As we sneak out of the garden, we pass an ornate black rubbish bin. I throw the magazine, complete with juvenile drawings into the trash with a dramatic flourish. Bancroft follows suit, splattering the tomato-covered cardboard remnants of our evening on top.
On the bus ride home, I rest my head against the cool glass and begin mentally planning how to weave an El Turo cooking class into my presentation. It’s safe to say my first trial date went much better than Bancroft’s. IfI keep this standard up, I think I might have a chance at getting this promotion. Eventually, I give in to the morbid curiosity and pull out my phone to check Susie’s latest messages. Instead, I am greeted with a text from William:
Hey. How are you? Was wondering if we could get coffee soon, catch up? Will x
The last texts we exchanged are visible just above this one. Messages from me, begging for him to reconsider the breakup and the ultimatum. Scrolling through the pitiable messages I sent in the days post-dumping makes me feel as if bugs are crawling all over my body. This casual message is so jarring against them. As if I’m just a friend he hasn’t seen in a while, not someone whose heart he ploughed into, tore up and then left to fester in the dirt. A delicate tea party next to a gory crime scene. It’s so nonchalant. Is that how he’s been feeling this whole time, while I’ve been slowly rotting from the inside out?
Please pick up!
We need to talk about this.
I love you, we just need to talk. We can sort this out.
Will, please?
I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.
As soon as we started dating William put me on a pedestal. I did the same but on a metaphorical white horse. All I’d ever wanted was someone who loved me as much as my parents love each other, the Fairy-tale Ending. When I met William, it felt like my turn. Even the way we met felt like something from a storybook.Me the damsel in distress, him the dashing hero willing to drop everything to save me.
It was my second year of university and I was spending every waking hour in the library fueled by black coffee and pure unadulterated fear of failure. I was a walking corpse clad in clashing prints who hadn’t been absorbing any information for a good couple of hours. I had decided to go home and see if I could shower and squeeze in an hour of sleep before my next exam. I dragged my body over to the exit clutching my laptop, highlighter pens and books, trying to shove them into the canvas bag half hanging off my shoulder.
A fresh layer of winter had settled in the early hours of the morning, turning the gritted steps into slushy piles of doom. I descended the concrete staircase carefully, trying not to slip. As soon as my feet touched the pavement, I breathed a quick sigh of relief and stepped forward, right into the path of an oncoming bicycle.
I braced myself for the impact, the crash, the impending pain, but it never came. A strong pair of hands pulled me back toward the stairs and I fell to the ground with an “umph” sound, a body breaking what would have been a hard fall onto snow-covered concrete. My books and laptop weren’t so lucky, flying into the air before smacking to the ground with a loud crack.
“Are you OK?”
My scrunched eyelids peeled open and looked up into panicked honey-brown eyes. Soft lips repeated the question, but my brain didn’t register the words. I was tootransfixed on the kind face framed by chestnut hair and a dark stubbled jaw as he scanned me for signs of injury.
I relaxed into him as he held me in his arms, making sure I was OK. My face warmed as he touched my cheek with a gloved hand, checking I wasn’t concussed.
As he fussed around me, it was as if I was hearing the voice of some heavenly being say: “Grace Hastings, please come to the front to collect your order: one Prince Charming.”
Looking back, it is entirely possible Iwasconcussed.
Something snapped me back to reality and I caught sight of my laptop, lying upside down in a pile of slush. I lifted it and watched as dirty water dripped out from the middle.
“Fuck!” My cry echoed across the dawn-laced street, and he took a step away from me.
“Are you OK?” he asked again, more tentatively this time. He looked at me warily, the way you might survey an unexploded bomb.
“No. I mean, yes. Thank you for pulling me out of the way, but my laptop is trashed and I need it for an exam in two hours. Even if I could get one that fast, Idefinitelycan’t afford to buy a new one. Maybe I can go beg my professor to let me take it another day but he’s absolutely terrifying and I think you have to give twenty-four hours’ advance notice to get out of exams and—”
He put a hand on my shoulder, stopping my panic-induced word vomit. “Take mine.”
My head jolted up from the cracked screen and Iproperly took him in for the first time. His navy university-branded hoodie was slightly crumpled, as though he’d just rolled out of bed and thrown on the nearest piece of clothing.
“Take. Mine.” He pronounced both words slowly and clearly. “Give it back after your exam. I’ll be in there.” He gestured with his chin toward the library doors.
“I can’t do that.” I looked at him as if he was the crazy one. “You don’t know me. This could just be some big ruse to steal your laptop.”
He laughed. “That’s certainly a risky heist! I think there are easier ways to rob people without risking your life.”
He dragged his backpack from over his shoulder and pulled out a shiny silver MacBook, gesturing it toward me as casually as a waiter handing over a menu.
I reached my hand out, then I hesitated. “But you’re at the library? Don’t you need it?”
He shrugged and sighed. “I’m here for research, so I’ll be reading a very large old textbook for the next few hours.”
