5. chapter five
chapter five
he has his own daddy issues
I ’d always loved learning—it was the one thing that made school bearable. Before music took over, I’d spend nights in my room, tackling mock papers for exams I wasn’t due to take for another two years. But after the summer of Year 10, when I spent every spare moment fine-tuning my guitar skills and pouring myself into songwriting, studying started to slip away. By the time college came, I was checked out, only coming to life in the music block, where the practical lessons were the only part of the day that mattered.
Music and psychology were the courses I’d picked to study then, though for the life of me, I didn’t know why I’d chosen the latter.
The only explanation I could think of was that, back home, psychology was what you picked when you had no clue what you wanted to do with your life. You didn’t care about the complexities of the human brain, but at least it sounded like you did. That was the unspoken rule.
No one bought it, though. When someone asked, “What are you studying?” and you said, “Psychology,” they knew you were still figuring things out. You’d get the knowing nod, maybe a pat on the shoulder, followed by, “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.”
But that was different here. Or so it felt.
Here, when the campus woman who directed me to the building asked what I was here to study, and I said psychology, her brows raised, like she was impressed, and there was nothing sympathetic about her head nod at all.
If I were truly here because I was fascinated by the inner workings of the mind, and not sat in that class because it was the only course that had last minute space, I’d feel like the smartest fucker on this campus.
Well, I would have felt smart if it weren’t for the girl wearing my t-shirt sitting in the front row who raised her hand for every single question that Professor Whatshisname posed to us.
Usually with a cough. He does that a lot.
I knew her the moment I looked up from my phone—the building map I’d been squinting at suddenly forgotten. That wide-eyed gaze was the same one she had last night when I called down to her—the only star in the night sky.
I couldn’t tell if she remembered we’d locked eyes before, but when her gaze dropped to her soaked t-shirt, it was clear she had bigger things on her mind.
She was like a little lightning bolt, her hand striking through the air at such a speed that if I were taking this class because I cared about it, I would’ve wanted to blow my average-sized brains out and switch my major the first chance I got.
Major.
The word felt like an eye roll as it echoed through my head. What even was that, anyway? And why were the rules and regulations of studying over here so bloody complicated?
“Okay, class, that’s it for today. Great job, and remember to take things easy. Take time to get used to the campus. Oh, and make some time to go through pages eighty-eight to ninety-eight in the textbook before tomorrow. Any questions, feel free to holler at me on the way out.”
Professor Whatshisname addressed the room, a collective mumble echoing back at him shortly after. I’d try to do the reading if I found it in myself to pry open the textbook that could pass for an oversized doorstop. I would. But it was my first day, and I still had a lot to come to terms with.
I tried my best not to see the room I was sitting in as a prison, but it was hard. What was harder was that I had no one to blame but myself. So instead, I spent the whole two hours giving in to the strings of lyrics and the beginnings of melodies that I was surprised to feel swirling through my mind.
Whenever that happened, whenever inspiration struck, I usually tuned everything out to write whatever I could of it down. And in a packed lecture hall where the back row was barely under the lighting, it was easy to slip away. And given that I hadn’t been able to write anything since that night, I didn’t feel bad for mentally checking out of the class.
I was still trying to figure out a name for the three-quarters of a song I’d managed to draft as the class got out of their seats and shuffled out of the door, when my attention fell onto my shirt, and the brainbox who was wearing it.
Then the reason why every lyric in this song I suddenly had the inspiration to write revolved around a girl who reminded me of the sun when it shone through the windows became clear in my head.
I tore my eyes off her as she gathered her things from her seat, and instead of having her distract me more, I hurried my steps out of the room along with everyone else.
Two hours.
Two hours it’s taken me to get to this bloody dorm block. Whoever designed the subway system and the eight thousand different lines deserves jail time.
It had been a pain to memorise the tube map growing up, but having to figure out this monstrosity when I didn’t even know if I’d be here longer than a year felt impossible.
As I looked around for my building, my eyes blurring against the early evening chaos on the streets, I tried to make myself believe that this place was no different than London. I tried to make the yellow cabs black and the Target a Tesco. I tried to tell myself that the traffic looked identical to the kind that was racing towards the M25 back home.
But it was pointless—this wasn’t home. Even if that was a good thing, letting go of the home I used to love wasn’t easy.
This place was purgatory to me; somewhere I was stopping off and catching my breath before I got my shit together, cleared my head, set my sights on my future and strode back into the spotlight that I’d know how to exist under this time. I’d come to terms with everything and learn my lesson. And I’d be okay.
I had to be.
“Outta the way, asshole.”
I looked back over my shoulder at the bald bowling ball in a safety vest that grunted at me as he pushed past, his buddy to the left of him booming a laugh as he angled his head over his shoulder.
“Charming,” I muttered to myself, before rolling my eyes at the pair and dragging my eyes back to the street and keeping my head down all the way until I reached the address I’d been told I’d be living at.
I kept my eyes glued to the pavement until my phone’s map told me I’d arrived. Lifting my gaze, I scanned the buildings, finally spotting the one with the name I’d been looking for.
This isn’t home. This isn’t home. This isn’t home.
The chant rang in my ears, mingling with the car horns and the distant heckles as I pulled out my student ID to scan into the building. It was all I heard as I pushed past the revolving door and made headway for the lift. It was what made my head fall into my hands on the way up to the fifteenth floor.
You left home for a reason. You left home for a reason. You left home for a reason!
I screamed the words back at myself as the ding from the lift pulled me out of my thoughts, and as the doors glided open, two girls appeared on the other side.
Whatever conversation they were having died as their eyes landed on me. And despite the silent prayer recital I was doing in my head, one that pleaded with any type of God that these girls didn’t recognise me, their eyes widened, and their knowing smiles stretched.
“Holy shit, are you Tristan Harper?” The brunette asked, as though she were staring at music royalty, not some indie musician who had only just emerged into the limelight.
“Um, yeah.” I stuttered, my smile tightening as I watched the pair nervously pull at their sleeves, avoiding eye contact, like they’d turn to stone if they looked directly into them. “Yeah, that’s me.”
The blonde then sprang her head up, as the lift doors closed and the thing started going up again. “Oh my God,” she gasped, turning to her friend. “Is this the guy who sings ‘Second Star’?”
The brunette nodded at her. “Yep, and ‘Neverland’.”
Two of my songs that had gone the most viral, it seemed.
“Holy shit.” The blonde echoed before eyeing me. “Do you… go here?”
“No.” I fired back, as I watched the gleam leave their expressions. “Just visiting a friend.”
My dad’s voice sounded in my head, distant echoes of him telling me to keep to myself travelling to the deepest corners up there. He was right, though. No matter how much I didn’t want to admit it, he was.
I’d quickly realised that if there was any way to keep a low profile, and keep my secrets locked away for good, it was to stay in the shadows, and find a home somewhere among them. That meant keeping whatever circle of friends I’d make small, making sure that the ones I did keep close weren’t going to ask questions.
And if pretending that I didn’t go here, that being here was the last thing I ever wanted to do, if that steered people away from discovering the truth, then that was what I’d do.
Come to think of it, I’d do anything to make sure not a word of this slipped from my grasp and spread like flames across a forest.
“Oh.” The blonde sighed, and the few moments of silence made me think that whatever this was was over.
Until the brunette lifted her eyes back to me, her smile was the definition of flirty. “Well, maybe next time you’re in the building you can visit some new friends—”
The ding from the elevator as it reached my floor interrupted the end of her sentence, a sigh of relief rolling through me as I nudged past the pair and escaped into the corridor, their giggles fading out the further I walked away.
I followed the signs that led to my dorm, and soon enough I was standing in front of a door with a plastic sign reading ‘Dorm 1412’ bolted to the front. A rush of air fell from my nose before I eventually twisted the handle and stepped into the room.
Two identical twin beds greeted me as I crept in, though one side of the room already looked lived-in, decked out with posters and fresh bedding. To my left, the smallest kitchen I’d ever seen, and across from that, a tiny bathroom. The whole space was no bigger than the foyer in the Kensington townhouse. Charging students to live here felt like daylight robbery.
My Converse tapped on the wooden floor as I made my way to my side, spotting my guitars stacked at the foot of the bed. I opened the drawers to find my clothes, neatly folded—thanks to Janie, the sweetheart.
I tossed my backpack onto the dark grey sheets, unfamiliar but oddly comforting, like the clouds outside that now blocked the autumn sun, casting moody shadows across the room.
Pathetic fallacy being a knob, as per.
I launched myself up onto the bed, surprise rolling through me as I sank into the soft mattress and cosy sheets. I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the opposite side of the room, tracing the decor that my roommate had set up, when I caught a glimpse of a figure in my peripheral, my head snapping to face it.
“Do you plan on leaving our door open for strangers to walk into all the time?” The guy with hair that looked like a blonde version of mine, green eyes, and a broad build snickered as he emerged through the door and closed it behind him.
It was pathetic how quickly my heartbeat began to spike, and I felt my breaths shift from light to heavy.
Breathe; it’s okay. You’ll be okay, so long as you keep to yourself.
I shrugged as I took him in, before getting a grip on my breathing, not wanting to let my guard down just yet. “If it means you start complaining about my unruly roommate etiquette to the university, meaning I get to go home, then I might just.”
The lies that clung to the tip of my tongue washed a fresh wave of nausea all over me, guilt swilling in my stomach that this was what my life had come to: lying to hide my past, lying about not wanting to be here, lying about everything.
I watched as a smirk bloomed across the guy’s face, quite devilish for someone so innocent-looking, as he took a seat on his bed, mirroring me. “Who would have thought it? The rockstar that is Tristan Harper, stuck in a dorm with a nobody.”
My breath hitched as his words reached my ears.
Bloody brilliant. The guy knows who I am.
I shake my head as a laugh erupts out of me, fake as anything. “Do you want a picture now, or do you want me to sign your arse or something?”
My roommate throws his head back as a deep laugh echoes around the room. “You know, I’m good. You’re not exactly my type of artist. I only know your face because it’s like… everywhere.” As I pull my lips in tight and nod at him, he sticks a hand out in the space between us. “But it’s nice to meet you. I’m Finn.”
I eye Finn before I eventually shake his hand; the worry that I’d felt seemed to fall off my back like water droplets off an umbrella.
“So what brings you here, Tristan ?” The mock-British accent Finn puts on as he says my name makes me laugh, my first proper laugh since this morning.
A sigh rolls out of me as I push myself back against the wall, the tales and the lies I could go with to throw everyone off the scent of the truth piled up on the tip of my tongue, before I eventually plucked one from the pile and blurted out, “My parents.”
I cleared my throat, if only to give myself time to think about my story, until a light bulb went off in a dark corner of my brain. “They don’t think that I should fully trust what’s happening with my music, not until I’m certain that it’s going to support me for the rest of my life.”
Finn’s brows pulled together, seeming to buy the lie. “But you’re everywhere right now? Are you not making like a thousand dollars a second?”
I huffed a laugh, shuffling to escape the nerves. “It seems that everywhere isn’t enough.” I pull at my fingers for a second, dipping my eyes before I put them back on Finn. "And... not exactly. But I have enough that I could probably secure both you and me private off-campus accommodations for the next four years within the hour, if I wanted to.” Finn’s eyes get comically wide as I say that. “But my parents don’t want me to trust it, hence why I’m here getting a psychology degree that I never wanted in the first place.”
Not exactly a lie, but far from the truth. Still, it worked. Anything that kept my chances of getting an album and building a career after this was good enough. That’s what I was starting to tell myself, anyway—like I had any other choice but to believe it.
“So, like a backup plan?” Finn asks, undoing the laces of his high tops.
“I guess.” I shrugged, wanting to get off the subject. “But it’s still a piss take.”
Finn shrugs, and at the same time the corners of his mouth fall. “At least they care about you enough to give you a backup plan. You could be like me and my sister and be sent here with nothing but a pat on the back and the realisation that your dad has finally given up caring about what you do.”
Hmm, I sense Daddy issues with this one.
When the silence lingers just a second too long, Finn looks up at me. “Sorry, I’ll save the rest of that humbling story for when we’ve known each other longer than two minutes.”
The kid in me, the one who spent break times alone on a bench in the playground, is screaming to trust him, to finally build the kind of friendship I’ve never had before. But giving in that easily was what got me here in the first place.
My head grew heavy as the memories drowned me, reminding me what happened for me to be sat here right now, when I walkedwillingly into the dark.
january, 2023
“Fucking pussy. You really aren’t gonna get far mate if a few linesare making you nervous.”
Such class from Andreas Mandeville; heir to the Camp Mandevilleempire.
I wouldn’t have expected this from the son of the man who wasresponsible for all our childhood staycation memories. Andreas didn’t look like the smiling kid from the adverts anymore—the one with auburn hair, green eyes, and a grin that could light up a room. No, this version of him had wild pupils, and his hair a mess of curls as he leaned down to snort two quick lines. He arched his back with a groan, the noise getting lost somewhere between the thumping of my heart and the god-awful music this club insisted on paying. Even in the toilets.
“Fuck me, that shit is awful.” His head lolled back unnervingly, eyesblack as ink when they found me again.
I frowned, meeting his gaze. "Then why do it?"
“God these toilets are vile!”
His entourage that I’d brushed past earlier— a girl and aguy—stumbled out of the neon haze from the club and fell in line behind him, as Andreas stared straight through me. As though what I’d asked held the most obvious answer.
“I meant that the Charlie is fucking awful, you pillock.” He laugheduntil it dissolved into a cough, and his friends eyed me, expressions shifting to that wide-eyed recognition I was starting to get used to.
The girl with the platinum blonde bob blinked, her ‘My dad owns halfof Mayfair’ accent cutting through the air. “Are you having a laugh? What the fuck is Tristan Harper doing in the Palm 22 toilets?”
I honestly wasn’t too sure of the answer to that right now.
I had come here thinking I’d finally found my place, a glitteringspace where I could mingle with people my age, people who’d understand me. The most exclusive club in London—where the air hummed with ambition, and I’d swim with the sharks I needed to befriend before they devoured me whole. This was supposed to be the night my life would truly begin, the moment I stepped into the current of the world I longed to belong to.
I was somebody now.
And these were the other somebodies I had dreamt of—ones Ihoped would take me under their wing, guiding me through the maze of my dreams, which had finally transformed into my reality.
But after ten minutes of standing awkwardly by the bar, clutching adrink I was just old enough to order, the air felt different. That’s when Andreas approached. His eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that reminded me of a lion catching sight of a gazelle hidden in the tall grass—predatory, inevitable.
“Who is he, Myma?” The bloke with the frosted tips, that I had todo a double take on, asked as he leant down.
Myma turned around a second later, disgust masking her face. “Youknow that song we literally cannot stop playing, the one about Neverland?”
“Yeah?”
She stretched her hand in my direction, and I didn’t know whatelse to do but lift my hand and offer an awkward wave.
Frosted Tips’ looked over at me, slowly nodding as he studied myface. “Righttt,” He drawled. “The newbie that everyone’s talking about.” He said with a nod, before looking over at Andreas, who had finished off another three lines while we’d been talking. “You’re adopting em’ quick these days, aren’t you Mandy?”
Andreas shrugged as he tossed the rolled up ￡50 note to Myma,who seemed to get all giddy when the thing was between her fingers, before she leaned down over the hand dryer and proceeded to snort the new lines Andreas had assembled. “Yeah but I might take him back to the orphanage.” He dropped his weighty stare back onto me, nodding his chin. “Pussied out of a line.”
This wasn’t the Andreas who’d approached me an hour ago. That guywas well-spoken, funny, and seemed like the type of person who’d be perfect for what I needed; a friend to guide me through this new life.
But three lines later and he’s an arsehole of the highest degree.
My skin flushed as I felt the attention of all three of them swoop down on me, their eyes like claws picking away at the cage I’d for some reason locked myself in.
I wasn’t used to this: being around drugs and hearing them beingtalked about so casually. As though we were a bunch of Year 5’s who were taking turns to get out share of the sherbert in a DibDab. I think that’s what it was; the casualty of it. All my life I’d been sheltered from the social pressures of getting into something like this.
But now, standing here, it was like they could see right through me,picking apart my hesitation.
"Oh, not another wet flannel. We’ve only just got over fuckingRupert and his holy than-thou horseshit.” Frosted Tips groaned as he looked at me. Shaking his head like I’d disowned his entire family, not turned down a Class A drug.
I shrug my shoulders, my twitchy fingers pulling at the hem ofmy black shirt. “I just… haven’t done it before. That’s all.”
Myma, who’d been savouring her lines finally came back up for air,not missing a beat when she stretched out her hand towards me. Holding out the rolled up ￡50. For me.
“Take the plunge while you can, Harper. Trust me, this is all themusic industry is.”
Now that I was properly looking at her, and taking in her nickname,I realised who she was.
Jemyma Auckland: Jem, to the rest of the world. And the girl whowas currently rivalling me for the top spot in the charts.
She clearly saw the realisation written across my face, to which shesimply grabbed my hand, pulled open my clenched fists and slipped the roll into my hand. Her glacier-blue eyes blinked up at me, a smirk slicking her mouth. “Second place in this weeks charts owes the other a line, so you better get started.” She nodded to the hand dryer, where Andreas and Frosted Tips were hunched over. “How will you know which dealer has the kind I like if you’ve never tasted it before?”
I shake the image of me leaning over the hand dryer and eyeing upwhatever Andreas and the rest of them had left for me out of my head, blocking out how I could still feel the residue of the power gritting between my fingertips, burning the insides of my nose, before my breaths got too heavy and noticeable.
I peered back up at Finn. “Yeah, I suppose.” And while theconversation is still on him, I sit up straighter and clasp my hands together. “So, you’re here with your sister?”
He nods, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “Daisy, yeah. She’s mytwin. She’ll tell you that Liberty was her idea, and she’s right, but if I’m being honest, I couldn’t stand the thought of being on separate ends of the country, especially after…” His eyes wandered, before falling back on me. “Well, it’s not important. But she wanted to see the city, and after growing up in the smallest town in Montana, only in the last few years has the charm of it started to wear off.”
I nod back at him, pinpointing the accent that I couldn’t make outbefore.
Finn kicks his shoes off as he leans back against the wall. “You’llmeet her at some point, probably at one of my games. If you ever wanted to come to one, that is.”
I feel my brows tug. “Games?”
It’s then that he points to the jersey he’s wearing, the logo andsignature green and gold colours only now becoming recognisable. “I made the Liberty Lions ice hockey team. Luckily, I got scouted before graduation and landed a scholarship, otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now.”
I blew out a sigh. “Jesus, you must be good, then.”
Finn nodded, a bright smile beaming on his face. “It’s my life. Icouldn’t imagine loving anything more than the game.”
I tore my gaze out the window between our beds, my mindwandering before training my eyes back on Finn. “I’ve actually always wanted to see what the hype was about American sports, so I might take you up on that.”
“First game of the season is next week if you’re up for it,” heshrugged, before pushing himself off the bed and wandering towards the fridge.
I didn’t want to cling to how pathetic the ‘yes’ I called in my headsounded, because this place was supposed to be an escape from everything I was trying to run from. This place was filled with distractions and easy ways I could forget the person I’d become to make headspace for who I wanted to be.
It’s a fresh start.
My dad’s words sounded in my head again, and something about themmade the corner of my mouth tug up.
Small circle. In the shadows. Don’t get too close.
So long as I stuck to those rules and kept my past in the past, I’dbe okay.
“So,” Finn’s voice broke me out of my thoughts as he launched backon his bed. “Are you coming to this welcome event for the freshman?”
My eyes narrowed. “Do I have to?”
“Well,” he huffed, plucking a small black puck off his shelf, tossing it in the air and catching it. “I hear the snacks are supposed to be the best out of all the New York universities.” I kept my stare on him before blinking. Finn tossed the puck between his hands, right before his eyes widened. “My buddy Jesse is coming too, he’s also on the Lions team with me. He’s pretty chill, and hasn’t listened to any music that wasn’t made in the eighties ever since I’ve known him, so he’ll be clueless about who you are.”
Someone who didn’t know me or cared who I was sounded like the perfect type of person to be around. But still, I tilted my head at Finn before he tossed the puck over to me and sighed, “I’ll stand in front of you if anyone recognises you.”
The clammy puck landed in my hands, and as I threw it betweenthem, I took a quick glance over Finn’s six-foot-four frame, realising that was all the convincing I needed to go this thing and blend in.
Maybe I’d count his as one of the shadows where I made a home formyself.
“Fine.”