Chapter 4
Arthur
My heart has essentially been in my throat for the remainder of the day. I’ve heard various voices and steps echoing up and down the corridor of the flat, but I know for definite that my flatmates are now all in the building. It’s been nearly 6 hours since my parents left, and do you know what I’ve done during all that time? I’ve sat here on my bed like an absolute lemon as I try to rehearse how I’m going to introduce myself, if I can muster the courage to open that door and talk to my housemates like a normal human being that is. This is just yet another thing I can add to my extensive list of self-loathing, pre-planning conversations. It’s like the universe shoves me in a social situation and it’s practically impossible for me to function without some sort of script. It’s gotten so bad lately that if someone doesn’t respond in the way I’ve imagined them to, or in other words, they go ‘off script,’ I go into panic mode. It’s happened time and time again back home when I’ve been forced to come out of my room and interact with family friends, (emphasis on family friends, e.g., not mine). I break into a full-blown sweat and trip all over my words, cursing myself after the conversation and thinking of all the possible ways I could have done it better. I’m aware that my flatmates probably think I’m either the rudest person in the world or just one of those strange hermits who don’t ever leave the vicinity of their room, only surfacing during the middle of the night to get food. Right now, it appears I’m starting to sound more like the latter. Speaking of only surfacing to get food, my stomach starts to growl. I’m aware that the only thing I managed to keep down this morning was a breakfast bagel and that was a struggle in itself thanks to nausea. I know I’m hungry and access to my food is a mere 3ft away in the kitchen, but the fear of going in there is far outweighing the hunger right now.
Suddenly the weight of my thoughts is interrupted by the sound of a knock on my door.
Oh shit.
“Um, hello? Is anyone in there?,” a deep male voice asks.
Thick sweat starts to seep down my back as I stand up and get ready to open the door. They’ve likely already seen my stuff in the cupboards and put two and two together that there’s someone else here, it’s not like I can try and pretend I’m not in, as much as I want to.
“Yeah sorry, hang on a second...I’m just…changing,” I say behind the door.
Changing? Well done Arthur, it sounds like you’re naked in there now.
With a shaking hand, I take a deep breath, pull down the door handle, and open it to reveal a short guy with ginger hair cropped close to his head and stubble to match. He looks friendly enough standing there in his black corduroy jacket and jeans with a smile on his face.
“Oh hey, thank god you’re in there. Sorry mate we were all just starting to worry whether you hadn’t shown up and that we’d have to end up paying more for bills because of the spare room!”
I awkwardly laugh, trying to think of an appropriate response. “Ha, no don’t worry. Sorry I didn’t come out sooner, it’s taken me nearly all day to unpack in here,” I lie, gesturing to the nearly spotless room.
The guy doesn’t seem to catch on, “Ah yeah, you’re good sorting it out now. Mine still looks like a shithole to be honest, I probably won’t end up sorting it until we move out! I’m Sam by the way,” he offers out his hand.
The anxiety in the pit of my stomach starts to ease slightly, like the settling of the shore after a heavy storm. “Arthur,” I smile.
“Nice to meet you mate. Well, now we know there’s a sign of life and we can chill our boots now, we were all having a chat earlier about heading out to the SU for that silent disco later if you fancied coming with us?”
Okay scrap what I said, storms back.
The fear in my stomach starts to rapidly bubble to the surface again like choppy waves. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be social and have fun just as much as the next person. I’m sure somewhere in an alternate reality, Arthur Kirby is a raging extrovert who has tons of mates and a partner. That Arthur Kirby isn’t a burden, he loves easily and is easily loved in return. He thrives through life and isn’t cooped up in his head, not just surviving but living. I envy him.
Believe it or not, I’m not a big partier. I was never invited to any in sixth form, I wouldn’t have gone anyway, but everyone wants to at least be given the offer, right? As for drinking, I have the odd pint at home in the privacy of my bedroom whilst sitting with a book or in front of the TV, but I’ve never had enough to be drunk. Probably because I’ve seen Dad pissed like a fart on a Friday night after the pub and I get even more ridiculed by him then than I do when he’s sober. So yeah, not the best advocate for it.
As if Sam can sense my internal dread, or more likely can read the pained expression that’s obviously sprawled all over my face, he gives me a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to drink or anything if you don’t fancy it. I’m not a massive clubber so I wouldn’t usually be up for that sort of thing to be honest, but this sounds like it could be a laugh.” He swallows down a chuckle, “And I don’t know about you, but I’m a big people watcher and this is the best place to do it.”
Although the niggling voice in my head is telling me over and over again to just stay within the safety of my four walls, the tiny fraction of my mind that wants to do something with my life pipes up and somehow travels through to my mouth, taking on a voice of its own.
“Yeah sure, sounds fun,” I blurt out uncontrollably.
“Brill!,” Sam smiles, “we’re all going to have Pre’s in the kitchen at like 10:00ish if you want to join and then head out to the bus at like 11:00?”
11:00? I usually crashed out in bed long before that. Fuck I sound old.
I gulp down the bubble in my throat and give my most convincing, “Cool.”
Sam is just about to head back down the corridor when he suddenly turns back around on his heels. “Not to sound like your mum or anything, but have you had tea yet? Some of the others were desperate to try out the oven to see if it works, so they all had their stuff, but me being the lazy twat I am, was just going to order a dominos. Did you want to join? You might not be able to sit down because of all the shit in there, but the offers there.”
I stop in my tracks. He wantsto hang out with me. Before I can self-sabotage any further, I immediately say, “Yeah great.”
“Tidy. I was going to order it in a minute if you want to just do it now? Didn’t know if you had any other plans.”
Yes, if you count staring at the wall and wallowing in self-pity. Now I just sound like the Grinch when he recites all the reasons why he can’t spend Christmas in Whoville.
Right, I need to grow some balls now. “I could definitely eat; I’m starving, to be honest.”
“Yeah, same. You can come now if you want, my phone’s in there so we can order it on the app,” and before I can give into that voice, I’m following him down the corridor.
◆◆◆
“Wait- you spat…on her parents?,” I ask Sam trying to contain my laughter.
We’d ordered pizza and just chatted for hours. Pre’s didn’t even end up happening as two of our flatmates, Saffron and Rosie, had gotten pissed and headed out early, if the cackling and manic clip-clopping of heels up the corridor were anything to go by. As for our other flatmate George, who I also hadn’t met yet and wasn’t sure whether I wanted to, judging by the intense smell of weed coming from his bedroom and ‘the ballad of John and Yoko’ blaring through the walls, I’d say he’d opted for hotboxing rather than disco dancing tonight.
“You make it sound like I’m a right prick who just chose to spit on them on purpose,” Sam says faux-accusingly.
I’d found out a lot about Sam in the past couple of hours. He’s studying Philosophy because he wants to appear more interesting than he is at family get-togethers, he’s one of 5 siblings, and he has an irrational fear of goats since one bit him as a kid at a farm park, (now only referring to them as ‘the devil’s sheep’), and he accidentally spat ice cream all over his girlfriend’s parents when he was laughing at a joke that she told during their first family dinner. I also learned that ‘girlfriend’ quickly earned the title of ‘ex’ after that night.
He was a laugh, to be honest. I didn’t feel anywhere near as awkward as I envisioned I would. That’s the funny thing about anxiety, I build myself up about the what ifs until I feel like I’m going to burst. But in the process, I end up preventing myself from getting the chance to experience the good things. In fairness, I don’t even think I’d have left my room if Sam hadn’t knocked on my door, but that’s all I need sometimes, someone who’s willing to take a chance on getting to know me. I’m not saying we’re going to hold hands and dance through a field of daisies, I’ve only known him for a few hours after all, but you get what I mean. Sometimes you just need a mate and right now, I might actually be on my way to getting one.
After a very dire 30 minutes later of waiting at the bus stop for a bus that never arrived, Sam and I make the executive, and very expensive decision to Uber it to the SU. I’d ruffled my hair with a bit of water, and chucked on a navy shirt, beige aviator jacket, a dark pair of jeans, and white trainers, I had no idea if that was the right type of thing that people wore ‘out out,’ but in all honesty, I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, I just wanted to make it through the night unscathed, and for once in my life, have a bit of fun. My breathing starts to pick up in rapid shallow breaths as we enter the building, I can practically hear the pulse in my ears over the sound of the large crowds.
Noticing my inner turmoil, Sam passes me over a pair of neon headphones, “Stick these on mate.”
I gently place them over my ears, scroll down the ‘chill playlist’ on my phone, and eventually click ‘Empire Antz’ by Gorillaz, (if you’ve never listened to it, wait for the baseline, and thank me later). I shut my eyes and desperately try to let the waves of fear wash over my head as I awkwardly sway to the music. I have no idea what Sam is listening to, but when I open my eyes for a split second, I see him busting out the moves. I let out a breathy laugh but inwardly, I envied how he could just relax. He doesn’t seem to give a damn about what anyone else thinks and just lets loose. Meanwhile, I’m over here like a deer in the headlights with two left hooves. Five minutes later, I open my eyes again, ready to pick yet another chill song, when I feel an almighty thud against my back. The impact winds me, causing me to drop my phone to the floor. As I go to pick it up, I breathe an initial sigh of relief when I realise it’s not smashed, just lovely and…sticky.
“Lookwaaayoudid!,” a girl with bright red curls practically scream-slurs into my ears, whilst pointing her finger to, I imagine, by the look of pure guilt on her face, the pretty Brunette culprit in the tight lacy black dress and knee-high boots, (not that I noticed she was pretty, or that the dress was tight). The girl quite literally stumbles over her own feet trying to approach me and my heart immediately races as she places a firm warm hand on my bare arm.
She opens her mouth, a mere few inches away from my face, the stench of vodka on her breath as she shouts an incoherent, “OMGIAMSOSORRYIAMSOCLUMSYAREYOUOKAY.”
I shuffle away from her slightly before showing her my thankfully-not-smashed phone, “It’s all good.” The girl clearly doesn’t sense my obvious discomfort and edges closer to me once again, the overwhelming mix of alcohol and perfume radiating through my nostrils.
“NOIAMSERIOUSIAMSOSORRYIAMJUSTVERYDRU-” She inhales a gigantic breath before proceeding to then projectile vomit all over me.
I freeze, it’s like time stands still for a moment whilst I try and process the fact that I have warm yellow sick trickling all over my body in one gooey mess. All the students who were in the vicinity of vomit-gate stared in horror before bursting into sudden fits of drunken laughter. My stomach churns and I make a dramatic run for it to the toilets. I can barely hear Sam’s yelling over my breaths as I swing open the door in one big swoop and lunge into one of the stalls to empty the contents of my stomach. Someone knocks on the door as I’m heaved over the seat.
“Go away.” I manage to choke over my own bile.
“Arthur, it’s Sam. Are you all right mate? Do you want some water?”
I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth before flushing the toilet, pulling the lid down, and crawling my legs into a ball on the toilet seat. I can barely breathe; my chest feels sharp like razor blades and my heart feels like it’s about to explode. I try to inhale but it’s as if my lungs are blocked. They won’t expand and I just feel myself getting more lightheaded by the second. This is it. I’m either going to pass out or have a heart attack. I don’t even notice the tears that have started to pour until I see the damp droplets dissolve into the sick on my shirt. I try to grab some toilet paper to clean it up but it’s like I suddenly have no control over my limbs. The only way I can try and describe the feeling is by likening it to sleep paralysis. If you’ve ever had the misfortune of experiencing it, it genuinely feels like an out-of-body experience. Your mind is awake, but your body isn’t. It’s like you know what you want your body to do, I want to grab some tissue, I want to breathe deep, but it’s as if the signal between my brain and body has been completely severed. I feel completely out of control, helpless. When I inevitably don’t respond to Sam’s question, the light knocking quickly becomes a desperate pounding.
“Arthur, unlock the door!”
I manage to garner just enough control to hoist myself off the toilet and unlock the door with a trembling hand. Sam dives into the stall and grabs my wrist firmly, I shift my eyes away, quickly realising that he can see me crying like a twat.
“Mate look at me,” he says calmly. “What can you smell right now?”
“What?” I croak.
“Arthur focus. What can you smell?,” he asks more authoritatively now.
“A mix of mine and that girls sick mostly,” I grimace.
“Great. Now what can you see? And don’t say a ginger mug in front of you,” he smiles.
I manage to let out a laugh at that, “I see you, a grimy toilet, and some graffiti on the door that says, ‘Call Matt for a good time.’”
Sam nods, “And finally, what can you feel right now?”
I grab some toilet paper and wipe the sick off my t-shirt and jeans, “I can feel toilet paper and the wet sick on my shirt that I’m now going to have the pleasure of wearing back to the flat.”
Sam smiles now.
I give him a confused expression, “why are you asking that anyway?”
“How do you feel now?,” I realise that throughout the 20Q game, I didn’t die. So, I must have been breathing at a steady pace the whole time. He must have calmed me down.
“You were having a panic attack. One of my sisters used to get them a lot growing up, so I learned how to do this technique where you say objects you can see, smell, and touch to calm down.”
I don’t want to be soppy, but I really can’t believe someone would do that for me. As a man, I’ve never been comfortable talking to anyone about my anxiety, let alone another guy. My dad is the perfect example of why I don’t. But the more I get to know Sam, the more I realise that I can trust him. The fact I brought his first night of freshers to a drastic halt after not even an hour and the fact that he, you know, quite literally saved my life there, I feel like I owe it to him to give him an explanation for my behaviour when we get back.
◆◆◆
I let the warm water run over my face and body. I couldn’t wait to get dressed and chuck my vomit-covered clothes straight into the washing machine in the laundry room. I’m praying it won’t stain, that aviator jacket was probably the most expensive thing I owned. I turn the dial and step out of the shower. Once I feel clean and like a genuinely normal human being again, I open my door and head into the kitchen. My other flatmates were all still out partying, (considering it had only been an hour and they’re not 80 years old like me), George was still on the trip of a lifetime by the pungent smell coming from his room, so it was just me and Sam. Sam had cracked open a bottle of beer and gestured to another one whilst looking at me, I shake my head. I think I’ve had my fair share of alcohol tonight just from the remnants of that girls sick. Grabbing a glass from my cupboard and opting to fill it with water from the tap instead, I take a sip before turning to Sam, “I’m sorry. I doubt you expected to spend your first night at Uni mollycoddling your flatmate whilst he has a panic attack in the SU toilets.”
Sam grins. “Trust me mate, it’s a story I’ll tell the grandkids.”
I laugh, “Seriously though. I don’t like to talk about it, to be honest,” picking the skin around my fingers now, “If it wasn’t obvious already, I have anxiety. It’s not diagnosed or anything and I don’t want to be one of those chronic ‘self-diagnosers,’ but I just find it shitty in social situations.”
Sam puts a hand up, “Arthur, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, it’s all good.”
I shake my head, “Honestly, it feels kind of good to get it off my chest you know? I don’t want sympathy or anything, but I just want you to realise that I’m not some weirdo who cries after someone pukes on him.”
“To be fair I’d probably cry too,” Sam interrupts.
I smile, “it wasn’t even the sick that was the problem. Granted, she did put a damper on my night, but I guess she didn’t meanit. I just couldn’t cope with the aftermath of it, to be honest. I hate attention, especially being the brunt of a bunch of pissheads joke.”
“Trust me. I doubt they’ll even remember it in the morning. Plus, you’ll likely never see that girl again anyway.”
I let out a low chuckle, but I didn’t ignore that brief feeling of fear in my gut.
“Ha yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”