The sun is making an appearance as I show up for my shift. Several groggy customers are waiting outside for me to let them in. I put on my customer service face and unlock the doors, allowing them inside to the warmth of the coffee house. I take my place behind the counter, knowing that the other baristas will be at least ten minutes late. They always oversleep and come in with lame excuses about it, but I don’t mind so much. The chaos of the start of an early shift makes it go much faster. And considering I’m working until twelve then heading straight to a lecture, I need this to go as quickly as possible.
Two hours in and the early morning commuters fizzle out, leaving me with little to do, but daydream. I wish I was at home right now, tucked up in my bed with my ancient laptop on my lap. I wish I could work on my poetry for class instead of the work I owe my employer. I wish I could enjoy university the way that my classmates do. I’m a social creature, and I’d love to throw myself into partying and extra-curricular clubs, but unfortunately, there aren’t enough hours in the day.
I lean against the counter, my body tired from being stood up for hours and not having enough sleep. I need to try and look at the positives. I’m going to finish my degree with work experience from my freelancing. I’m going to finish my course to a high standard because I give it all my spare time. I’m going to be able to get a job right away…
Or at least, that’s how I convince myself to continue.
I take out my phone and manage to write a few lines of my short story that’s due at the end of the semester. I feel a warmth inside me as I tap away on my screen. It’s moments like this that I can appreciate that my hard work will get me places. I might be alone in my experiences, but me, myself and I will reap the benefits someday. I pay for my rent myself. I’ve been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember. And someday, those things will matter more. The fact that I haven’t gone bankrupt is a miracle. Besides...I might work two jobs now and sleep much less than I should, but it’s better than the ways I used to make money…
The door opens and I hear raucous laughter. I check my watch and sigh. Right on cue...I know exactly who is at the door.
Oliver and his friends from my course saunter in like they own the place. Oliver has his arm slung around Violet’s shoulders and she’s looking at him in adoration. I almost roll my eyes. They come as a pair, them two...completely inseparable most of the time. It’s like the rest of the group isn’t there when they’re gazing at each other like that. I’ve never been a fan of PDA, and it always makes me feel a little nauseous when they show up here on Thursday mornings. Still, Oliver always tips after he buys his coffee. And he always says the same thing to me each time when he comes up to the counter to order…
“Loving the hair, Willow,” Oliver tells me with a grin, nodding at my vibrant blue bob. The drawl of his warm Californian accent is one of his saving graces, and it always makes me want to change my mind about how much I dislike him, but I can never be certain of how sincere he’s being. “The usual, please.”
I nod and turn to use the coffee machine for his and Violet’s joint order. I don’t tend to be a rude person, but I try to avoid speaking to Oliver each time he comes in here. I can’t quite put my finger on what irritates me about him. It’s something to do with the way he walks around with the confidence of a man who has everything he could ever want. He shows up late to classes or not at all, and yet he’s easily one of the best writers I’ve met here. In short, he’s privileged and it serves as a reminder to me that I’m not. Some people have life handed to them on a silver platter, but some days, it feels like it’s people like me who have to keep giving that platter to someone else.
“How’re things, Willow? You missed my party last week…”
“I had to work,” I tell him bluntly. “You missed class yesterday…”
Oliver smirks. “Yeah, well, I had better things to do…”
“Really? Better things to do than attending the course that’s costing you nine grand a year?”
Oliver still has a smile playing on his lips. I want to slap it off him. “My bed was calling me.”
I plonk his coffee on the counter irritably. “Some people don’t have the luxury of wasting all that money on staying in bed, you know. Nine am lectures suck...but so do the people who think they’re above going to them.”
Oliver’s cheeks turn red and I know I’ve said too much. I get that he wasn’t trying to be provocative...he just doesn’t realize how bloody lucky he is. I fetch Violet’s coffee for him.
“Six pounds twenty, please.”
Oliver gets out his card and a bunch of coins, refusing to look me in the eye as he puts the change in the tip jar. “You know what, you’re right,” Oliver says solemnly. “I need to take uni more seriously.” He offers me a small smile. “Otherwise I’ll never beat you for a space in the magazine.”
I blush. Each year, our university publishes a booklet of student’s work. Only the very best of the submissions get published, and so far, I’ve made it into one magazine out of two. Oliver is clearly hoping this will be his year, but he’s not truly being competitive, I can tell. The worst thing about Oliver is that he’s completely irritating, but everyone can tell that he means well. It’s hard to hate him when his intentions are never as bad as his attitude.
“Hey, listen...I know I’ve asked before and you’ve said no...but you should really join our writing circle,” Oliver says to me. “You’ve got a lot to offer the group...I think everyone could benefit from having you around. Plus, it would be a chance for you to...socialize.”
I blush again. So it’s apparently clear to everyone that I don’t have a social life at all. I bow my head. Part of me would love to join his group. But even though it’s only a couple of hours a week, it’s a few hours I can’t spare. I can’t even justify it as work when I know they spend most of their meetings drinking beer and joking about the tutors.
“I think I have to work,” I say lamely. What else can I do when my whole life is centered around trying to stay afloat?
“What about my party on Friday then? I’m pretty sure I sent you an invite...everyone needs to let loose sometimes.”
I laugh without humor. “Thanks for the concern, Oliver...but I doubt I’ll come. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
He nods stiffly. I think he’s still a little stung by my comment about him not showing up to class. “Alright, I understand. See you around, Willow.”
He saunters back to his table as though nothing just happened, and his friends greet him with their usual bravado and enthusiasm. I sigh and go back to leaning on the counter, watching them subtly as they joke around. It’s like I’m looking through a window at the life I wish I could have. And the fact that I’ve picked myself up out of the gutter doesn’t make it an easy pill to swallow that I still don’t have everything I want. I know I should be grateful. Even in a shitty flat, I still have a roof over my head. Even working long hours, I’m still able to care for myself with the money I earn. Even though my Dad didn’t want me and I have no family, at least I have my health. I’m one of the lucky ones.
And yet, with a glance in Oliver’s direction, it doesn’t feel that way at all.
Work ends. A lecture begins. Then it ends and I head home to work on my freelancing. I’ve got the kind of headache that rests behind your eyes and makes your vision fuzzy, but I work through the pain, telling myself it’ll be worth it. As night draws in, a party begins on the floor above and I switch my headphones up to full volume, drowning out the sounds of rowdy drunks. It’s just another distraction from what I have to get done by the end of the night.
Next to me, my phone is buzzing with messages for once. The dating app that I signed up for a few days ago caused me to swipe listlessly for about ten minutes and has resulted in a few matches and eager messages from boys in the area. Deciding to give myself a two-minute break, I glance at the messages and I’m instantly appalled. In total, I’ve received one unsolicited dick pic, one plea to g
o over to someone’s flat for the evening, and one corny joke from a guy who I’m almost certain is a catfish. I roll my eyes and try to get back to work. I don’t need a man to be satisfied, after all. I don’t need sex or constant company. I just need to feel a little less alone.
I know how this goes. I’ve been down this route before. I’ll spend some time daydreaming of the possibility that someday, someone will love me the way I deserve to be loved. I’ll finish work late, but I won’t sleep. I’ll crawl into bed at three am and wonder how it feels for the lucky ones who curl up next to their partner every night and take it for granted.
For a moment, my mind wanders to Oliver. I think of the way he had his arm around Violet so casually, like their relationship is solid enough for them to stop making an effort. Some part of me is jealous, but I can’t figure out why.
Am I jealous of Violet because she has Oliver, or am I jealous of Oliver because everything has fallen easily in his lap once again?
Chapter Two
Oliver
It’s early, but I’ve managed to force myself out of bed today. Willow made me feel pretty bad when I saw her yesterday. I’m fully aware that she thinks she’s superior somehow because she goes to her classes every day and performs well on every single task, but somehow, her little comment got through to me.
I have to admit, there’s something about her that really intrigues me. She’s always so calm and collected, so well-spoken and smooth. She’s not deliberately cruel or unkind, but she has the ability to make a grown man squirm. She certainly had that effect on me yesterday. It helps that she’s so effortlessly cool, with her dark makeup, nose ring and blue hair that only girls like her seem to be able to pull off.
And damn did she look good yesterday. I don’t know if it was some kind of fashion statement, but she wore her work shirt short, cut above her stomach to reveal her curves. Violet once made a comment on how girls her size shouldn’t wear crop tops and we argued about it for almost an hour. The way I see it, anyone can wear whatever they want. And in the case of Willow, she looks good in everything she wears anyway. Just because she’s the polar opposite of a girl like Violet, it doesn’t mean she isn’t sexy as hell.
I guess it’s safe to say she’s been on my mind. Last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, which is something that’s never happened before. Sure, she’s passed through my mind from time to time, but other than that, Willow stays tucked at the back of my mind until we meet via class or my coffee pitstops.
But last night, I lay alone in bed and thought about what it would be like to have an enigmatic woman like her lying next to me. To touch her, to have the freedom to explore her body, to give in to the desire that I feel when I see her. I imagined the ways in which she’d feel different to Violet, whose slight body beneath mine always feels breakable. I get the feeling that a woman like Willow likes to be in charge, and I can’t imagine that I’d mind much if she was dominating me.
I was hard for a long time, just thinking of the way her shirt had risen up to reveal inches of her pale skin. I tried for hours to ignore the fact that she was turning me on, but my mind kept coming back to her. I eventually fell asleep with fantasies of her in my bedroom haunting my dreams. Now, this morning, I’m rushing off to a workshop that she’ll be attending, mostly because I need to keep up with my studies, but also partly because I’m excited to see her again.
But these workshops are the worst. They require us to bring in a sample of our work and share it with the class for them to comment on. Not only do I hate sifting through terrible pieces and finding good things to say about them, but I hate when people are fake with me. Everyone on this course is so desperate to please that they’ll tell you anything to keep you on their good side. With the exception of my tutor and Willow, I’ve never had constructive criticism from anyone in my seminar, and what use is that to me? I might have confidence in my abilities, but I know I have a long way to go to reach perfection.
And today, my very personal piece is being scrutinized by my classmates. It’s my worst nightmare, but I’ve sat through weeks of reading other people’s stories, waiting for my chance to get some feedback. Finally, I’ll be able to figure out if I’m on the right track, even if the whole process makes me feel sick to my stomach. I just need to keep my confident persona up for the next two hours and then I’ll be able to work on getting better. That’s the whole reason I’m here, after all.
Everyone else is already seated as I enter the seminar room and my tutor, Sabine, looks up sternly as I enter the room. Unlike some of my other tutors, she’s a lot less lax and expects us to at least be on time. She purses her lips as the other ten students stare at me.
“We thought you weren’t going to show up, Oliver. We’re discussing your piece first. Take a seat. There’s a lot to talk about.”
There’s a free seat next to Willow and Sabine, and my heart skips a beat. As much as I always try to get Willow to talk to me when we cross paths, we’ve never sat together in class before. When we’re in the lecture hall, she sits on the far side of the room alone. But in seminars like these, where the atmosphere is so much more intimate, it excites me to be sat next to her for the first time. I keep my back straight and my chin high as I sit down. Being beside her has added to the butterflies in my stomach, but in the best possible way.
Sabine coughs to get the class’ attention. “Good morning, everyone. It’s good to see there’s a full house for once. Now...anybody want to kick off with a comment on Oliver’s story? As always, you should’ve read it through several times and made notes. Good points and bad are welcomed. Who is starting us off?”
“I will,” Willow says right away. She always seems to be the first to volunteer, while with everyone else it’s like getting blood out of a stone. Still, it still feels good to have her volunteer. She glances at me with a mere hint of a smile.
“It’s a sad story, Oliver. Really moving, and really believable. Reading it back a second time, I felt like I understood the woman in the story much better because you know exactly what she’s been through. It’s easy to see her as selfish and self-centered after the death of her husband, especially when in some ways...well, I guess you could say it’s her fault. But I guess it just goes to show that you don’t know a person’s background before they decide to tell you about it. It’s a classic example of a character holding their cards close to their chest in order to conceal the reasons for the way they are. It’s both intriguing and cleverly done. I think it’s a triumph.”
I can’t help grinning at her. I told myself I’d play it cool, but man, she’s really shown me the sweet side to her. I feel a twinge in my stomach again, my dreams of her from last night still fresh in my mind now that we’re in the same room together. I never expected such good feedback from her, especially after the moment in the cafe yesterday. But the more I smile at her, the more I notice that the corners of her lips are twitching involuntarily too.
And then Sabine goes and ruins it.
“Thank you for starting the discussion, Willow. I think it's safe to say that we all value your opinion in these workshops,” Sabine says. The rest of the class stares at Willow in clear irritation but it's true that we'd all be lost without her here.
I turn to Sabine and try to read her expression, but instead of the smile I'm expecting, I’m met with her hardest stare. Usually, I'm one of her favourite students, but today, it seems I have disappointed her somehow.
“Before I allow some of the other students to comment, I would like to make some suggestions of my own. I think it’s important for me to have this input...” Sabine looks at me. “Oliver... as much as I like the story, I think you need to do more research on the subject of driving under the influence. It seems as though this situation is quite unlikely, in my opinion. As you know, stories must primarily be believable...and my view on the matter is that this story is not. While I'm aware that driving after smoking marijuana is against the law, I don't believe that being high can cause a car crash
that’s so catastrophic. After all, I'm sure we can all attest to the fact that smoking a joint doesn't make us lose our sense entirely.”
The other students laugh but I'm not laughing with them. I can feel rage boiling inside me like a volcano waiting to erupt. Not because I disagree with her, but because she has no idea what this story means to me. How can I be unaffected when the basis of it is true?
“The character herself is also difficult to connect with. We learn by the end that she was responsible for her husband’s death...she was the one driving under the influence, after all. Perhaps if she was a drunk driver, it might be more believable...but if you want us to feel sorry for the character after it all becomes clear, then this isn’t the way to write the story. If she was in the passenger seat and was the one who survived...do you see where I’m going with this, Oliver? It’s not easy to sympathise with her the way things are right now.”
I’m fully aware that my silence isn’t helping me. I need to say something. The whole class is staring at me. Willow’s eyes are full of sympathy and it’s making me feel sick. I curl my hands into fists. Normally, I take criticism well. But today, I have to defend myself.
“Sabine... this piece is very personal to me. It's based on my own experience with the matter, and having you criticise it for being unrealistic...well I guess all I can say is that you're wrong. I don't need to research the subject because I've lived through it. And maybe you don’t find the character likeable...maybe she doesn’t have to be. I don’t think I can ever look at the woman it’s based on the same again...her actions ended a life.”
Better Than Heaven (The Bachelor Brothers Book 1) Page 2