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I lie beside him on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I know this little routine of mine is risky. Anything could happen when I walk into a house with a strange man, and I’m still not sure what I would do if I ever woke to find a man was awake earlier than I anticipated, expecting far more from me than I ever really want to give. A few kisses and a bit of fondling is all this has cost me so far. But giving me a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, it’s been worth it.

I set a timer on my watch. It’s long past midnight, but four hours of sleep will be sufficient. I’m a light sleeper; the buzz of my watch will be enough to alert me to get up and hopefully not enough to wake him. I don’t want conversation, nor some man who thinks he’s got lucky for a morning fumble. I want to sleep in peace, get up to silence, do my usual routine, and leave Christian behind, wondering what happened.

***

My watch buzzes at five, and I’m immediately awake. Christian is snoring beside me, fast asleep and still in the position I put him in last night. He doesn’t stir as I slip out of his bed. I take my phone off his charger, pick up my Converse and rucksack, and then tiptoe out of his bedroom.

I wander through the downstairs section of the house, quietly opening doors and looking around. I locate the kitchen, the living room, another bedroom—this one empty—and then a downstairs bathroom. I almost squeal in delight. Usually the bathroom is upstairs. I hate venturing upstairs because I’m never sure what I’ll find, how many people I could accidentally bump into.

There’s a tiny shower in the bathroom as well as a sink and a toilet. There’s one towel hanging up. It’s not big enough to be a bath sheet but big enough to use. I drop my things, slide the lock shut on the bathroom door, and then strip out of my clothes. I shower quickly, dry myself off, and then dress in the clean clothes I’d stuffed into my rucksack. It’s my only set of clean clothes, but it’s okay because I know how things go with my mother and Duncan. He’ll have stormed off somewhere by lunchtime. She’ll go out somewhere tonight to lick her wounds and stumble home by herself. I can be home tonight, in my own bed. Hopefully there will be food in the freezer so I can eat tea.

I roll up last night’s dress and underwear and shove them deep into my bag, then unlock the bathroom door and then tiptoe to the kitchen. I keep the light off and wander to the fridge in the corner of the room, pulling it open and having a look at the contents.

The shelves inside the fridge are labelled by name, so I reach for the carton of milk that’s on the shelf labelled “Christian.” By the light of the early-morning sunrise that’s beginning to stream through the open blind, I see the cupboards have the same layout, so I grab a box of cereal from the shelf with his name and pour myself a small bowl. I eat the cereal and then stash the dirty bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. On Christian’s shelf in the cupboard, there are a few easy-to-carry items—packets of crisps, some wrapped biscuits—but nothing that takes my fancy, so I leave them all alone.

On the kitchen countertop is a fruit bowl with a bunch of bananas. They’re a little past ripe, and there’s no name against the fruit bowl to indicate who owns them. The handful of times I’ve done this—gone home with a man with the intention of having a roof over my head and a breakfast in my belly—I’ve only ever taken food where I’m sure I know the owner is the same man. I always figured he’d have been nice enough to feed me if we did have sex.

I reach for a banana just as the kitchen light switches on, making me jump.

“Who are you?” a gruff voice calls out.

I turn, giving him a quick once-over. The half-dressed man in the kitchen is not Christian. Christian is dark-haired, shorter and leaner. This man is far less boyish. He’s dressed only in a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants, his broad chest on display. Tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and an utterly terrifying stranger.

I scramble for my bag. “I’m just leaving,” I blurt out.

“Don’t rush on my account.”

“No, I should be going,” I mutter.

I pick up my bag and walk past him, my head down, staring at the floor.

“Coffee?” He crosses the kitchen and flicks the kettle on. “I can do you one to take away,” he adds. There’s a little scuffle as he works his way through the kitchen cupboard, pulling out a stack of cups and lids. It feels like an extravagance for a bunch of students.

“Okay,” I reply. It’ll be nice to have a coffee to start the day given I don’t even have the money for a shitty-tasting one. I spent most of my bank balance on the entry to the club, grateful for it being student night and heavily discounted.

The man waits for the kettle to boil, flicking teaspoons of coffee into the takeaway cup and the mug he appears to have grabbed from the cupboard.

“Sugar? Milk?” he prompts.

I shake my head, and he pours the water into the cup and secures it with the lid. He takes another step towards me, grabbing a banana from the bunch. He slides the banana and the coffee cup across the counter towards me.

“Thank you,” I murmur. I snatch up the coffee and the banana, then turn and take a step towards the kitchen door.

“One of Christian’s conquests? Don’t be disappointed when he doesn’t call,” he says.

“I won’t be,” I reply. I didn’t give him my number, nor would I want him to contact me. I don’t say this to the man, though. I just stalk out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door, flinging it open wide and then stepping out into the breaking morning light on the street, shutting the door behind me.

I pull my bag tighter around me as I walk down the quiet street. The student house is located on the outskirts of the city centre, so it’s fairly quick for me to find my way to the more lit areas and the bus routes. I sip my coffee as I walk. When I reach the bus route that will take me to school, I sit on the bench. I put my coffee cup on the bench next to me and then shove the banana into my bag.

At least I know I’ll have lunch today.

***

School is deserted when I arrive, which is unsurprising given the early hour. It’s only a few minutes after the doors are unlocked for students, but nobody is ever here at this time. I imagine most students are tucked up in bed, dreaming and hoping they still have hours until their alarm clock goes off. Me, I’m here at this hour every time I have a night when I can’t go home. Mostly, I’m lucky that those night runs go as smoothly as last night with Christian.

It took me a long time to fall into this habit. The first few nights I couldn’t go home after Felix started his travels, I walked through town all night, changed my clothes at school in the toilets the following morning, and then tried to keep my eyes open through my lessons as I fought the sleepiness. Somehow, going home with a young guy seems less risky than walking through the streets, and the few hours of sleep mean I’m not drifting in class.

I know I’m probably pushing my luck. I know it could go hideously wrong, and I could have a terrifying experience. There isn’t a chance in hell that I want my first sexual experience to be because I misjudged the level of alcohol in the person I chose to go home with.