Chapter 22

I spend most of the day sleeping off my hangover. It’s late afternoon and I’m groggy – and grumpy – as fuck when I’m woken by my stomach protesting loudly at the abuse I’ve shown it in the last week. Namely, way too much alcohol and not enough good green food. Though in my defence, I do seem to remember picking all the green Skittles out of the packet with Steph at some point last week and throwing them at Jess because “green shit is good for you”. I mean, that’s practically eating vegetables, right? Maybe fruit at the very least? Were they apple flavoured or lime? Fuck knows.

I do know I wasn’t drunk enough to eat the orange ones though. Blurgh.

Speaking of drunk, how in the ever loving fuck did I get that wasted last night? And how the hell did I get home?

I blink a half dozen times until I can no longer hear my eyelids trying to unstick themselves and check that I am in fact in my own dorm room. My shoulders drop with relief when I see that I am.

My phone beeps and I squint at the screen around my still blurry-as-fuck vision. Why?

I have a message from an unknown number. How’s the head? I hit reply, saying that I’m dying. Dying and starving. And a response comes through instantly.

Unknown number: Wanna meet me for an early brinner? I know just the cure for ‘starving and dying’.

Me: What the fuck is brinner? And who is this?

Unknown Number: Ouch, you wound me, Odile Kemp. Have you forgotten your knight in shining armour so easily?

Oh fuck. Awareness slams back into me, and I lurch out of bed and into my bathroom. I just manage to drop my phone into the sink with a clatter before what little alcohol was left in my system makes a reappearance down the toilet along with bright yellow bile. No Skittles though.

When I’m done, I flush, scoop my phone out of the sink and rinse out my mouth. Then I brush my teeth for what feels like an hour, refilling the brush three times with more toothpaste, before cranking on the shower and trying to scald the memories of last night away.

Fuck. I witnessed…what did I witness? A murder? An execution? Payback? Housekeeping? Who the fuck were those men in the shadows and why they were they shooting people in the basement of a fucking church?

And what the hell was Hector doing there? Did he bring me home? I seem to recall being cradled against his chest and him telling me to sleep, but when did I give him my number?

The shower doesn’t wash away the memories but it does take care of the ick feeling lingering on my skin. I’m wrapped in a towel when I check my phone again.

Unknown number: Brinner is breakfast for dinner and it happens to be the world’s best hangover cure. It’ll also be ready in about twenty minutes, in flat 4A, if you’re not up to feeding yourself.

My stomach groans in appreciation at not having to wait for me to get my shit together and cook, so I quickly text back my acceptance. Maybe I can grill Hector on what the hell went down last night.

I check the other messages on my phone, all from the girls asking where I got to last night. Apparently I replied to them in the early hours of this morning that I had caught a taxi with some people on campus that I know because I had a migraine. I don’t remember sending that, and the message sure as hell doesn’t read like something I wrote, because I sure as fuck only know a handful of people, but at least I didn’t just disappear on my new friends and worry them.

I dry off, blast my hair with the dryer to take the edge off enough that I won’t catch pneumonia crossing campus now that the temperature has dropped, and pull on some comfy clothes. Black leggings and an oversized Deathfall High sports hoodie which used to belong to Zie. I didn’t keep it for nostalgic reasons – well maybe in the beginning I did – it just happens to be much more comfortable than any other jumper I own. I hate the way guys’ clothes are always so much more comfortable than girls’; like we don’t want items built for style and comfort too? I don’t bother with a bra, no one can tell under the hoodie anyway, and I put on some fluffy socks before pulling on my favourite boots and sliding my favourite blade into the side of my right boot.

The mirror shows a hungover, washed out, pale girl staring back at me. My eyes are wide and seem too large for my face, and my slightly damp hair just hangs straight around my face with zero effort. I look like a completely ordinary student. Good. This past week I’ve felt like one, and I’m not sure I”m ready for it to be over.

I grab my keys and my phone, slide them into the kangaroo pouch on my hoodie and leave my dorm.

Hector’s flat, 4A, is only a couple of blocks over from mine so it only takes a few minutes to walk there. Unlike my ground floor flat, Hector’s is on the second floor. I don’t have to worry about being buzzed into the block because someone is coming out as I arrive and he kindly holds the door open for me.

“Thanks,” I say, doing that awkward British half jog-skip move to speed up because I don’t want to keep him holding the door and waiting on me.

“No problem, Doe,” he replies with a wink.

He doesn’t look at all familiar, but he clearly knows who I am because there’s no doe insignia anywhere on my clothing. I do a double take as I pass him but he’s already on his way.

After last night’s weird almost panic-anxiety attack, I decide not to take the lift and head for the stairs instead. It’s only one floor anyway.

I regret that five minutes later when I’m panting at Hector’s door. What the hell is wrong with me? It shouldn’t take me that long or that much energy to walk up a single flight of stairs.

“Are you okay?” Hector peers down at me with concern etched on his handsome face.

“F-fine. Can I have some water please?”

“Of course, come in.” He steps back and invites me into his flat, which is a carbon copy of my own. I take the first right into the communal kitchen. Hector follows, grabs a clean glass from the draining rack and fills it from the cold tap before passing it to me. I down the glass before thanking him, my heart still racing.

“Thanks. Sorry. The stairs killed me.”

“You know there’s a lift right?” He shoots me a bemused look.

“Didn’t seem worth it for one flight.”

“Bet you’re regretting that now,” he teases. I smile.

“I can’t believe I bumped into you last night. I’ve not seen you all week.”

“Been looking for me?” His dark eyes twinkle, and I grin back at him.

“Sort of. I’ve been in the gym a lot but didn’t see you.”

“I had the week off,” he explains, pointing for me to take a seat at the dining table, which is set for two and laden with covered dishes. He takes my empty glass, refills it and places it on the table while I take my seat. “Did you need something, or were you just missing me?”

“Maybe a little of one…” I tease back with a coy smile. Holy crap am I trying to flirt? Embarrassed, I clear my throat and school my expression. “I wondered if you…I mean the gym…run any sort of fitness classes.”

“Course we do. We have group classes and one to one sessions, and a whole fitness timetable. What are you interested in?”

“Self defence.” There’s silence for a beat as Hector stares at me and I feel the sudden urge to fill it. “I took classes last year but I don’t want to forget my training or go rusty. I just wondered if there’s anything like that on offer.”

Hector exhales, looking relieved, and then shakes his head. “Sorry, we don’t offer anything like that, though I do think the university should.”

I nod my understanding, but I can’t help the disappointment I feel. I’m sure if I started asking about weapons training now, Hector would think I’ve lost my damn mind. Instead, I changed the subject.

“So, brinner?” I give him a weak smile, hoping he’ll take a hint. His brow creases with concern but he nods a moment later.

“Let’s eat. We can talk after.”

He reaches over and begins removing lids from the dishes, revealing all manner of breakfast dishes: from a traditional fry-up to pancakes and waffles and even bacon naan rolls and Spanish baked eggs. The scents hitting my nose reawaken my hunger and I groan.

“Everything looks and smells amazing!”

Hector beams at me. “I love cooking. It’s so nice to have someone to share it with.”

“Do your flatmates not appreciate all this?” I ask as I pile my plate high.

“Nah, they’re more packet noodles and beans on toast guys.”

“Ugh. Their loss is definitely my gain here.” I tuck in, and holy crap this guy can cook. It’s next to impossible to keep the sexual groans to myself. I can’t help my eyes fluttering closed to savour every mouthful. “This is…incredible. So you work in the gym, you’re a PT, you look like that…” I blush. “And you can cook? Your girlfriend must be the happiest girl in the world.”

“Nah.” He shrugs, looking bashful.

I nod knowingly then wink at him. “Shit in bed?”

His laugh is a deep rumble that spreads a smile across my face.

“I’d be more than willing to demonstrate my talents in that area too.”

The temperature in the room rises by about a thousand degrees and I have to take a sip of my water to keep from fanning myself.

“I think the girlfriend may have something to say about that.”

“She would, no doubt…if she existed.”

“Oh. Well, you should probably hurry up and wife up. Your skill set is far too valuable to stay single.”

“I’ll take it under advice, thanks.” He chuckles lightly. I love the way his warm eyes sparkle and how easy the conversation flows between us. Definitely flirty though, but I don’t mind at all.

“Thank you so much for the invite.”

“You’re more than welcome. I kind of wanted to see for myself that you were okay after last night, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate me staying over to keep an eye on you.”

I grimace. “I was really wasted. I’m so sorry if I made a fool of myself.”

“Are you sure it was just alcohol?”

“Yes…why? I don’t do drugs.” I scrunch my nose up in distaste.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you did. What were you doing downstairs at the club last night?”

“I was looking for the toilets. Jess has said earlier that they were downstairs.”

“They are. You just used the wrong staircase.”

“I figured I would find them eventually but so many doors were locked and I was…”

“Yeah?” He prompts gently when I trail off and don’t continue.

“I don’t know. A bit worked up I guess. I got really hot and overwhelmed, my vision wasn’t the best and I was just trying to get out of the crowded space. I guess I wasn’t really paying too much attention.”

“Is there any way your drink could have been spiked?” He asks. I stare at him but there’s no trace of humour on his face. He holds my gaze with a deadly serious expression.

“What? No. My friends bought all my drinks for me. Why would they hurt me?” I frown, remembering the last shots I did. Didn’t Steph say they were from her boyfriend and – “Rob.”

“Who’s Rob?”

“I did some shots last night that were allegedly from my friend’s boyfriend and my flatmate, Rob.” I pull a face. “He’s a bit of a creeper.”

Anger flashes across his face so fast I swear I imagine it then he nods. “It makes sense that something was put in your drink. You were pretty out of it when I found you and just walking up the stairs today wiped you out. That’s not a sign of a normal hangover.”

I nibble my lip, considering what he’s saying. He’s right, it is possible of course, but why? I could confront Rob when I return to my dorm perhaps.

“You say I was out of it when you found me, but I think I found you,” I say, trying to address the elephant in the room.

Hector sighs. “Not that out of it then. I guess you have questions.”

“What were you doing down there?”

“Working.”

“Giving a PT lesson?”

“I occasionally work the bar at Trinity’s when they’re short staffed.” He smiles ruefully at me. “I was restocking when you crashed through the door and passed out in my arms.” I frown. “What?”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I crashed through the door and interrupted a…meeting…of sorts. I remember hearing several voices, including someone saying to get rid of me, then there was a man begging and a gunshot—”

“Whoa, that’s quite a story.” Hector’s eyes are wide, shocked but completely sincere. “I wonder what drugs were in your system.”

“No. I wasn’t…this isn’t some sort of drug induced hallucination, Hector! I know what I saw.” I shake my head. I do know what I saw, don’t I? I’m sure of what I heard at least. The guys were fooling around with guns from such an early age, I got used to the noises and sounds. I even snuck out and shot a couple of rounds once when Zie left his pistol in my room. It had a silencer on it, hence recognising the distinctive sound last night.

“I’m not sure, Odile. I think if a gun went off in that room, I would have heard it. It was pretty quiet down there.”

“Exactly. Quiet enough that I wouldn’t have misheard.”

“But you were really drunk, disoriented and possibly drugged. Maybe your perception of these events is slightly off.” His tone is calm but I can sense pressure behind his words. He wants me to agree with him, to let this go, but I can’t.

I don’t even know why I’m fighting him on this but I feel like he’s trying to manipulate me.

“Yeah, you’re right. My head is pounding. I think I should probably go back to bed for a bit.” I get to my feet. “I think I better go. I, uh, have a date to get ready for later so a nap first would be good. Thanks for brinner.”

I have to wait awkwardly for him to let me out from my seat by the wall, but he’s the perfect gentleman and gets straight to his feet to let me pass. As I reach the kitchen door he calls out to me gently. Stopping, I turn around and look back at him. The expression on his handsome face is torn. He scrubs a hand over his jaw and grits his teeth.

“Come by the gym next week and book some one-on-one PT classes with me. I’ll make sure we get a private space and I’ll teach you those self-defence refreshers you’re after.”

“Okay.” I give him a small smile but I’m less keen on the idea than I was before. “Thanks. I’ll see you in the week then.”

“If not sooner.”