23. Nineteen years old
Nineteen years old
Sam
The club’s jammed. End of term chaos, with bodies pressed tight and music so loud you can barely hear yourself think.
I should’ve known this was a bad idea the second we walked in, but Kath’s already out on the dance floor, hair swaying, dress riding up her thighs, screaming the chorus to a song I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard before.
I came here to see my friend, I remind myself. My very, very hot best friend, part of me whispers back. A best friend who looks beautiful, with strands of hair tumbling out of the messy bun she’s just made, and make-up on that makes her eyes look even more striking.
“Do you want anything?” Kath appears at my side, taking a break from the dance floor. “Shona and I are going to the bathroom and then I’m heading to the bar on my way back.”
“Just water, thanks.”
A few minutes later she passes me a glass of water. I look suspiciously at the bottle in her hand.
“That drink’s as blue as pool water.”
“It’s also obnoxiously sweet.” She grins. “Basically gives me a massive sugar high.”
I chuckle, sipping from my glass while she gulps her drink down.
I look at it critically. I’ve never had one and probably won’t for a while.
Swimming training doesn’t exactly mix with alcohol.
Like it doesn’t mix with girlfriends, weekend trips with friends or lie-ins.
But all those sacrifices are worth it, they have to be.
I’ve gone so far down this path that there isn’t another option.
There’s no point thinking about what-ifs…
even when they’re standing right in front of me.
“I remember what happened when you had too many of those in freshers’ week,” a guy pipes up from next to us.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Kath groans. “I want to drink this without the memories.”
“I don’t believe you actually have any memories of that,” the guy quips.
“I have enough,” she shoots back.
“What happened?” I ask, curious.
“Oh, I drank too many, and then my tongue was dyed blue for three days.” She shrugs, clearly embarrassed.
I laugh. “I can imagine that.”
“All right, big guy,” Kath retorts, narrowing her eyes. “Just because you can’t drink at your fancy American uni.”
Grinning I raise my hands in defence, and she takes another gulp.
Yeah, that drink looks far too blue. Looking around the group, I realise that I’ve already forgotten half of their names.
They’ve got a whole shorthand I don’t speak, jokes about a lecturer who says “super” every other word and plans for a library booth they all seem to own by squatter’s rights.
Flo rolls her eyes and Kath rolls hers back, perfectly in sync, and I realise there are stories here I wasn’t in.
I’m not used to Kath having stories without me.
“Let’s dance,” she says suddenly.
“You know I’m an awful dancer, KitKat.”
“Aww come on,” she begs, tugging at my arm. “Just this once. Please. For the pirate’s code.”
“The code?” one of her friends asks.
“Weird childhood thing.” Kath forcibly grabs my hand and starts to pull me towards the dance floor.
“I’m pretty sure the pirate’s code doesn’t have any dancing clauses in it.” I look around desperately for a spot that won’t involve anyone stepping on my toes.
“Well, I’ve added one in. Addendum fifteen.”
I sigh. “Fine.” It’s always impossible to say no to Kath.
I stand awkwardly, bopping my head, arms moving side to side like an idiot.
But I can still see people looking, or more specifically, people looking at Kath.
One of the football lads leans in towards her, trying to shout something in her ear.
I have to clench my jaw and remind myself not to step in.
She’s not mine. She’s never been mine.
I wouldn’t be good for her, anyway. Actually, I wouldn’t be good for anyone. I barely have time to keep up with my schoolwork, let alone be there for someone else. Swimming takes up all my time, more so than it ever used to. And I’m not even on the same continent as her.
Something slower starts, and Kath hooks her arms around my neck. My hands land on her waist before I can stop them.
“I know you can do better than that.” She forces me to sway with her.
Time seems to fold in on itself and blur.
It reminds me of that school disco all those years ago, dancing awkwardly in the gym.
Except instead of Robbie Williams’ ‘Angels’ this is Ed Sheeran.
Different song. Same girl. Same stupid grin on my face.
Maybe dancing isn’t so bad if you have the right partner.
“You know, I think you’re bigger than when you left.” Her fingers brush my arm like she’s testing the difference.
I swallow hard at her touch. “Yeah? Coach has us doing a lot of weights. I’m still one of the smaller guys, though.”
Her hand curls back up around my neck, playing with the loose strands of hair, and I shiver. It feels too good. And it just reminds me of all the things I can’t have. I think I must make a face because she suddenly pulls back.
“Oh shit,” she blurts. “Do you have a girlfriend? Should we not be dancing?”
It’s like a bucket of cold water.
“What? No—of course not,” I say quickly, horrified she’d even think that. “I don’t do girlfriends, remember? That’s the whole reason… No. Definitely not.”
She exhales, then shakes her head, muttering, “God, I’m such an idiot.” Her hand slips from my arm, and for a second I think she’s about to leave.
I catch her wrist gently. “Kath—”
She looks up, cheeks flushed from more than the dancing. For a second, the air between us changes, and I’m sure she’s going to close the gap. My pulse hammers, waiting, wanting—
“We should go home,” Kath mumbles. “I’ve got to be up early to write an essay tomorrow anyway.”
“But it’s the Christmas holidays…”
She just shrugs and heads off to say goodbye to her friends. A few minutes later, we’re outside in the cold, her arm tucked through mine as we weave down the quiet street back towards her accommodation.
“You’re really going to study tomorrow?” I ask once the music has faded behind us.
“Yep, when you’re training. You said you needed to do a pool session, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to go to the library.”
I glance at her. “Kath, it’s the weekend. And it’s the Christmas holidays. You can’t seriously—”
“I have to,” she cuts me off, voice firm. “I want to stay ahead. There’s a mountain of reading I haven’t touched, and I need to make progress on my lab report before I go home next week. Otherwise I’ll fall behind, and I can’t afford that.”
“You’ve been at it non-stop since September,” I remind her. “Every time I call, you’re going to the library or just leaving it. Don’t you ever just… take a day?”
Her breath comes out in a white puff. “If I stop, I’ll lose momentum. And if I lose momentum, I’ll drown.”
There’s no humour in her tone, and the words sit heavy in my chest.
“You know, burning yourself out isn’t going to help either.”
“I’m fine,” she insists.
I let the subject go, but as we climb the stairs to her building, I can’t shake the thought that Kath’s running herself into the ground, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, because instead of being with her all the time, I’m an ocean away, struggling not to drown too.
When we get back to her room I stare at the queen-sized bed, suddenly feeling awkward.
I knew we’d be sharing. There’s no way we could fit a spare mattress in here, but knowing we’d be sharing and actually doing it somehow feels different.
Maybe it’s because the last time we shared a bed we were doing a lot more than sleeping in it.
But neither of us have brought that up since we ended our arrangement.
Kath goes to the bathroom, and when she comes back I do a double take.
“Is that one of my old T-shirts from when we were at school?” I accuse her. She has the decency to blush. “I was wondering where it went.”
She twirls in the British Schools T-shirt. “I’m like a magpie, but instead of shiny things I hoard old swimming T-shirts.”
They suit her better than me.
“You won’t make it back from Rio with a single shirt,” she warns and I shrug. I was already planning on her stealing most of them. I look at the bed again. Has it got smaller since I last glanced at it?
“So.” Kath’s eyes dart to her bed, then back at me. “How do you want to…?”
“Whatever you want.”
An awkward pause stretches, as we try to work out who’s going to be next to the wall. But I know it’ll be Kath. She always sleeps on the left side of the bed.
As I go to the bathroom to get ready, I wonder whether platonic bed sharing is one of the worst ideas we’ve ever had. I already know that I’m going to spend the next hour trying to find the ceiling extremely interesting in lieu of watching Kath’s eyes flutter closed.
When I get back, she’s already tucked under the covers, curled into the far corner.
Her pillow is angled protectively, almost like a shield.
I’d laugh, but it just makes me remember how easy things were in the summer.
How I could pull her close before we slept and neither of us would think anything of it.
I slide into my side of the bed. The mattress shifts, and the scent of Kath’s shampoo envelops me. It starts to become incredibly difficult to tell my body that sharing a bed with Kath is not in fact a prelude to something else.
“You OK?” she murmurs.
“Yep.” I think my voice sounds steady. “You?”
“Just tired,” she yawns.
I want to say something about how she used to sleep well when her head was on my chest. About how she said she’d slept better when we shared. I want to turn towards her and say her name in the way I used to over the summer, to see if she’d still reach for me.
But I can’t do any of those things. Instead, I tangle my fingers in the blanket, take a deep breath and try to think of anything other than how good it feels to have my best friend sleeping beside me again.