by Lisa Swallow
Fleur checks her phone. “I have to go. You distracted me. What did you want to talk about?”
I grasp at a response. “Oh. I can’t make it next week. Have some band promo to do.”
“So you’ll hand your assignment in early? It’s due Friday.”
“Ah. Crap. Yeah.”
“Cut out the partying for once, finish the paper.”
I cock a brow. “No can do, I have my chicks to entertain.”
She stands. “You’re a smart guy underneath all that front, Nate. If you want to pass, you can. You just have to decide where to put the effort in.”
“Ruby Riot will always come first.”
“And that’s why you’re in the position you are. I hope your dreams happen.”
Fleur leaves the room and I stand for a few moments between my two worlds. Is it pathetic that I dream of her and it’s never going to happen?
Chapter Ten
FLEUR
Celebrating passing the toughest assignment of the semester seemed like a great idea at the time. Swept in the euphoria of the study group – minus Nate who hasn’t been for two weeks – we stuff our A and B grade papers into our bags and skip across campus. Literally, if you’re Nita. Sam stomped along repeating how awesome I am, and I remind him it was a group effort. Though secretly, I know my influence and expertise helped them push their marks that little bit higher.
Now, after several Red Bulls and vodka, the celebration has led to a degree of room spinning in the pub. I stare at the beer mat on the table, hoping if I focus on it the spinning will stop. Nita chatters excitedly to Steph, and I half-hear Sam talking about Ruby Riot above the thumping bass music.
“How do you think Nate did?” he asks.
I pick my glass up to drink and am surprised to see it’s empty again. “No idea. Doesn’t matter to him, I s’pose.”
“Why did he stop coming to group?”
“No idea. Busy being famous.” I hold out my empty glass. “Will you fetch me a drink?”
I turn my head to Sam who’s difficult to focus on.
“Same again?”
“No. Coke.”
He grins. “Thought you’d knocked a few too many back.”
“Mmm.” Maybe leaving soon is a better idea.
We hit the pub early and the place has filled since I last looked around. Lots of blurry people.
“I miss him,” says Nita.
“Who?”
“Nate. He’s funny. Cool guy.” She points at me with one finger from the hand she’s holding around her glass. “I swear he was into you.”
“Sure. Like I’m his type.”
“Just saying. Maybe he stopped coming because he couldn’t handle you’d hooked up with Ethan.” She giggles. “Nice catch there.”
I smile drunkenly to myself. He sure is. We’re officially dating and he’s a sweetheart. Respectful guy who sends romantic texts and understands when I can’t see him because of study.
“He’s special,” I say. “Sam?” I hold the glass out.
As Sam slides off the bench seat to head to the bar, I take advantage of the space and pay a visit to the bathrooms. I hold the sink and look at my drunk self in the mirror. Days like these where the world is straightforward, everything in its place, are somehow happier when alcohol flows through too.
I’m not one to admire myself, and maybe the soft focus of drink helps, but I had to admit to myself that I’m lucky to look okay with no make-up on. Some girls hide behind it, as with anything about me, you get what you see.
Stepping into the growing volume of music and voices in the small pub, I head back to the table. On the way over, I spot the guy I’ve been thinking about at the bar. Ethan. He’s side view and my heart rate picks up remembering our time together the other night as I walk over. I came close to relenting and spending the night with him, but we’ve only been together a couple of weeks and I need to see how serious we become first.
“Hey,” I say and smile.
Ethan looks around in surprise. “Fleur. I thought you had study group tonight.”
“We’re celebrating instead. Aced it!”
“Oh. Cool. Well done.”
The guy he’s with laughs and Ethan shoots him a look.
“Come and sit with us,” I say, indicating my friends.
“It’s okay; I’m not staying long.”
The guy he’s with chuckles again. “He’s busy tonight.”
“That’s okay! We can catch up tomorrow.” No way do I want to come across as the clingy girlfriend.
“Sure thing.”
I tiptoe to kiss Ethan and he turns his face so I hit his cheek instead. Suspicion finally pushes through my drunken haze. “Everything okay?”
Ethan pushes some hair from my face. “Sure thing, I need to go though.”
“You just arrived.”
He glances over my shoulder then closes his eyes, face scrunching up.
“Ethan, honey.”
A girl sidles up to him and wraps an arm around Ethan’s waist.
What the hell? I steady myself on the bar. Do I know her? Yes. This is the girl from the party Will humiliated me at. Has he been with her all this time?
“Fleur…” he begins.
My usual ability to conjure witty comebacks hasn’t accompanied me tonight. The nausea gripping my stomach is no longer alcohol induced and it’s a bloody good job I hold onto enough sobriety to stop myself making a scene.
Bastard.
I take a deep breath and fix my eyes on his. Ethan looks away.
Bloody bastard.
“Right. I understand.” I turn and head back to the table where Nita watches me with concern.
“I was going to come and find you when I saw him,” she says. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go?”
“What? No!” I snatch my fresh drink from the table and drink half of the glass in one go. “Just because he’s an dickhead, doesn’t mean he should ruin my night. I need vodka in this.”
Nita looks at me dubiously. “Okay…”
“We’ll stay for a couple more and then let’s go to Discovery.”
“Discovery?”
“Yeah. Student night. Haven’t been all term. Thought we were celebrating.”
Slumping back in my seat, I watch as Ethan heads out of the pub with his friend and the girl. I should’ve expected this to happen when I refused sex with him. I guess he’s not one for waiting around. Arsehole.
****
“She’s wasted.” Steph’s voice from nearby but far away.
“I know. I told her to stop.” Nita.
“Did you call a cab?”
“At this time? And how much cash do you think I have?”
“How are we going to get on the bloody bus when she can’t stand?”
My hair hangs in my face and I stare at the sticky carpet. The music grows louder, then quieter again as a door opens and closes. “I’m okay.”
Anne crouches down and I attempt to focus on her face. “Do you feel sick?”
“No,” I mumble.
“What’s going on?” Another person joins my audience and I stare as a pair of bashed up combat boots enter my line of sight. “Fleur?”
I peer up through my fringe and focus. Will or Nate. Twin. “Which one are you?” I ask as he crouches in front of me. “‘Cause if you’re Will coming for another go, you can piss off!”
“Wow, you’re an obnoxious drunk!”
I hiccup down the vomit threatening to spill as he stands again. A discussion continues in low voices as I gaze with interest at the pattern on the carpet.
“Nate’s taking you home,” says Steph.
“Nate?”
Powerful hands pull me to my feet, catching under my arms. “Or Will.”
“Who? Which?” I mumble.
“Whichever one you want me to be.”
With those words, I accept this is Nate and relax. A little too much because my feet don’t appear to be working. I stumble forward and end up with my face pressed against N
ate’s hard chest. He smells all kinds of amazing, fresher than the grungy guy he looks.
“You okay to walk?” he asks; and as my legs buckle again, he laughs. “Stupid question.”
The world shifts position as Nate scoops me up, arms beneath my legs and I grab him around the neck. “Don’t drop me!” I shriek.
He hitches me higher, arm around my waist. “Are you suggesting I’m weak?”
“No, you’re just a bit…” I squeeze an arm around his tense bicep. Maybe not.
“A bit what?”
“Never mind.”
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying a damsel away from her distress.”
I’d fight for him to put me down but suspect I wouldn’t do a very good job of walking home alone. “Funny.”
“You are when you’re drunk. What happened?”
The fresh air hits as we step out of the club into the autumn air, and I wish I knew where my coat is. “Am I not allowed to get drunk?”
Nate sets me down, carefully leaning me against a wall. “You are allowed to do whatever you want Fleur; but I don’t want to hear you’re getting drunk because something shit happened to you.”
“Hmm.” My back scrapes along the wall as I slide to the floor.
I look up at Nate who looks down with an amused quirk to his mouth.
“What’s funny?” I snap.
“Nothing. Well, drunk chicks are always funny.” I’m about to retort when he steps away. “Wait there.”
Like I’m going anywhere? I rest my head against the rough bricks and watch Nate hail a cab. My messenger bag is hooked around his back. A couple of passersby look down at me. Normally I’d be mortified; but really, I don’t give a crap. I just want to go home.
****
Why does fresh air always increase the intoxication? I refused to let him carry me again, so Nate patiently agreed to let me pick my way along the pathway to my house, a journey filled with peril as I managed to trip over something imaginary and graze my knee.
“You’re fucking funny,” he laughs and hauls me to my feet.
We finally reach my front door and he takes my keys; Nate pushes open the door, and I stumble in.
Heading to the nearest armchair, I sit heavily. “Thanks, I’m home now.”
“What? Aren’t you going to offer me a drink for my heroics?”
I attempt to focus on him. “I can hardly see you, let alone stand and make you a drink.”
He eyes the stairs. “Want help getting to bed?”
I straighten. “You can forget that! I’m not screwing you!”
“If your friends thought I was going to take advantage, would they have let me bring you home?” Annoyance tinges his voice. “Date rape isn’t on my to do list.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Not a fan of men tonight.”
“So this state you’re in is about more than a celebration. Ethan?”
I push my hair from my eyes and look at him. “Ethan is a dickhead.”
“That’s quite a common phrase for you to use about men. Are there any guys you know who aren’t dickheads?”
“Not many.”
“Me?”
“Don’t really know you.”
Nate’s silent for a few moments until he quietly says, “I guess not.”
“And yes.”
“Yes?”
“Can you help me upstairs? But that’s all!”
Nate crosses and pulls me upright. Ohmigod, the stairs are steeper than I remember. A laughing Nate walks up the stairs behind me and holds a hand to catch me each time I trip backwards. Why did this have to be him? I’ve ruined the image I’ve portrayed to him as a sensible, in control girl.
My bed has never looked this inviting and I flop backwards onto it. Nate sits on the edge and drags my shoes off before placing my feet on the bed. “What did he do?”
“Who?”
“Ethan.” I bury my face in the pillow, away from the hurt and humiliation. “Was he with another girl?”
I twist my head around to squint at Nate. “Why?”
“He’s looks like that kind of guy.”
“What kind of guy?”
“Nothing. I’m a hypocrite.”
I’m too drunk for this conversation. “Yeah.” I fumble around for the edge of the duvet, desperate to hide under it and not continue a conversation I can barely keep up with.
“He’s a douche.”
“We established that,” I mumble.
“Chicks like you don’t deserve guys like him.”
I roll over, hair splaying across the pillow as I look up at my pierced and tattooed knight in shining armour. “And you, Nate Rock Star, do chicks deserve you?”
In the dim of the room, Nate’s expression is shadowed but his eyes are focused on me. “Yeah, Fleur, I’m a douche with women too. But, you know what? If a girl like you thought she was mine, I’d be fucking lucky. And I wouldn’t screw her over.”
“That’s sweet,” I say and turn over again, fighting the nauseous spinning of the room.
****
WILL
Fleur grapples with the duvet and it slides to the floor. With a sigh, I pick the duvet back up and place it over her. She’s a mess and her make-up has run around her eyes. Has Mr. Perfect made her cry? Is this what I’ve done to girls before? I grit my teeth.
“I don’t feel good.” she says.
“You don’t look good.”
She mumbles something and I can’t hear; I shuffle further along the bed and look down at her. “What?”
“I have a rock star in my bedroom.” She giggles and pushes hair from her face, attempting to focus on me.
“Yeah, don’t sell your story to the papers though.”
Fleur lifts a hand and attempts to point at me. “Something I wonder about.”
“Yeah?”
“Piercings. Do you have them other places?”
“A few.”
“Can I see?”
I arch a brow. “You’re not seeing them all.”
“Why not?”
“I’m shy.”
Fleur barks a laugh. “I’ve seen pictures of you with less clothes on! Show me.”
I’m on the verge of lifting my t-shirt but stop myself. Tattoo, Will. “Nipples.”
In the dim of the room, Fleur’s eyes widen and she retches. “Don’t show me! I’m going to puke!”
She pushes herself off the bed and staggers out of the door. I sit back and purse my lips. Really? Is this about piercings? She asked. After a few minutes, she hasn’t returned and I head after her.
“Fleur?”
The bathroom door is open and Fleur kneels on the floor, slumped against the side of the bath. She looks at me in confusion. “Nate.”
Her dress is hitched up her long legs and hair dishevelled. “Jesus, woman. What a mess!”
“Mmm.”
Fleur closes her eyes and I crouch down. “No, you can’t stay here.”
I grab her under the arms and half drag her back to her bedroom. She grips my arms and attempts to walk.
“First time in a while I haven’t climbed into bed with a girl whose bedroom I’m in.”
She crawls onto the bed. “So I hear.”
“What?”
“Your brother might be a dickhead to me, but I know all about you and girls, Nate.”
“What? It’s their choice.”
“You don’t have to be such a manwhore though. What do you get from doing that?” Uh. Lots of awesome, no strings sex. “Shame, ‘cause I think I like you a bit.”
“Like me a bit?”
“You’re not my usual type, but you’re cute.”
I make a gagging noise. “Cute?”
“Well, hot in a scruffy but smells nice way.” She giggles again. “And stop repeating everything I say.”
I sit next to her on the bed and Fleur hiccups. “Will wouldn’t be happy to hear this.”
“Pfft. Not like I’m going to do anything. All I said was you were cute.”
“Fleur, I should tell you something.”
“Mmm.”
“You think I’m okay, right? The guy with you now isn’t like Will when he pissed you off, y’know, the drunk dickhead.”
“S’pose. Nice of you to bring me home. And put me to bed.” She sniggers. “Rock star.”
“Right. Well. The thing is…” I pause. At least in her inebriated state she won’t be able to slap me hard. Surely, I have brownie points for helping her tonight. “About me and Nate. I’m… I mean he… Shit.” I drag a hand through my hair, not looking at her. “I’m not Nate; I’m Will.”
“Huh. Really?” she mumbles.
I stare. Why hasn’t she lost her shit at me? “So, you don’t mind?”
There’s a long pause and I tense, waiting for the explosion. “Still not happy. But you helped me. S’all good. Sort of.”
“Oh.”
Wow, well that was easy.
She sighs and pulls the duvet up to her chin. “Tell your brother to make sure he has his notes for the group tomorrow.”
Shit. “No, I mean I’m Will. Now and then.”
I wait for an answer and it doesn’t come. “Fleur?”
Her response is a not so gentle snoring from beneath the duvet.
Fucking great.
Chapter Eleven
FLEUR
Waking up the next day hurts. I bury myself in the warmth and safety of my bed until the nauseous feeling switches to shakes and a headache, and the need for painkillers and water push me out. I drag on my scruffy blue track pants and pull a university logo sweatshirt on before heading downstairs.
A Campbell twin looks up from where he sits on the sofa watching TV, feet on the table and coffee mug in hand. For a moment, my befuddled brain thinks I’m in the wrong house. No, that was definitely my bed I climbed out of.
When the stairs creak, he looks over. “Wow, you look like shit.”
“Charming! What are you doing here?”
He gestures at the TV with his mug. “Watching the football.”
I sigh. “You helped me home, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re Nate,” I say warily.
“I’m whichever one you want –”