‘Hey, you.’ One of the squealing girls had sidled up beside him, her long, blonde hair draping over both their shoulders. ‘You look a little lonely over here.’ She placed a cool hand on his shoulder, her breath sharp with liquor.
‘Oh no, I’m fine.’ He remained as still as possible,knowing that one infinitesimal engagement with her and he was done for. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘Comeon’ – she leant in closer – ‘you’re too cute to be drinking by yourself.’
Whether it was the hand moving on to his, the heat radiating from her skin, or simply a momentary lapse in control, Jacob turned to face her. She was pretty. Very pretty, in fact, with a sparkling smile and amber eyes. She was staring at him hard, her body inching towards his ever so slightly.
God, how long had it been?
If you’re asking that question, it’s been too long.
Would one night matter? It wouldn’t mean anything, and nobody would get hurt.
Just like that, the orange eyes of the strange girl became a dazzling blue. The tanned skin faded to a pearly white and Olivia’s face stared back at him.
‘Shit.’ He jerked backwards, knocking his glass and spilling beer over both of their hands. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’
‘That’s OK.’ She wiped her hand on his shorts in a clear act of seduction, but unfortunately for Jacob, the moment had well and truly gone. ‘Let me buy you another,’ she whispered.
‘No. I’m fine.’
‘Comeon,’ she purred again, pressing herself into him hard.
‘I said no!’ he shouted, all at once feeling stifled by the sickly-sweet smell of her perfume. ‘I’ve had enough already. I just want to be left alone.’
‘Jesus.’ She removed her hand and straightened up, only allowing the disappointment of rejection to mark her perfectlymade-up face for a second. ‘There’s no need to be like that. I was only trying to be friendly …’
As she flicked her hair over her shoulder and walked away, Jacob could have sworn he heard her mutter the word ‘arsehole’ under her breath. She may be pissed off now, but he knew deep down he was doing her a favour. After all, wasn’t he just aselfish and careless human being? One that his dad had given up on years ago, it seemed.
‘Bastard.’ Jacob grimaced, gripping the glass so tightly in his hand it was at risk of breaking. ‘Hypocriticalbastard.’
As he recalled his dad’s words, Jacob was overcome with a whole new series of memories. He was five years old; his dad had been away on business for six weeks and he was due home that day. Within an hour of arriving, he’d already left again, with his bags packed for yet another work trip. All Jacob got was a gruff hello and a pat on the head.
He was now six; his mother had been crying for days on end, unable to get out of bed, let alone take care of him. When he’d asked her what was wrong, she cried, ‘Your father, it’s always your father.’
Then he was eight, and his dad had cleared his things from the house. No trace of him remained, except the anger and betrayal that poured from every cell of his mother. Jacob had been sat down by his dad and, in a sixty-second conversation, been told that he needed to go and live with his new family now, but that Jacob would always be his first-born son, and that would always mean something.
And I’m the selfish one, hey?
The torrent of flashbacks was too much, the music suddenly too loud and the darkness too enveloping. Jacob had to leave. He had to get out into the fresh air and away from all the noise and drunken chaos. As he stood, hestumbled backwards, his head pounding and a shooting pain ripping through the back of his skull. Panic flooded him immediately.
You’re OK. It’s just the drink.
He managed to steady himself just enough to find the exit, practically bursting out on to the street. The anxiety lessened a little from the instant hit of air and the fading sound of the drum and bass, but the sensation in his head was still very present and very painful.
You’re fine.
He made his way back to the hostel, each step slow and deliberate, whilst his body throbbed in hurt.
Everything is fine.
*
The next morning, Jacob woke up in a world of pain. His head was still aching, and his body felt exhausted. It took him much longer than usual to rouse from sleep, and even longer to finally get up and out of bed. Dread spread through his body, covering him like a second skin. Surely he couldn’t be this hungover from a few beers?
At the thought his stomach gurgled, the taste of hops still lingering on his tongue despite cleaning his teeth three times. God, this wasn’t how he wanted this day to start. It was, after all, a rolling day: the most exciting and hopeful day of every week. After a month stuck in Delhi, the anticipation of a potential move should have had him leaping from the sheets and sprinting down the stairs. Kushal had become almost as invested as him in his weekly ritual, captivated by the bizarre rigmarole that Jacob undertook with his dice and his lists.
Kushal.
