We Are Tidal

Chapter Two - Apartment 110

Chapter Two 

Apartment 110 - Flashback

Life was simpler when we met.

I think about that regularly, try as I might to forget anything about the past. The past of Art and Dylan, the past the eclipsed so much of my life now.

There was no Damien then, just Arthur and Dylan, being themselves. So many things hadn't happened yet or been set in motion. We still had so many positives ahead of us.

And at that moment, when Arthur Heaver steps out into the patio of the first college party of the year - after almost a year being off everyone's radar - and looked straight into my eyes, I knew he was thinking the same thing. And fuck, it hurt.

Apartment 110 of Ivy Halls was when it began for us. 

I arrived on move-in day to the freshman-only dorms with my parents, relishing the excited atmosphere of all of the new students heaving boxes and bags out of cars, or lounging on the grass by the quad sipping coffees with music blaring. 

Our home was close enough to the university to drive to, but my parents had encouraged me to move out. To experience real college life. 

Our estate car was stuffed with black bags of my belongings I hadn't been bothered to properly pack and despite the slightly chilly weather, I was sweltering from heaving bag after bag, up the five flights of stairs to apartment 110. 

I'd insisted on the top floor, having seen the view on the brochure that a scout had laid out on a table in my old High School. 

My parents had gone ahead with my keys to unlock my room and I scooped as much of my then-blonde hair as I could into a bun on top of my head and set about tugging my enormous suitcase out of the boot of the car.

When one of the wheels caught on the edge of the car boot and fell suddenly, hitting my thigh hard, I knew I was in trouble.

"Fuck," I hissed under my breath.

Not being tremendously strong or big, with a dancer's build, I realized I was going to have to wait until my dad made it back to the car to help me out.

I perched on the edge of the car and tried to ignore my throbbing thigh and inevitable bruise.

"Need a hand?"

Looking around, I hadn't known that I was about to look at someone I could never truly look away from.

Sometimes, I thought it would have been easier if I had just gone upstairs with my parents and never set eyes on him to begin with. But then he had just been a boy with sapphire eyes, a strong jawline and the kind of charming smile that usually made me roll my eyes.

I wouldn't have restrained myself if I didn't need his help.

"Sure," I said and watched the boy drop his gym bag from his shoulder. He lifted my suitcase with an easy grace that was almost criminal. He was easily six and a half feet tall, towering over me. He still managed to grin whilst dragging my suitcase to the nearest path.

I take the handle from him and wince at the weight that was predominantly books, box sets and dance clothes that my mother had told me I didn't need in the first place.

"Want me to carry it up for you?" He offered, looking at me up and down as if wondering just how capable I could possibly be at my size. I bristled at this, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to not to blush at how the motion caused my cropped, blue sweater to rise even more.

Before I could refuse, footsteps behind me made me jump and my mother and father were there, babbling about the size of the room and the view of the distant beach from the window over my desk, entirely oblivious to the boy who was still smiling.

"Arthur Heaver, by the way," He said quickly, holding out a hand before my parents could reach us. 

Despite myself and his damned smile, I took his hand. It was warm and a little rough. I didn't know it at the time, but Art was really into rebuilding cars. Not to drive them or to sell them, just for the thrill of the fix. A job well done, he'd said whenever I complained about the grease on his clothes or the smell of gas on his hair at the end of a day spent in the garage.

"Dylan Lawless," I said "And thanks for the help."

He shrugged and picked up his gym back again, slinging it over a broad shoulder with a lazy smile.

"That's a badass name. And definitely one I'll remember," He promised before smiling politely to my approaching parents and walking away. My dad rested a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, looking at my mother conspiratorially.

"Please don't tell me the guys have already started to fall at your feet, Dyl," He said wearily.

I grinned at them, offering a curtsy laden with sarcasm.

"It's not easy being dangerously attractive, Dad."

He rolled his eyes and put an arm around my shoulders and began gushing about the room again. I was only half-listening however, with my mind wondering where exactly that boy lived and if I'd ever see him again.

*

The memory only had moments to swirl in my mind as Arthur, the love of my life of nearly a year entered the party. I ignore the concerned expressions on my friends' faces, watching me from the patio and took Damien's drink from his hand. Sambuca. I shiver as I down it in one go.

Fuck.

Unfortunately, the room did not immediately go blurry nor was I instantly transported to my bed, in my house with its two duvets and six pillows, ready to give my dogs a cuddle. 

Nonetheless, I look away from the apartment entrance, trying not to notice that Arthur had come with his three brothers. Two older, one younger. All equally as tall and attractive as him, with considerably more swagger.

"Want to dance?" Damien slurs in my ear, his leg pressing between mine and his hands roaming around my waist. I could feel him against me, hard and pressing. But I was numb, frozen.

I smile through my lashes, looking over Damien's shoulder to see Arthur stopping to hug, fist pump and chat to people, taking a red cup in one hand and holding the love of the party goers as it always had been. 

One ingratiating, nauseatingly charming smile here and with little effort, he was the popular king that our friends had always loved and fawned over. That I had too.

The sambuca was beginning to mix with the vodka in my stomach, my grip on Damien's shoulders tightens as the music speeds up.

This was too much.

The contrast between the happy-go-lucky girl I had been and this broken, fractured soul I was now. The separate parts of my memories were clashing and my chest began to ache. If I'd been alone in bed, secure in my lonely house then I knew I would be crying. If Damien wasn't pressed against me, I knew I'd be searching for something a little stronger than alcohol.

Still, I need to forget, using the distraction on hand.

"Let's just go upstairs," I whisper in Damien's ear with a feline smile, my breathe tickling his ear, my lips brushing against this skin ever-so-lightly. He grinned, his green eyes flashing dangerously. God, we were both so drunk. Perhaps too drunk to do anything.

Yet I led him through the doors and into the throng, avoiding those familiar sets of eyes. All the while I was upstairs, my dress on the floor and skin flushed, I thought only of how my arm had brushed Arthur's back and of the slight stiffen I had noticed between his shoulders. 

As if on a core level, he felt me. Knew me.

A/N

I hope you all enjoyed and feel free to let me know your thoughts! Jen x