The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (8 page)

“Nice.”

“Lilah, I am twenty-five-years old for fuck’s sake. Of course I’ve had sex with other girls. It doesn’t mean that I’ve had a serious relationship with anyone.”

In the grand scheme of things, this is no way to dig yourself out of a hole.

I am about to make a cutting comment, something based on him being some sort of emotional fuckwit using girls for sex. My blood is boiling and not in good way.

“What? Sex with her?” My voice has started to rise, but he gives me a level look.

“I’m not a bloody saint, Lilah.”

I snort at this. “Yeah, well, I don’t have sex with John!”

Why I am shouting this?

“What?”

“You heard. I don’t have sex with John.”

Why am I saying this again? He is looking at me with confusion etched across his face. “I hate it. I try to not do it at all, if I can possibly get away with it!”

He winces at my choice of words, but eventually a slow smile starts to pull one side of his mouth up.

“What? Sex in general? Or just with him?”

He is smirking now. I cannot for the life of me think what is funny.

“Just with him,” I say. “There has been no one else.”

Stop speaking
.

His smirk turns into a full-wattage grin, flashing white against the dark night.

He stalks right into my space and grabs hold of me by my arms, his strong fingers pulling me in towards him while at the same time stepping us back against a wall. My knees nearly give away.

“I think you have just made me the happiest guy alive,” he says.

Then his lips are on mine with a burning determination that literally takes my breath away. I give in for a few moments and allow him to lean every inch of his body against mine.

“Why has that made you so happy?” I manage to break my lips away to ask.

“You have no idea what it does to me thinking of you with him. I’ve had the worst images in my mind,” he explains and then his mouth is back on mine again.

I need to tell him something urgent, something really important. So I push against his chest again. He groans slightly as he peels himself away from me.

I grab eye contact and maintain it, making sure he realises I am serious, and then I point to the two of us, waving my fingers back and forth.

“This, Ben, I have never ever experienced before.” I smile at his expression. “You have no idea of the things you do to me. That night, after Fez, I would have happily given you every bit of myself.”

I link my fingers between the buttons on his shirt.

He leans back in. “So why didn’t you?”

His voice is so low against my ear, I can barely hear it over the wild pounding of blood in my ears.

“Because I don’t want you to be the other man,” I confess as my eyes look right into his.

“I think I like that,” he says.

“You’re not the other man,” I say louder than I expect.

He crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for me to continue. I don’t. I just kiss him some more.

7th October

It’s Sunday. Yippee! A day of rest and recuperation.

I spent the whole of yesterday locked in my Guinea Pig cage, grinning like a crazy girl. I could not leave my cage due to the insane grin I found impossible to wipe off my face.

Ben sang to me in front of everyone = silly grin.

Ben has made it clear he has serious intentions towards me = silly grin.

I made it clear to Ben I had serious intentions toward him = silly grin.

Major make-out in darkened deserted market place = silly grin.

When I did make it out of my room and into the kitchen, Meredith and Ben looked at me like I was crazy.

“What are you grinning at?” Meredith asks. She’s nursing a huge hangover. “Nothing,” I say with a goofy smile that gets even bigger.

“Now what are you smiling at? Do I have toothpaste somewhere?”

“No, I would tell you.”

“So now what are you smiling at?” Ben is grinning. His back is turned but I can see his cheeks are lifted.

“I think I should go.” I shuffle to the door.

“Yes, do go away, you horribly happy person. Some of us are suffering here.”

Today I need to go and do some studying. I cannot avoid it anymore. It is me and the library on a hot date.

The Library of Persecution

2.00 p.m.

I hate that frickin’ library.

Anyone who has ever studied history at an establishment of higher education, knows that history books are always referenced in the nine hundreds. This means top floor.

There are four floors to the library. I say no more. Actually I do, there is also a rickety old crazy lift, but I would never get in it—ever. I would rather die, which I nearly do climbing up the frickin’ stairs.

I finally manage to huff and puff my fat arse all the way to the top floor, leaning heavily on the banister. I seriously need to do some exercise or something, not sit about all day drinking wine and smoking fags.

Once recovered from the near heart attack, I spend a merry half an hour crawling around on the floor searching for the books I need. Just my luck they are all on the bottom shelf.

I freeze from my rummaging when I hear a gaggle of girls giggling over by the study desk. I didn’t know anyone else was up here. Then I hear a voice I recognise and tense up even more.

It’s Ben. Ben, who sounds like he is surrounded by girls.

I try to get to my feet so I can check out the situation. Unfortunately I have been sitting on the floor cross-legged for way too long, and my legs are completely dead. It feels like I have no feet. I actually have to glance to make sure they are still there and have not fallen off somewhere. I see they are still attached, but they are useless hunks of meat.

Shifting into a crawling position, I inch my way over so I can peer around the corner of the stacks.

Yep, it is Ben alright, sitting at one of the study desks, legs propped on the table top, looking up through his long lashes at Barbie Girl who is leading a conversation while animatedly waving her hands around.

What a Shit!

Were we not on a date two days ago? Did we not have some profound make or break conversation where we discussed feelings and such forth? Did I not spend the whole day yesterday grinning like a nut job as a result?

Yes we did. So why is he now doing a secret squirrel in the library surrounded by girls? Especially that one.

I turn myself around and start to crawl back in the opposite direction. By this point my legs are starting to get a sensation back; it just happens to be extreme pins and needles.

To my immense horror, I can hear the gathering of Ben and his adoring fans getting up to leave.

With fingers desperately grabbing at the carpet, I scoot myself as quick as I can to the end of the bookshelf, hoping that they pass by without glancing down.

I have just finished my high-speed, painful claw and crawl, when a pair of navy blue scuffed Converse step out in front of me.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

Wanker!

“I’m looking for books,” I explain, trying to make it sound like it is perfectly normal to be crawling around on the library floor.

“Are you stuck, Lilah?”

“Nope.”

He stands and waits for me to get up, but it’s not going to happen.

Two uncomfortable minutes pass while he watches me with a growing smile of amusement. Eventually he gives in with a sigh of exasperation as he leans down and hikes me up under the armpits like a toddler, positioning me back on my feet.

I try not to let the pain show on my face but fail miserably as I give in and do the pins and needles dance. So now I am standing in front of the hot guy from the room next door, who I make out with regularly, whilst doing a little dance from foot to foot awaiting the fickle return of circulation and normal use of my feet.

“You are completely mental, you know that?” he asks as he stands there, arms folded over his chest watching me do my little jig.

I glare in response as he leans down and picks up my pile of books and then holds out his spare hand to me. I ignore it with a “Humph,” and march away with my now fully functioning legs towards the door.

He follows me with a big sigh of exasperation. Sigh away, buddy.

“How was your study session?” I ask as we walk down the stairs.

“Great, I got loads done,” he replies, but raises an eyebrow at my tone.

I bet he got loads done. I am sure he has lots of new phone numbers stored on his phone.

Wanker!

I, on the other hand, got no studying done at all.

8th October

I sulked in my cage all night. Meredith knocked to ask if I was joining them for dinner, but I shouted out that I was not hungry. In fact, I was bloody starving, but I was not going out there. Instead, I ate a packet of crisps and some Jammy Dodgers.

Meredith texted me later.

Meredith:
Why are you sulking?

Me:
I am not sulking.

Meredith:
Yes you are.

Me:
Go away! This is costing me money
.

Meredith:
You know he thinks Barbie is a blonde div
,
don
’
t you?

I did not respond to this. Obviously Ben knew I had seen him with those other girls and is trying to cover his own back.

Wanker!

It makes it even more annoying that he has told Meredith about it.

Today I am going to do something drastic after lectures.

9th October

Okay, I am officially hiding in my room and I will be until the end of term. Meredith hammered on my door for about five minutes until I shouted at her to go away.

She and Ben and have gone to class. I wonder if they will slide their notes under the door and I can pretend to have bird flu or swine flu (or wine flu, more likely).

This has nothing to do with Ben and his floozies. It’s to do with my little trip to the hairdresser’s yesterday.

I look like a hedgehog.

A hedgehog that has been run over. Twice.

The Hairdressers from Hell

So after class yesterday, I sped into Putney. I am hardly using Deathtrap Cooper at all, but yesterday speed was of the essence, so I squished myself into that coffin on wheels, cranked the engine to the max, and drove as fast as the south London traffic would allow: approximately twenty-two miles an hour.

I rushed down the High Street and flung the car into a parking space at Waitrose. I then dashed it into a hairdresser’s (that shall remain unnamed) where a guy with questionable abilities completely massacred my hair.

Okay, it may have been partly my fault. I did not really know what I wanted, a piece of information that caused “Simon” to have a near heart attack of excitement.

“Soooo,” says Simon, hand on hip, gesticulating wildly with the other whilst brandishing a pair of scissors. “You have no idea what you want? At all?”

“Um, nope, I just want a change, please.”

“Well, my girl, you have come to the right place!” he declares as he throws his head back with an evil laugh.

He then proceeded to hack off my long brown waves and replace them with a style that a mental patient in a long-term residence psych ward might have given herself, afterwards proclaiming that the devil told her to do it with the nail scissors.

10th October

8.40 a.m.

I have been sitting here waiting for everyone to leave for class. I thought they might knock, but they didn’t. I am trying not to let this offend me. After all, I am the one who has been holed up in my cage for days.

Eventually they have gone, making a lot of noise and giggling as they do so
.

Bastards.

Sod it, I am going outside, I am so hungry and have run out of crumbs to eat from under the bed. I was halfway through a pizza crust when I realised that I have never eaten pizza in my room.

Yuck.

8.50 a.m.

I unlock my door and step out into freedom.

“What the fuck?”

It’s Meredith.

Ben and Meredith are sitting on the floor opposite my door and she is staring at me in shock. They must have pretended to leave and then crept back in.

How bloody old are they?

I let out a scream of surprise and then automatically cover my head with my hands. It’s too late; they have seen it. Meredith appears to be having palpitations.

“Did you use fucking nail scissors?” she shouts.

I don’t know why she is so upset. She is the one who still has amazing, long, flame red hair.

“No. What are you both doing?”

“What are you doing?” Ben asks, his voice sounding a little cross. He has stood up and is trying to get my hands off my head.

“I am hungry, I need food and to buy a bloody hat,” I say, fighting off his hands.