Never Winter Again

Chapter Sixteen - M.I.A.

21 February 2020

Score: Paper Planes - M.I.A.

Mark

Sitting on a plane to Amsterdam alone was definitely not how I imagined this trip to end.

But I just couldn't stand the thought of staying back in that room even a second later. Worse still, I couldn't imagine having to stay away from Lydia, when she was just an arm's length away. Especially not now, with my head all messed up over her.

I don't know how I feel about her right now. It all happened too quickly, and, somehow, without me actively doing anything about it.

What I do know, is that I'd give anything to be able to take her hand and hold her in my arms, and kiss her, again and again, until our lips are bruised and we can't breathe.

And I know there's something I can give, to be able to do so. Fifty thousand pounds. That's what I have to give. And, to noone else, but the Baby Lord himself. After he beat me, in my own game. And made me look like a fucking joke.

If I don't teach this asshole a lesson, it will haunt me for the rest of my life!

But the truth is, it wasn't him, who proposed the stupid bet. It was me. I bet my best friend and the girl that I really like, in a game of poker.

And I lost.

I need to find him the money, and fast. I know I could have asked my dad, and, under different circumstances, he would have agreed to give me the money. Like, if I needed it to buy a car or a Rolex.

But this?

Oh, hey, Dad, I need fifty k. What for? Oh, well, I bet Lydia in a game of poker and now I need to buy her off Patrick fucking Casterly.

Yeah, no.

I have to do this myself. But how is an eighteen-year-old supposed to make fifty thousand pounds fast?

All the ideas that are coming to my mind are making me cringe, or involve more gambling.

But, fuck it, I'll do whatever it takes, if it means I can get Lydia out of Patrick's claws.

Ugh. The mere thought of Patrick, touching my girl, is making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

My girl.

I've never had a "My girl" before. I've had girls, of course, and Martha but none of them have ever been "My Girl".

But it feels so right when I think about Lydia in this way.

It's funny how you have something right under your nose literally all your life and you never appreciate it, until it's already too late.

How do you deal with that?

I have no fucking idea. That's why, I'm headed for a weekend of complete oblivion. My sleep-deprived brain is delusional enough right now, to further torture it with the events of the past two days.

I shoot Marta a text, right before the plane takes off, asking her to find me a game next week. I'll sign up for tournaments right after I go back to London. Now, I just want to shake off the whole experience in Italy and compensate for the lack of sleep by getting something strong into my system.

I turn the flight mode on my phone and lean back into my seat.

I called my friends in Amsterdam the minute I got to the airport. I'm going to be taken care of, my mate Josh tells me. Fine pot. Fine booze. Fine games.