Return

There was a time before Her name was a threat.

I carried it around with me. Put it in my suitcase and drove it the hour to Uni. Unpacked it in my single room, placed it on my splintered shelf along with the photo frame of my family, and the second-hand books I bought months in advance. It began to taste like liquorish. Souring, as I spoon-fed myself with it daily.

But The Present- The Present was a fresh start, jumping and blinking in front of my eyes. A whirlwind of new faces, new accents, and a list of required reading. (And a twist of my stomach, as I realised that I had bought the wrong books).

Of course, She lived in the same accommodation as me. I would find out that She was in a flat of ten, a few buildings down. I would eavesdrop in conversations for mention of Her. I’d jolt like ice had been thrown over me when I met someone that knew Her. I wanted to scream in that frigid water.

But no- no- back to The Present. I was promised the best week of my life. It was Tuesday, and I wasn’t so sure.

The Present, for the purposes of this story, was my University Union: crammed with fresh faced eighteen-year-olds, making decisions that would be immortalised forever. Sticky floors, gender neutral bathrooms, foam parties – you know the place.

Sweaty and loud. Hair stuck to my forehead; a phone shoved in my bra. I was dancing and trying to act like I knew how to, with a pint in my hand. On all sides, bodies pressed against me. In the photos that would be taken, and then saved, and then re-analysed, years later, I would come to know those faces. Max; from downstairs. Aidan, from Kirsty’s flat. They would become part of the tapestry. But right now, they were bodies. And I was acting – singing along to 'Mr Brightside'.

Holly and Jasmine were dancing in front of me. Two of my newest friends, like anchors in the crowd.

As the song changed, and morphed into a techno remix of Taylor Swift (classic), people pushed past us to head to the bathroom. I twisted myself to let them go, and saw as

Her frame materialised out of the thinning crowd. I would know Her anywhere- the streak of blonde hair so light it was almost white.

She was only a few meters away. Steps, really. Five or six. A space stretched open between us, as the gnawing in my stomach deepened.

She was surrounded by new people too. The irony was not lost on me. A room full of strangers and yet years of history were pressed uncomfortably into that 6-step gap.

Our eyes met. Hers widened.

There was a Before. It looked like this:

Whispers, in the dark. Shoulders pressed against each other, stifled laughter. Calls, texts, group chats, facetimes. Picnics by the tower on a Friday afternoon (nobody else was invited). Showing her where I liked to be alone. Nicknames- Pebble and Rock. Buying horror movies and watching them in my garage on my portable DVD player. Song lyrics, written for me- for the story I was writing. Sending each other pictures taken in candlelight: do I look hot? Worry. A slow sinking feeling that never really left, as I watched her pick at her lunch. Sleepovers. Her parents loved me. I bring biscuit tins and flowers and thank her mum, over and over again, for having me. It works. I’m the one friend who her dad remembers. Complications: more friends, more parties, comments behind my back that I didn’t turn to face. Kisses. Playing on omegle except I was the one who had to sit by the camera, typing. She sat back and looked pretty; effortless. Kisses on my sofa, practising for when we’d do it for real. Instagram posts, but no sign of me. Party invites, with no sign of me (I was never as popular as Her). Then the new boyfriends. Buying each other dinner. Sinking more, as her portions become smaller and smaller. The boyfriends acting badly. Telling each other, on repeat, how we deserved better. Talking about the darkest parts of us, about Her dad (a monster), my dad (the echo of one). Working together. The Café. Convincing Her to post her singing to YouTube (She has a beautiful voice). Her elbows jut into my sides as we lay beside each other now. Drunk, Her breath smelling like £5 wine, and her telling me I could make you cum, you know. Sleepovers I wasn’t invited to. Lunches with someone else; with Anna. Walking down the street as She tells me about her latest therapist; how they’re trying to get her to eat; but She puts stones in her underwear to make herself heavier. Her 17th birthday party, and I’m not invited. I was always with my boyfriend now- that was the reason. She opens the 17 letters I wrote her with another girl, laughing at what I said in each one. Uni applications go off. I was aiming for Glasgow, but when I get accepted into all 5, She sends ‘woo.’ in the group chat. Fucking woo. Whispers, behind my back, that I turn to face: I’m a bad friend, my friendship with Anna is cringey, I prioritise the wrong things. I’m waiting on my boyfriend to arrive in the city when She tells the rest of them that she has cancer in that lump on her leg. I sob on my bedroom floor. She gets accepted to all 5, too. She’s a smart girl. She gets angry at me. I can’t remember why. We don’t speak for 6 months. When deciding the rooms for our end of school holiday, She’s snatched up by Grace and Katie. She tells me, in a whisper: I don’t want to share with them, I want to share with you. But I don’t want to make them angry. The holiday. 16 girls flying to Greece. She crawls into my bed when she’s tired, wraps Herself in the blankets and says spoon me pebble. 5-euro buckets. The smell of Weed. 'Easy Target' signs on our backs. I watch Her wrap her arms around another boy in the packed, dim-lit club. In the aftermath, I tell Her I didn’t peg you for a cheater (the boyfriends were still around). There was an aftermath to the aftermath. We came back to Scotland for the summer. We both chose Glasgow. I hoped I’d never see Her again.

----

Back in The Present, it felt like my lungs had frozen at capacity. My legs, on impulse, wanted to move. The streak of her hair was like a beacon.

But.

But-

I found myself turning, before I had thought- before I could wonder what it would mean, before I clocked the implication of such an action. I turned away from Her and to these strangers, huddled around me (people who did not know how I looked when I cried or how my lips felt or the things I whispered at 3am, terrified about life).

I turned and let out my breath. I spent the rest of the evening facing forwards.

---

I started classes. Became closer with Holly and Jasmine, and shared how a girl from my school was living down the street. They asked what happened between us. I didn’t quite explain. Something started to eat away at me as I stared at the ceiling at nights.

I dreamed about The Before- wondered how The Present came to be this fucked up.

My mouth tasted like liquorish as I realised, days later in an English lecture, that the last thing I had seen that night was the side of her face, the corner of her mouth turned up slightly.

It jolted me, freezing my hands in place.

Zara had turned away from me, too.