Expelled and needing to transfer for his final year, Liam had known immediately where to go. It was the place that'd taken everything from him; that'd ruined him so absolutely it'd twisted his personality beyond recognition.
The place where he'd met...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
University was a place to reinvent oneself.
ㅤShedding the skin of youth like a snake, leaving the crust of one's reputation behind to paint themselves in new colours to camouflage into the habitat they want to be in—not the one they came from—Darren couldn't have waited for it to come sooner.
ㅤOne hundred and seventy-five miles. This was how far away Darren needed to be from what he'd left behind. In the grey misery of Liverpool, with whatever he'd been able to fit into his shitbox Fiat 500, it wasn't until he'd dragged it up the M62, with 'Liverpool' taking up the entirety of the signs rather than just an embarrassed footnote, that he felt like he'd made it.
ㅤHe was finally far enough away to live his life.
ㅤDarren's new flatmates, two women and two men (all freshers like himself) were shocked to find out they did, indeed, have a fifth person in their flat. He understood their surprise. He was days late.
ㅤ"Would you like some help?" one woman—Amirah she'd introduced herself as—asked. Her nose scrunched when the patter of rain slapped against the kitchen window, regretting the offer.
ㅤAll four were on the kitchen floor, foregoing the neon plastic chairs to sprawl on top of sticky linen. A salad bowl centred their circle like a cauldron, bottles of spirits, soft drinks and condiments skirting it. They were drinking the unholy punch from paper cups, except for one man, who slurped it out of a violently-loved muddy trainer.
ㅤHe politely declined and walked the fifteen-minute distance back and forth on his own, soaked-through.
ㅤIt'd taken days for his room to dry. But that hadn't mattered. He'd made it there. Under his cold, damp duvet, he stared at his white ceiling with his earphones in, feeling as though he could sink into the mattress.
ㅤDarren was free.
=====
Darren was drunk.
ㅤA predictable outcome, yes. On grass turf, in the dark of night, music blasted out of a speaker. Electric lamps and phone torches jumped with rowdy students.
ㅤIn the middle, Darren fought for concentration, the world blurring around the edges. Louder than the music, they counted in a drunken and disorganised stupor.
ㅤ"Forty!"
ㅤAt the mark, Darren swayed, the football precariously pausing on his ankle as a committee member of the university football club wedged a plastic shot glass between his teeth, pouring the eye-stinging and sickening acid down his throat. Darren spluttered, and the ball teetered. But Darren saved it and, with a nod from the captain, he continued.
ㅤ"Forty-one!"
ㅤ"Forty-two!"
ㅤUnsurprisingly, being pasted in raw egg and flour whilst shirtless was actually really fucking cold in Liverpool at night. He'd underestimated the chill of the north. Without the warmth of the sun, his skin was numb.
