

When the water around our feet splashes as she takes a step towards me, I lean back against the bench so she’s side-on and she gets the message, stopping in her tracks. Her sadness is palpable, and I hate that. Like she has any kind of right to stand there, so wounded, and make me want to comfort her, when she’s the one who keeps lashing out?

Go to hell, I almost snap at her.

Except I don’t, obviously, because I don’t want to prove her right. That’d be just like her – to turn this all around and win the fight without even having to say anything.

The silence that consumes us is so sudden, it feels like my brain short-circuited. There’s a ringing in my ears like after a good night out, so it takes a second to realise that the fire alarm has finally stopped.

The lights suddenly flash back on, too.

Ashleigh winces as her eyes adjust. I blink a few times.

‘Power’s back up,’ I say, and she doesn’t even roll her eyes or say something like, You think, smartass?

In the bright overhead lighting, I see what a mess the room is: a layer of water covers the floor, the pile of textbooks at the back of the room is drenched, and water sits in puddles on the tops of the desks.

Ashleigh and I haven’t fared much better. I reckon I must look pretty shabby, soggy and half dressed with my dick hanging out like this, but – I choke down a laugh, because she’s in such a state. Her makeup has partly washed off and only the faintest smudge of lipstick remains right in a line along the edge of her lower lip, right in the middle; her lips are swollen and the half of her hair that’s still pinned up resembles a bird’s nest more than anything else. A streak of mascara has run sideways across her right cheek, like she wiped her face and smeared it there. She sees me looking at her and briskly crosses her arms over her chest to cover herself, not looking in the least bit abashed at how the rest of her looks right now.

I turn away from Ashleigh and start the search for my clothes. I find my boxers bundled inside my trousers, in a sodden heap kicked to the front of the classroom. On my way back, I collect Ashleigh’s trousers from where they dangle over a tap at one of the sinks, water dripping steadily off them, and I toss them her way. She catches them, and passes me the sock she finds. I hand her back her blouse.

Clothes bundled against her bare chest, she asks through gritted teeth, ‘Can you see my bra anywhere?’

I look with her for a couple of minutes, under desks and in sinks and on tabletops, but we both come up empty. Her jaw is still clenched and she mutters, ‘It’s fine, never mind,’ while sounding like she’s screaming a string of curses in her head. Probably at me. Probably making it my fault for flinging it to some unseen place in my haste to get my hands and mouth on her.

Which, fine, it might be. This one time.

The two of us get dressed in silence.

For all of about two seconds, anyway. I start muttering curses, wrestling against the soaked fabric as I try to get my trousers on, and Ashleigh makes soft, agitated grunts as she fights to get back into her top. She gets stuck with both arms trapped upright, above her head, face half hidden and body wriggling uselessly.

I catch her eye, choking down a laugh.

She rolls her eyes, but more like it’s a joke we’re both in on.

‘Need some help?’ I offer, and her eyebrows draw together before she nods.

‘Yes, please.’ Her voice is muffled from where she’s trapped within the fabric. I finish pulling on my boxers, grimacing at the sensation of cold, wet clothes, and then go help Ashleigh. I don’t let my hands wander this time, and don’t bother to enjoy the fact that she’s stopped being so bloody-minded for the moment. I just concentrate on yanking her top into place and getting her unstuck, but my fingers graze her arms and sides and her skin is covered in goosebumps. She’s trembling – shivering.

And damn it, damn her to the deepest, darkest circle of hell, because as mad as I am at her and as much as every word out of her mouth is a slap in the face – I rub my hand up and down her arm, and then I do her favourite fucking thing in the world and point out the obvious. ‘You’re freezing.’

‘I’m fine.’

Oh, obviously she’s fine, because her usual stubborn attitude has made a triumphant return.

I throw my hands up in defeat and storm away. Except, I don’t exactly do that, because my feet carry me over to the chemical cabinet at the back of the room and I yank open the packet on the wall containing the fire blanket, then storm right back to her, to shove it into her hands.

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

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