29. Megan
Chapter 29
Megan
I can’t sleep.
I’ve no idea why Ollie started banging on about cows earlier, but what he said has worked its way under my skin.
Maybe there is something wrong with my environment, or my nutrients. I spend a lot of time working on improving myself; looking after my body, journaling, manifesting, setting goals and intentions. I’m a sucker for a life hack and a mindset shift but, so far, nothing has made an ounce of difference.
Normally when I'm spiraling, I'll grab my journal, but I can't even work through these feelings because the sound of Ollie laughing in his bedroom keeps coming through the wall. Cycles of explosive laughter, then a brief pause before ramping up again.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I grab my phone from my nightstand and pull up our text chat.
Me: What's so funny?
Ollie: 2 secs
Two seconds?
Literally, two seconds later, he throws the door to my bedroom open wide. Backlit from the hallway, Ollie is a looming silhouette, and I yank my covers up to my chest. Not that I was naked or anything, but it hardly seems appropriate for him to see me in sleepwear while I’m in bed.
Even in shadow, I can tell Ollie’s only wearing shorts, but I barely have time to register that fact before he launches himself face down on the empty side of my bed, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Look at this,” he says, fiddling with his phone.
I panic, eyes darting around the room, determined to look anywhere but at his toned arms and bare chest. I can’t even remember the last time I had a man in this bed, and I can feel the warmth of his skin even without touching him.
“This probably isn’t even that funny, but I can’t stop watching it.”
He swipes back to the start of a video and angles the phone towards me.
On screen, a man is hiding up a tree, shock on his face as he points to something off camera. The video pans to a clearing in the woods where a bright blue campervan sits with the side door open, two deckchairs and a folding table set outside. It looks like a lovely spot for morning coffee, until the van wobbles, and a huge bear appears in the doorway.
“Oh my gosh, is that why they’re up the tree?”
“Keep watching,” Ollie says, shifting closer so we can both see the screen.
The bear leaps out of the van, has a sniff around the dining set-up, then once it’s had enough, it wanders off, but not before pausing to rear onto its hind legs. It stands tall and tilts its head to one side as it stares directly at the camera. My heart rate rockets and I grab Ollie's arm, convinced I’m about to see a person being mauled to death. Students love to show me jump scare videos, and I’ve fallen for them far too many times.
But no. Instead of running towards the camera, the bear simply lifts one paw, gives a little wave, then bounds off into the forest. The video ends with a woman turning the screen back on herself, one hand over her mouth as she tries to hold back her giggles.
I burst out laughing, too. “Is that a real bear?”
“Yes!” he says, slapping one hand down on my covers. Reluctantly, I let go of his arm.
“Show me again.”
This video is just as funny the second time; the bear’s curious face, the human-like expression as it gives a cheery little hello. On the third viewing, I pay more attention to their camping set up.
“Their van is cool. I hope there was no damage.”
“Right? I’ve watched all their videos. They started out with an empty shell like mine, but you’d never be able to tell from all the stuff they’ve done to it. Want to see?”
“Sure.”
He boosts himself up, sitting back against the headboard, just like I am. Holding his phone between us, he scrolls through his saved videos and plays a few for me. It really is incredible seeing what people can do with the bones of a van, but more impressive are the places it allows them to go.
“Wait, what’s that one?” I ask when he scrolls by a video of a sunset.
“Oh, that’s Norfolk.”
He scrolls back up, and on screen two people pack up their van while an instrumental piece of music plays over the top. They’re mostly in silhouette as the day turns to dusk, and when the camera slowly zooms out, my focus shifts to the incredible sunset in the background. Lit up in bright pinks and purple, the wide sky reflects in the calm sea below and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. A flock of geese appears overhead, hundreds of them flying in their classic v-shaped formation.
In the foreground, the woman closes the van doors, and the couple step into the middle of the frame, wrapping their arms around each other as the music builds to a crescendo. It is hauntingly beautiful. The video ends with her resting her head on his shoulder, and him turning to press a kiss against her hair before it loops back to play again.
“Are you OK?” Ollie asks softly. A tear plops from my cheek to my chest. He pauses it and sets his phone down by his side. “Hey, come here. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
He shifts closer still, and when he loops one arm around my shoulders, my body curls naturally into his side. My hand lands on the tattooed skin above his hip, my face pressed against that warm expanse of toned chest muscles.
“I’m sorry, I cry at everything,” I sniff, too embarrassed to pull away, let alone attempt to explain why the idea of other people being happy has me so on edge.
“Yeah, I have to skip past videos of soldiers being reunited with their dogs or I lose it. And I’ve never even owned a dog. Dad said they’d ruin the carpets.” When he tries to laugh it off, the rumble of his chest against my cheek is all the reassurance I need that I’m not being a silly little girl who gets emotional over nothing.
“I’m going to go there one day, when the van is ready, you know? I want to see it for myself. It’s ridiculous though. Norfolk is only a few hours away. I could go tomorrow if I wanted to. I don’t know what’s stopping me.”
“It will be worth the wait.”
“Yeah, the best things are,” he says softly.
We sit like that for a while, him stroking his hand up and down my arm, my fingers flexing against the tattoo. I’ve never been with a man with tattoos, and I wonder what it would be like to trace it with my tongue.
Ollie catches me staring. “What?”
“Your tattoo.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s so…” Don’t say hot. “Detailed.”
I only got the briefest of glances when I accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom all those weeks ago. Up close I see the flock of birds that rise from the front of his hip, twisting around his torso to end on his shoulder, is actually a mix of birds and music notes. My fingertips press into the notes one by one.
“How long have you had it?”
“Not long after my eighteenth birthday. An act of rebellion when my parents were giving me a hard time about declining university offers. It’s kind of dumb. I wanted something to represent freedom and my love of music.”
His guitar sits in the corner of his room. I never hear him play it, which makes me wonder if something took away his love for it.
“Was it painful?”
“A little around the ribs,” he says, lifting his arm and tracing that spot with his fingers. He smells like his body wash and clean skin, and I have the strongest urge to rub my face up against him. I should do the sensible thing and sit back, but the arm around my shoulder is like a weighted blanket, pinning me in place and calming me down.
“And the earrings?” I ask, because I’ve been dying to know.
“Dad once said only women could wear earrings, so I pierced them myself to prove him wrong.”
My head springs back in horror, and I realise just how close we are, my lips almost grazing his jawline. “Ouch. How old were you?”
“Fifteen,” he says, laughing at my horrified reaction. “I know, outrageous. Do you have any tattoos or piercings?”
“I’m not that rebellious,” I whisper, because anything else feels too loud when you’re this close to another person. His eyes meet mine in the low light of the room.
“I don’t know about that,” he whispers back. “I think you’ve probably got a rebellious side. Maybe you just don’t know how to let her out yet.”
My lips press together as his words wash over me. If I truly was rebellious, I’d tip my head up and kiss him. It’s been so long since I was in bed with someone. So long since I was this close to a semi-naked man. My skin tingles, my body longing to be touched, kissed, explored.
But I’m not rebellious, and that's the problem.
I’m me, and he’s him, and even thinking about the idea of kissing him is so unacceptable, I’m mostly relieved when he looks away. He lifts his arm and lets me settle back into my pillow. All I can do is watch him leave.
“Night, Megan,” he says, pulling the door closed behind him before I can reply.
All that would come out is a needy whine, anyway. I won’t let myself entertain thoughts of what I could do or say to make him stay and hold me a little longer. I might be desperate to find a boyfriend, but I’m not desperate enough to ask Ollie to be a substitute because I’ve had no luck on my own.
I roll onto my front, into the warm space he’s left behind. My pillow smells of him, the scent of his skin from his evening shower, and when I inhale deeply, my thighs press together instinctively. I won’t be able to sleep until I take the edge off.
Reaching for the vibrator in my bedside drawer, I close my eyes and think about all the things that would happen if the future love of my life was here. I might be looking for a man like Paul Newman, but when my orgasm finally washes over me, the only face I see is Ollie’s.
And while this is not the first time this has happened, it absolutely needs to be the last.