Page 18 of Tricky Girls

I raise my eyes to the window, watching raindrops race down it. I suppose I can go home this weekend. Not got anything on. I wanted to make it to Christmas though. That would have been a new bloody record.

My phone lights up again.

Tilda.

A smile tugs at my lips as I swipe it open. ‘And what do you want, babe?’

Tilda: I’ve still got your jacket x

Like I’ve forgotten. My fave damn one. A drunken testament to how much I’m hot for that girl. I recall in a flash falling asleep that night, a vision of Tilda wrapped up in the corduroy, no otherstitch of clothing on her. How I’d touched myself to it. My lips twist in a sheepish smile. Bet she’d love to know that.

I wonder if she’s worn it since. I’ve heard it’s cold in Portia House; a bunch of students complained about it last year. Does she sit at her desk, laptop before her, running her thumb over the uneven stitching on the left sleeve like I do? Did she sleep in it Halloween night, gleaning some comfort as she cried over her boyfriend, smelling it up with her girly pop perfumes?

If she does give it back, I hope it’s unwashed.

That’s alright, keep it ;) x

And then, because I can’t resist:You out tonight?

Tilda: Nah. Not really in the mood. Thanks for the jacket though, I’m gonna dye it black ;)

Flirting again? I purse my lips as I consider her message. Probably just my desperate as shit mind. She’s probably just being friendly.

Would look good, babe x

When I hear Haz shouting me downstairs, I darken my phone and jump to my feet.

I hope she doesn’t actually dye it. Though, to be honest, that girl can do whatever she likes—to my detriment or otherwise.

Besides, it’s easier to fuss over the fate of my favourite jacket than it is the mess of everything back home.

CHAPTER 7

Nic

Red sears into my eyes, darkening shadows, dousing skin. Even with them closed, red’s all I see.

And closed I keep them because, fuck, I don’t want to see.

Vipers is heaving tonight, the press of writhing bodies protecting against the chill outside. Most nights, the lights are purple but Wednesdays and Saturdays, it’s like the place has been Carried.

When I next dare open my eyes, Haz and Elly are gone and I’m stuck in a pit of bouncing freshers.

Forcing my way through, I head to the double staircase. Even here people are sat, the steps glistening with spilt drinks. Falling down them at least once is a rite of passage.

The first floor affords me a view of the whole club, LED lasers bouncing on the tops of everyone’s heads as though feverishly searching for a target.

I can think of one. A couple, actually.

Procuring a 35cl bottle of vodka from the quieter bar up here, I return to the railing.

Up until this week, I haven’t drunk in months, preferring to tackle my nights with a clear head.

Now a clear head is a thing of pain.

Probably best Haz and Elly are off elsewhere. Can’t be doing with their judgement.

The vodka is fucking awful on first sip, having not pregamed with the others. I lean my arms on the railing and drink until the burn subsides. The LEDs blur, faces indistinguishable from the next. My body begins to hum and I wonder how I’ve gone this long without.

---