𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 • 𝕞.𝕔

chapter 3

•••

   I caught a cab that day, staring outside the window as it drove me home. I couldn't believe that I had abandoned myself in a stranger's arms yesterday. I remembered most of it; some parts seemed blurred in my mind. I remembered the most of us stumbling over each other's feet, causing us to lay down, and kiss for a very long time. And falling asleep. What had happened in between was in a dark corner of my mind I couldn't reach quite yet... Not with this headache, at least. Not with the pain that I was feeling in my bones. For goodness' sake, I could hardly remember his face, now that I was thinking about it. All I could recall was the way his pale skin had felt on mine, and the way his sloppy lips were still extremely pleasant to kiss. I didn't like to admit it- he wasn't the kind of man I would usually go for. I knew what I wanted, I was determined with boys, and I surely knew that this one wasn't for me. I had a dream of a hot, tanned husband, with big biceps and a cute smile.

But after all, wasn't this every girl's dream?

I frankly believed it was.

   I adjusted the position on my seat, keeping silent. The cab driver didn't seem like a nice one- his eyebrows were constantly furrowed, staring at the road. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. It was sticky. God knew which sort of drink had gotten in there yesterday. Reminding the party at the club, and the cocktails, the thought of my girl friends came to my head. I loathed them, they'd left me. Drunk, on top of that. I was disappointed in Emma. Because even if she was my best friend, and even if she acted like she wanted the best for me, I was aware of the fact that she only wanted me to be more like her.

Though she made me laugh, and her hair was beautiful, and I liked her quirks and the way she smiled at me, I had to admit that there were some times when she deserved to get kicked in the ass for what she did. Now was one of those times.

   When I arrived home, in the ratty borough of Hackney, a few minutes later, I quickly thanked the cab driver and paid him. I turned around and looked up at the big, red-brick building. I was praying that Emma wasn't at my house, waiting for me. Considering it was something she did quite often, I sort of sensed it, now. I had gotten used to it, even if at times, this bothered me a hell of a lot. I ran up the stairs, eager to see if somebody was waiting for me.

And when I opened the door and spotted the pair of feet hanging off the ends of my sofa, I rolled my eyes.

Here she was, Emma Brett.

"Well, hello there," she said, turning around. She stood up and rushed to  come hug me, but I recoiled when she attempted to wrap her arms around me.

"I don't want to hug you, Emma."

She wrinkled her nose. "You smell, anyway."

"I woke up God knows where, in a stupid bed with a boy, all of this because you guys left me all by myself at the club. Do you know how selfish that is?" I complained. When I looked up at her, she was staring down at her phone. "Emma, for fuck's sake! I was out all night and you didn't even think about calling me!"

"You were partying hard," she justified herself. "So the girls and I thought it would be a better idea just to leave you with the hot band member while you guys were making out. You should've seen yourself. Proper going at it." Now, she was mimicking me kissing. There was a lot of tongue.

"You are so gross," I shook my head, taking my clothes off. "You are so annoying, too. I don't know why we're friends."

"Because you love me," she stuck her tongue out. "Listen,I'm really sorry. I really love you and I want you to enjoy yourself, experiences you'll remember for ever. How was your night, anyway?"

I entered the bathroom, and jumped into the shower. I drew the curtains, and heard Emma's footsteps coming closer. "Listen, Em, it was fine."

"Did you guys..."

"Yeah," I didn't leave her time to finish, cutting her off. I could sense the excitement in her voice.

"Oh, my God, Lee! Check you out, going out and getting all them hot boys, damn!"

"Shut up," I stuck my head out of the shower curtain. "It was only one night, and this won't happen again. I feel terrible."

"Why is that?" she taunted. "You are 21, this obviously will happen again."

I rolled my eyes, washing my body as I spoke. "Not for the moment then, please."

"Was the sex good?"

"Emma!"

"I'm just asking!" she chuckled.

"It was good enough to make me stay the night," I shrugged. "But he wasn't my type, and the problem is that I was drunk, and I think I still am, and if not, I'm hungover as fuck. My head is pounding and I just want to go to sleep."

"Poor baby."

"You are so mean to me! Hand me a towel, please."

   I stepped out of the shower, my bare body enveloped in the warm, comfortable fabric. Emma was still there, smirking. She wanted to know more, I knew it, but I wasn't going to give her any more details, she'd had enough. She was curious, that one. And perspicacious.

"So you don't want to go out again anytime this week with me and the girls?"

   While I brushed my hair, I cocked my head to the side and let out a deep sigh.

"You don't understand what I am saying now, do you? This was only one night, Em. One night."

•••

   I sat at my computer, the feeling in my veins indescribable. Finally, here I was.

I had been thinking for years about what I would put in my CV after being done with school for ever. I mean, that was thrilling and appealing to me, wasn't it? I couldn't exactly put my feelings on how I feel. Determined, yet so unsure. I was about to realise my dream; become a journalist. I deserved it, and I knew I was young,  but I still had huge dreams that hadn't been totally broken yet.

Because I knew I would. Teachers at school would always tell me that I was determined and and tenacious enough to always get what I wanted; and what I wanted, needed even, was this job.

   My mother would have been proud of me, I thought. I hated to remember my relationship with my mother because of the guilt. Every single time I reminisced the way I had treated her, I hated myself more and more. I had left home like a selfish, stupid teenager one day, pushing her away,  leaving Southport for ever. I remember telling her words I didn't think, purely because I was angry and confused. And now, when I sat alone at night, staring outside the window, I wished that she could be my side, that I could still call her to ask her how she was. But then I recalled the exact words I told her before I left: don't ever call me again.

   But thankfully, I still had my grandmother. Well, used to. When she had passed away unexpectedly a year ago, I had been lucky enough to get most of the inheritance. The flat. The money. And back then, I had been too blinded by all of it. Thinking that I could buy a new car. New computer. New shoes. But as the days had passed, I had realised that using her money for all of these things wasn't worth anything. And I had just claimed the apartment mine, hardly buying anything more with the hundreds of thousands of pounds I had gotten all of a sudden.

I didn't want to touch this money. It scared me, now.

   When I went to bed that night, I couldn't tell whether I felt more happy about the fact that I was sleeping in my very own bed, alone, with the comfortable feeling of accomplishment in my mind, or the fact that I was finally starting to live my life. Like I had always imagined it. The bad days of getting up early for school were finally over, and after this well-deserved break, I would finally start working. Living my dream.

And nothing could ever try to stop me.

•••