Faith (working title)

Chapter 1:

“Faith! I kenn you’re there Faith!” The door rattled on its loose hinges as another thunderous barrage of bangs was launched against it. “Faith!”

The light Scottish brush of his accent filled the room and the girl looked up for a moment, looking curiously towards the door. Then she returned to what she was doing.

She was pretty, in her own way; long dark hair surrounding an elfin face that screwed up in concentration as she worked. Her bare legs were folded up underneath her in an awkward position and she shifted to straighten them out, disentangling them from the duvet and sheets. The CD player that sat next to her on the mattress skipped as she moved and the girl froze, waiting for the music to come back on. After a second, the soft acoustic guitar filled the room again and the girl turned back to what she was doing.

“Faith! Open this door, right now!”

The girl smiled, but didn’t turn her head this time. Instead, she started singing; a sad, maudlin tone that rose swiftly to join the CD in a perfect duet. “When I played with fire, I never knew that I would burn so deeply…”

“Faith! Let me in!”

A lock of hair fell into her eyes and the girl brushed it irritably back behind her ear, leaving a smudge of red across her forehead. Her work lay on her lap and she looked down at it, certain that there was something missing, a line undrawn somewhere.

The banging on the door ceased and the girl exhaled a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. The world span around her and she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the music, trying to let her voice rise with it, the road to each note paved by the previous, feeling where each word should be. “Turning in my bed, I was an angel, torn from heaven. I dreamt of sea and stars and sky and him and me forever…”

There was a sudden crash and the door shook, bending in the frame before deciding to stay put. Faith jumped, the knife turning in her hand as she started, digging painfully into her arm. A hiss of pain erupted from her mouth and she bit down hard on her lip, eyes squeezing tightly closed as her arm flared with fire. The CD player leapt from the bed, smacking down on the floor with a confused jumble of music.

After a second, the pain receded and the music came back on. Faith opened her eyes to look at her arm. The ethereal white of her skin seemed somehow more shocking than the crimson trails that stained it. Deep, ugly gouges scratches across the surface of her inner arm and Faith traced the paths of some with her fingertips, unmindful of the flashes of pain this elicited. This one was merely a light brush, a tiny line that barely even broke the skin yet surrounded by an angry flush of blood. While this one over here… Faith gasped as her fingers pressed a little too hard into a blackened line of dried blood. Her whole arm throbbed with the pain, pulsating with her heartbeat and Faith tried to imagine waves of agony and anguish emanating from the skin of her forearm, radiating away into the atmosphere in ugly red-black vapour trails.

She rolled her shoulders, suddenly aware of the cold in the room. The window was wide open to the chill night, simply because she hadn’t got round to closing it and she was still clad only in an old pair of sleeping shorts, simply because she hadn’t got around to getting dressed that morning. Everything was so much effort. Faith closed her eyes and wistfully thought of sleep. Sleep meant bed though and bed meant alone with a cold far more harrowing than the one from her window. Faith felt the tears build at the corners of her eyes, hot salt pricking and burning at her skin. It felt as though all the air had been removed from the room, as though she’d just been punched in the stomach, as though she’d just been punched in the face.

Faith bit down hard on her lip, letting the sudden sting of sensation override her emotion for a brief second. Then she turned to the bedside table and added another slug of five pound vodka to the already potent brew sitting in her giant coffee mug. The stench made her nose wrinkle, but Faith forced herself to take a deep draught, choking down as much of the noxious concoction as she could stand.

The song rose to its chorus and Faith rose with it, standing unsteadily to give full voice to the words. “And I sang along to Lady Day. When I’m down, I listen to Lady Day. She makes my dark clouds melt away, when I’m down…”

There was another crash on the door and the room shook. Faith bit her lip, teeth worrying at the flesh as she looked towards the flimsy door-lock. Why Daniel gave a damn was beyond her. He should have his own life and his own problems to look after.

She sat down on the bed and picked up the knife again. The dark, ugly one, just on the curve of her wrist and under her thumb. That was where the pulse was, where they were supposed to hold you to check if you were alive. Where the heart showed through.

Blood welled up around the knife, leaking little rivulets down her arm. Faith clenched and unclenched her fist, watching as they collected on the underside of her arm, pooling into a drip that clung to her skin, barely resisting gravity’s pull. She shook her arm experimentally, but the drop wouldn’t fall.

She drew the knife back and forth, her teeth gritted as she gouged the cut deeper, twisting to make it wider, trying to call forth enough blood to make the drip fall. A fresh flow ran down her arm, joining up with the previous, making the drop swell to become even more pendulous, its surface contact stretching to near breaking point. A scarlet tear, ready to fall.

There was another thunderous crash and the simple bolt holding the door shut gave way all too easily, sending it flying open to slam against the wall. Daniel fell into the room and Faith twisted sharply, the knife digging in again. The drop fell unnoticed onto her bare thigh, a little crimson blemish on the china white of her skin.

Daniel picked himself to his feet and brushed his hair out of his face. For a moment, he just stared. Faith stared back at him. There was a brief piece in that second, a suspension of all time and space and pain as the world stopped turning and her flatmate kept staring at the blood drying on her arm. Then it broke.

“Fuck me…” Daniel murmured, any trace of his light Scottish accent muted by the sudden quiet in his voice. “Fuck me. Faith, what the hell are you doing?”

Faith stared at him. His long dark hair tumbled around his face in disarray and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. Daniel always struck her as a person who looked like they’d been stretched, as though every limb and feature had been elongated vertically to fit his six and a half foot frame. His trademark brown leather jacket hung loosely off one shoulder and Faith cocked her head quizzically at it.

Daniel took a hesitant step forward. “Faith?”

Faith smiled wanly and turned her attention back to her arm. Blood dried in crinkled, blackened lines and everything was starting hurt now, pulsing throbs filling her arm as the cold air stung at the exposed flesh. She picked up the knife and laid the flat of the edge against her skin.

“Faith, stop it!” Daniel dived forwards, grabbing at her wrist and Faith cried out, more surprised by the ferocity of his grip than actually hurt by it. “Stop it!” He pulled at her fingers, trying to prise the knife from them.

Faith let the knife go without a fight and looked down into her lap. The CD changed tracks and she found herself joining it, her voice automatically picking up the melody and forming a perfect counterpoint to the singer. “Some days I feel like crying. Don’t matter if it’s rain or shine…”

“Faith, don’t do this.” Daniel knelt down in front of her, bringing his eye level down to where she was staring. “Look at me.”

His arm still hung limply by his side and Faith stared at it, entranced by the way his jacket just slumped straight down. “You’ve hurt yourself,” she said.

“I’ve…” Daniel struggled for words. “Faith, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing in particular. What have you done to your shoulder?” She stretched out a hand and poked it experimentally. Daniel tipped backwards, his body reacting to move away from the pain that clenched his jaw and sent a hissing exhale through gritted teeth. “See? You’ve hurt yourself,” she repeated.

Daniel’s mouth hung open as he tried to find some kind of response. “I… Faith, are you stoned?”

“Nope, never touch the stuff.” Faith reached to the bedside table and lifted up the coffee mug, with an attempt at a roguish smile. “Might be a little drunk though.”

She lifted it to her mouth, but Daniel slapped his hand down over the top of it before she could drink. “What is wrong with you? The last thing you need is more tae drink. It doesnae help.”

“Get off!” Faith pulled the mug away and stood up, slopping most of it onto the floor. “Why doesn’t it help? You don’t know! You don’t know anything!”

Daniel stood up with her. “I know that that doesnae help. That shite won’t solve any problems.”

“It stops me thinking.” Faith raised the cup in mock salute. “Right now, I can think of worse advertisements. I don’t wanna think anymore. I’m tired of thinking!”

“I can see that hen.” Daniel stepped close to her, his voice dropping low as he picked up her wounded left arm in his big, coarse hands. “What have you done to yourself?” he asked sorrowfully

A sudden wave of anger overwhelmed Faith and she shoved him back, planting both hands on his chest with such force that he fell backwards onto the bed. “What the hell do you know about it? You don’t know anything. You don’t know what this is like, how is feels, anything!” She hurled the mug down at his head and screamed at the top of her voice. “You don’t know what I need! Who the fuck are you to tell me what I need?”

She jumped onto the bed and tried to prise the knife from his hand, scratching, biting, punching and kicking at him. Although unwilling to fight back he was more than her equal in strength and she ended up straddling him, digging her nails into his fingers to try and get the blade. The position made her acutely aware of just how few clothes she was wearing and flashes of physical memory overwhelmed her. This was how she used to sit on top of Richard, enjoying the heat of his body underneath her as his hands roved her skin…

An icy shard slid into her chest and Faith crumpled to the ground, unable to function further with this gaping maw open inside her. Every breath of oxygen had left her lungs and she gasped for air, struggling just to carry on breathing. Then her lungs started working again and she started sobbing.

Daniel threw the knife across the room and knelt down next to her. “You don’t need it hen, trust me. It’s gonnae take some time, but you’ll get through this.”

“Oh fuck time,” Faith choked out between sobs. “I don’t care about time; it’s now that’s killing me! You don’t know what it’s like!” She drew her knees up her chest, wrapping her arms around them, trying to draw herself into so tight a ball that the pain couldn’t penetrate. Still, it came, wave after wave of memories of feelings: his touch, his face, his smile, his love, her life. The force of the sobs shook he, making every muscle tremble.

“You don’t know. You come in here and…and you break my door and you tell me ‘It’ll get better in time,’ but I don’t want time, I need him now, I want him back so badly and…and you come here and you tell me I can’t drink and you take my knife and… I needed that!…”

Daniel laid his hand on her shoulder. “You really don’t.”

“But it hurts! It hurts so bloody badly and I… I can’t do this anymore, I just don’t want to feel this, I don’t want any of this.” Faith gasped for another sobbing breath as the ball of agony inside her swelled, crushing her lungs and flattening her chest. “It burns, like someone’s poured fire into my lungs, or… or like something’s crawling inside me and gnawing at me or… or…”

She could feel Daniel’s hand tugging at her shoulder and she let herself go with the pull, collapsing into his hug. She squeezed her eyes tight shut until colours swam behind her eyelids and tried to pretend that it was Richard’s arm holding her close, Richard’s hand stroking her hair, Richard’s voice murmuring that everything would be alright. A fresh wave of agony overwhelmed her and she slumped against him, her body abruptly running out of strength to do anything but cry.

Chapter 2:

Michelle woke up slowly. For a moment, she couldn’t work out where she was, the last vestiges of her dreams mixing with reality. She had to do something, or go somewhere, or rescue…

She rolled over onto her back, trying to delay awakening. The bed was too soft, too warm, too comfortable. A beam of sunlight shone onto her face though and Michelle squeezed her eyelids tighter shut against the sun. There was no avoiding it. She was awake.

Reluctantly, Michelle opened her eyes. Or tried to at least; last night’s mascara had gummed them  shut. She lifted a hand to wipe it away and then quickly covered her eyes against the light. The sunshine from the window was offensively bright for the morning after the local student night and it was a moment before she could see anything. She wasn’t in her own bedroom. This one had pristine cream walls, tastefully decorated with framed paintings. Definitely not her place.

She struggled out of the grasp of the encircling duvet and looked around, trying to get her bearings. A cheap wooden desk sat underneath the bay window and was coated in the blazing sunshine that streamed through the half-shut curtains. The floor wasn’t carpeted; instead a confusion of oriental rugs covered cheap wooden floorboards.

Michelle looked around for some trace of where the room’s owner was. She’d never been to Daniel’s room before and hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. There was an appalling lack of clutter or mess for a twenty-something’s room, certainly in comparison to hers. Her room boasted suitcases which she still hadn’t unpacked from her flight two months ago.

All of Daniel’s messy instincts appeared to be concentrated in one corner, where an easel stood. A half-sketched picture of a woman was on it and Michelle frowned, trying to identify who it was. A cotton sheet attempted to cover the floorboards, but paint splotches liberally coated the floor under the easel. Several half-finished canvasses lay across small tables and surfaces, balanced wherever they could be placed.

A small blue sofa sat in the corner of the room and Michelle spotted her coat lying haphazardly across it. She’d gone for a drink after their lectures; Daniel, her and a couple of buds from school. The ‘swift pint’ as the Brits had called it had turned into the long bar discussion, and then into the proposal that they ‘make a night of it.’

Michelle smiled, remembering just what she’d felt about that idea. She’d noticed Daniel from the first class, instantly attracted to the hair and the eyes and the way every motion seemed so languid and lazy, no matter how fast he was moving. And the jacket; brown, battered leather worn so naturally it looked like a part of him. She’d never seen him without it. Proof positive that she’d made the right decision in coming to Britain ; you wouldn’t find anyone in Texas who’d even try to pull off a look like that, let alone get away with it.

Michelle remembered wondering then whether he’d look different without it on, then the flush that had suffused her face as she wondered what he’d look like without any of his clothes on. Thankfully no-one had noticed to ask her what she was thinking about.

They’d gone to Midas’s and danced, both of them circling around each other in the awkward fashion of two people on a first date. Michelle remembered concentrating so hard on dancing in synch with him, trying to sway her body provocatively without being too overt, trying not to look like the gauche hick girl from Tyler , TX that she was. Every second was filled with questioning and second-guessing: did he like her, was he just being polite, was she dancing in a way to entice him, was she looking like a slut, like the bumbling ingénue that she was? Was she dancing like an epileptic octopus caught in a strobe light? Was he really embarrassed to be seen with h…

Then the kiss had come, his arms wrapping around her so naturally as she melted into him, all thought and planning forgotten as she surrendered to the gentle brush of his lips.

And now she was here. In his bedroom. Alone. Michelle looked down to see that her coat was as far as she’d got in disrobing; she was still wearing the jeans and the top that she’d selected so carefully yesterday morning, just in case she met up with Daniel. That was kind of a relief, but what the hell happened last night? Michelle scrunched her forehead up and tried to remember what’d happened next. They’d kissed again and then had another drink and kissed a bit more. And some more. And a little more just to be on the safe side. And then?

Michelle bit her lip. Had she slept with him? She was in his bed after all. But if she had, then where was he. And why wasn’t she naked? It was impossible that she could’ve screwed him and then put her clothes back on to go to sleep in. No, nothing happened. She was sure of it.

“Daniel?” she whispered. Her normal bouncy Texan accent had been reduced to a harsh croak by the razor blades that seemed to be stuck halfway down her throat. She licked her lips, but her mouth was too dry for it to make any difference.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and limped over to the mirror with the feet of the morning after dancing in heels. Her appearance was child-scaring; yesterday’s carefully applied makeup blurred and her short, blonde hair sticking out at crazy angles on the side she’d slept on.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself as she tried to smooth it down with her palm. The jagged edge of her left ear caught her eye and she turned her head to see it better. The thought of Daniel seeing that made her shudder and she redoubled her efforts. She needed gel or mousse or something to get her hair down and covering that.

That instant, there was a knock at the door. “Shell? You awake?”

Michelle looked at the crazy mess of hair in the mirror and winced. She didn’t know quite what level of intimacy they’d got up to last night, but this was a level of nakedness too far. She combed her fingers through her hair frantically, looking across the surfaces for anything resembling a hairbrush. Goddamn it, Daniel had longer hair than her. How could he not have a hairbrush?

The knock came again. “Are you decent?”

“Just.. just a second!” Finally her hair started responding to her frenzied ministrations and she managed to smooth enough of it down to cover her ear. One last check in the mirror, then she scampered back to the bed, to pull the duvet up around her wrinkled clothes. “Come in!”

Daniel kicked open the door with his foot as he slowly and carefully paced in. A tea tray balanced precariously on one hand and Michelle watched in confusion as he struggled monodextrously with it. His left arm pressed loosely against his ribs, as though he was holding a stitch in his side. The jacket had obviously been ditched downstairs and Michelle tried to stop herself from gawping at the way the white cotton of his t-shirt stretched taut across the muscles of his chest. So that’s what he looked like.

His brown hair flowed smoothly around his shoulders without any muss, tangles or tats and Michelle bit her lip. On the one hand it was unfair that a guy had such beautiful hair without even trying. On the other, the memory of wrapping her hands in it as he kissed her was just coming back to Michelle and she wasn’t sure she could feel annoyed at anything.

He laid the tea-tray down on the desk very carefully and turned to her. “There you go. Breakfast in bed. Traditional Scottish apology.”

The sheer number of questions reverberating around her head must’ve shown on Michelle’s face.

“For leaving you on your tod last night?” Daniel smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You didnae hear a single thing, did you?”

Visions of Daniel coming back to a girlfriend and having noisy sex in the room next door were floating through Michelle’s head. “Hear a single thing of what?”

“Lass downstairs’s having a wee bittie trouble. I wanted tae make sure she’s doing okay last night. By the time I’d got stuff sorted, you’d crashed out already.”

Michelle tried not to sigh externally. “So where’d you sleep?”

Talk about painting????

Faith sat on her bed and looked down at her arm. It seemed ridiculous that she’d put so much effort into applying first aid to cuts she’d opened herself. Small strips of elastoplasts spanned the cuts, pulling the edges together like home-made staples and her skin stank of antiseptic. The flesh was stiff though and every time she flexed her arm, Faith could feel the swollen and reddened skin protesting.

Her eyes flicked to the clock that was propped up on her desk. She had two minutes to get her stuff together, get out the house and catch the bus up to uni for her lecture. Macroeconomics wasn’t a lecture she could afford to miss; she didn’t understand it already and Professor Richards didn’t believe in putting his lecture notes up on the internet. There wasn’t a choice in the matter; she had to go.

Still she sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at her arm. Her fingers traced over the abused skin, wincing as they pressed too close to a ragged edge. What kind of a response was this? It solved nothing. It helped nothing.

She couldn’t stop staring though, entranced by the way the pain waxed and waned as she twisted her arm. The cuts burned with each tiny movement of muscle, flaring white shards of pain along her arm if she flexed her wrist at all. Her fingertip pressed against the largest one and Faith gasped involuntarily as her arm pulsated, every muscle locking in response and prolonging the agony longer. It receded like waves, pulling slowly away from a beach and Faith opened her eyes again.

Behind her, the alarm on her mobile bleeped, reminding her of things she had to do, places she had to be. Faith reached out with her right arm and smacked the off button. “Fuck it,” she said and went to go and find breakfast.

The smell of bacon filled the small student kitchen and Faith found herself suddenly transported back to being fifteen years old again, when her father would suddenly pop up beside her and present her with a bacon sandwich. He would always put butter on it, no matter how many times she protested that she didn’t like butter on her sandwiches and he’d never remember the tomato sauce. Faith would have to get up from wherever she was sitting and get the ketchup, affecting a disaffected teenage grump, but secretly so pleased at the thought behind it.

A tear brimmed in the corner of her eye and Faith blinked it away, suddenly quite painfully aware of just how much she missed home.

“Did you want something?” The voice startled Faith out of her reverie and she realised she had been standing still in the doorway, staring off into the middle distance. Toby was sitting at the kitchen table, giving her a cold, uninterested stare. He was wearing perfectly creased trousers and a freshly ironed shirt and his stiff, formal appearance was completely at odds with the lounging posture he was affecting.

“Hello? Earth to Ophelia, anyone home?” The languid drawl of his patrician accent grated and Faith wrapped her dressing gown tighter around herself.

“It’s Faith, not Ophelia,” she said, biting back the sarcastic comment. Irritating posh git or not, he was still technically her landlord and snapping would help no-one. “I’m looking for breakfast. Do I smell bacon?”

“All gone,” Toby declared and popped the last mouthful of his sandwich into his mouth. “Your boy used up the last of it just a second ago.”

“My… Richard was here?”

Toby shot her a contemptuous look. “No, Daniel. Why on earth would Richard be here?” He glowered at her. “You’re not thinking of moving him in here are you? That’d make him a new tenant and you know I have to give my full, unqualified approval to any new tenants.”

To Faith’s amazement, a laugh escaped her mouth. “Not likely.” She pulled the dressing gown tight around her again and walked to the kettle so she didn’t have to look at Toby when she spoke. “We broke up a few days ago.”

There was a brief pause, then Toby spoke. “Oh. Well, as long as he’s not moving in here. If you’re making tea, I’d love another cup.”

Faith bit her lip. It wasn’t as though she was fishing for a reaction. In fact, she wasn’t even sure that she’d accept his sympathy, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least pretend to care. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the kitchen, trying to focus herself away from thinking of her problems.

“No lectures today?” Once more, Toby’s voice cut through her concentration.

“Oh…err no, not till this afternoon,” she lied.

Toby shifted in his chair and drained the last of his tea. “Well, I know you don’t have to get up early, but next time can you be a dear and not make so much noise at ungodly hours of the morning? I had to start at six thirty today and I felt absolutely awful after that night’s sleep.”

“You… you heard that?”

“How could I not?” The kettle clicked and Toby proffered his mug to her. “Two sugars thanks. You people should really try and learn a better volume for three am.”

Faith bit down hard on her lip and tried to focus on making the teas. Toby was still talking and moving closer to getting his drink spat in with every word. Such an arrogant, self-centred wanker! She closed her eyes and tried not to think about walking up to him, pouring the boiling water over his head and screaming in his face that she had greater problems than his precious beauty sleep. For a moment, she could see herself doing it and her hand actually tightened on the half-full kettle, ready to lift it towards the table.

She took a deep, breath and tried to quell the shaking in her muscles. A little voice inside her was murmuring that he really would deserve it and what was the harm. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t done anything impulsively stupid and damned the consequences in the last 12 hours, was it? The thought made her feel like she was standing on top of a mountain, one foot over the lip of the edge. She could do anything, anything at all. Because, she realised, she didn’t give a damn about what would happen to her.

It felt like that thought should’ve chilled her to the bone but Faith couldn’t seem to access the right emotion. She didn’t care if she lived or died and all she could feel was a hope that the decision would be made soon.

She forced herself to loosen her grip on the kettle and dropped two sugars into Toby’s tea. Without even thinking too much about it, she picked his mug up with her left hand and turned so that she could offer him a full view of her forearm with his tea. She was stretching out her arm before she’d even thought about it.

It wasn’t even a ploy for sympathy. She just wanted to shock that patrician shit out of his egocentric daze, to make him react and force him to deal with her problems. Faith shifted her arm, twisting in a slightly awkward manner so that the sleeve of her dressing gown slid back to reveal the ugly mess underneath as she offered the mug. “Tea Toby.”

He looked up, took the mug and smiled. “Thanks,” he said, then frowned at her. “Aren’t you going to get dressed at some point? It’s eleven already.”

It took Faith a long time to think her way through that conversation. Several thoughts and counterthoughts, asking herself whether she was sure that he’d seen or whether he’d mistaken them for something else or whether her first aid had obscured them. But no matter what she tried to convince herself, the conclusion was obvious. He had seen. He had seen the physical manifestation of the pain she was in, known just how much she was hurting. And he didn’t care.

Why should anyone care how she was feeling?

Chapter 3:

“How do you know Faith?”

The question came apropos of nothing and as soon as she’d said it, Michelle wished she could rephrase. It sounded jealous, possessive even, which was the last vibe that she wanted to give off to Daniel. He was so cool and… laconic. Michelle hadn’t even known what that word meant a week ago, but it summed up Daniel perfectly. The Brits seemed not only to have a word for everything, but actually use them in ordinary conversation, like they were as common as ‘bread’ or ‘tree’.

They were sprawled on his bed, both of them pretending to look through Pharmacy textbooks and sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn’t watching. Michelle had found herself entranced by the way his black t-shirt was riding up with every position shift, exposing a tantalising strip of lower back. She could just imagine kissing along those muscles, maybe letting her teeth fasten on his flesh, to just nip…

Then the thoughts of Faith had popped into her head from nowhere. She’d barely even seen the girl properly, just little snatches of a pixieish figure darting in and out of her room to grab essentials, before shutting the door again and sliding the bolt across, locking herself in a little cave away from the word. They’d barely exchanged more than two or three words and even small requests like “Pass the kettle,” seemed to be met with a deep insipid lethargy, like existence itself was too much hassle.

Daniel twisted onto his side to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, where’s she from, what’s she do?” Daniel smiled; a delicious slow curving of his lips and Michelle dropped her gaze, embarrassed at his mirth. “What’s her story?”

“Tae be honest, I didnae kenn who she was really before we moved in here last year.” He flicked a strand of hair from his eyes with a lazy sweep of his hand. “She was friend of a friend. Well, lass of a friend, tae be exact. I knew her ex, as he is now.”

“Recent ex?”

Daniel nodded. “She’s na coping too well with it.”

“I’d noticed.” Michelle paused, lost in thought. “So, why did you get volunteered to help her?”

Daniel folded a small piece of paper in between the pages of his book and flipped it shut. “It’s na a burden. I just dinnae like seeing anyone taking things so hard on the chin.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Michelle leant in a bit closer to him. “I mean, why aren’t you helping the guy, if he’s the one you knew first?”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen the lass around and about, haven’t you?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I dain’t think Richard needs help as badly as her. He’s wandering round, happy as Larry, however happy he is. Tae be honest, I cannae think of anyone who needs help like her. The gel’s hanging on by a thread.”

Michelle bit her lip, furious at herself. The conversation had come out of a question that had left her mouth before she’d thought about it and she couldn’t believe she’d just ruined the intimate, cosy atmosphere that’d been building up.

What’s she feeling?
Why’s she feeling that?

Where does she want to take the conversation?

Faith clutched the strap of her shoulder bag and glanced around her. The central plaza of the university teemed with people, hundreds of twenty-somethings just milling around in the ten minute break between lectures, seemingly unaffected by the chill wind that whistled around the open-plan campus. People laughing, smiling, chatting. Faith clutched her bag tighter and walked a little bit faster.

This was a bad idea. She wasn’t ready to come back up to university yet. Faith had tried to quiet the little voice inside as she stuffed things into her bag that morning, but she hadn’t been able to stop feeling like an impostor all the way up here. She didn’t belong here with all these happy, smiling people.

She could go home. The bus back down the hill would be leaving in a couple of minutes; she could just turn on her heel and go back home. To her empty room. To her cold bed. To her bottle of vodka. To cry at the happy couples on the television.

Faith shook it off. She had to be here. Dr Hall had promised to mark the coursework using the percentage of lectures you attended as the top mark and Faith had already missed too many. At this rate, even getting a solid 60% would only just get her a passing grade.

The morass of people ebbed and swirled around her and Faith looked around again, wondering if there was a single friendly face in the entire crowd. Everyone seemed to be in their own little groups, tightly knit with their friends and classmates. And all around her, couples were holding hands, sneaking touches, huddling together and giving each other small smiles at secret jokes that only they could share. Goosebumps pricked at Faith’s skin and she shivered, her heart aching from the sheer vertiginous loneliness.

A flash of colour caught her eye and Faith turned to see Johnny walking past, in his usual kaleidoscopic apparel. “Hey Johnny!” she called out.

He turned, startled out of his reverie and Faith almost bounded over to him with a sudden irrational good cheer from sight of a friend. Maybe she could survive today after all. “Heya!”

“Oh, hey Faith.” Johnny flashed her his trademark brilliant white smile and Faith felt herself smiling back, almost involuntarily. Johnny had one of those infectious beams that made girls all over the university swoon and embarrass themselves trying to attract his undivided attention. He would flirt with anyone and everyone, regardless of looks, attachment or gender. Luckily for Faith, she had already been told before she met him that only the guys stood any chance of the flirting actually going anywhere.

“How’re you?”

“I’m good thanks. Yourself?”

“I’ve been worse.”

There was an awkward silence and Faith forced herself to keep smiling, waiting for the sentence to pop into her head that would inspire the conversation.

“So, you… you got lectures now?”

“Just finished.” Johnny hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder as he shifted from one foot to the other. “You?”

“Just starting.”

The pause dragged out longer this time. Faith bit her lip. This was Johnny; they’d mock-flirted together thousands of times. She hadn’t ever met someone she could talk to so easily; their fluffy-conversations were near legendary. Now, no topic would come to mind.

Author's Note: Sadly enough, this was as far as my NaNo got. I don't think I'm cut out for speed writing. I would imagine that I will come back to this and finish it, but at a later date and certainly take a bit more time over it.

Peter

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