Chapter 3

Lista Playlist: Down bad – Taylor swift

It’s been two weeks, and I’m still wishing I was back in The Lake District. The crunch of snow beneath my feet. The crisp air kissing the skin on my face. And other things I’d rather not think too deeply about since I’ve been led on just to be let down again . I’ve clearly been ghosted. Again. It fucking sucks. I can’t say I expected him to actually show interest in me romantically, or even at all for that matter. I’m the friend who’s always second best. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride is the phrase, if I’m correct. I’m the short, nerdy one who hangs around with guys. I’m not exactly the conventionally beautiful type that people fantasize about. Plus, I’m pretty sure he paid some attention to my leg, which is often the deal breaker for potential romance. My leg is well and truly my personal cock block. Thanks a lot leg. No, I’m just kidding, you’re perfect. And believe me, it doesn’t impact my…bedroom abilities. Wink wink.

I spend most of my days studying and working. Doing a full-time PhD is anything but glamorous. I’m on campus most of the week surrounded by dudes, and my main fashion staple is dungarees and doc martens. The only time I escape the norm is when I’m working as a lived experience practitioner across various departments. So, I’m a student and an associate with the uni. Odd to be honest, but it keeps me on my toes (real and prosthetic). And keeps my pockets lined. I may as well live here. I can’t complain though. The consistency keeps me from having to deal with too much change and travel. I struggle in those aspects, so being in one place helps. My other venture is my part time freelance mechanical engineer job, and currently I’m doing a biomechanical research project, so I’m getting as much experience as possible by looking for bioengineers to shadow, particularly those working in the development of prosthetics. I may have even pestered my prosthetist enough for him to let me shadow him every once in a while. You’re probably thinking, Lista how do you juggle it all? The answer is, I have no choice. I own my own apartment, alone, and have done since I left the care system at seventeen, so the bills need paying. Simple. My aunt does still help me when I need an extra pair of hands, or legs, but after what life has thrown at me, I like to prove to myself I can be independent and reliable. So I like working hard. That’s my life, and I’m happy. Most of the time.

Today is a slow and flexible day. I’m working on research, whilst also taking some time out to do some individual work. The first on my list is a quick session with a masters nursing group. I’m scheduled to discuss my experience in A&E as a person with mental health difficulties, plus how my physical difficulties are treated due to being an amputee and having lasting effects from a head injury. I’ve had tonnes of experience, from the moment I was rushed into accident and emergency after the accident, to right now. A whole fifteen years of hospital visits to look back on. It’s a draining session but extremely rewarding and makes me hope that I can help make the next generation of nurses even better. I’m then finishing off my day by sitting in on a biomechanical engineering seminar. I decided to do my solo research in this field due to my interests in the particular branch of engineering, plus for future career prospects too, so I’m looking forward to it. It should be insightful, but a nice, easy going way to end my day.

I head over to the coffee shop on campus and fetch a chamomile tea to ease my nerves and ground me, and a vegan sausage roll to tame the beast growling within my stomach. I spend my break sitting in the cosiest corner of the library, like the true introvert I am, and enjoy some headspace.

I head up to the masters nursing classroom and settle in before discussing my experiences. The turnout is good, and the Q&A session goes extremely well. I discuss the lack of space in the A&E waiting area for those with mental health struggles, and how the staff treated me too. The biggest chunk of the story I wanted the students to take away from my talk was how I was disregarded by A&E nurses and doctors after going to be seen about extreme headaches and fatigue. Due to my past, they shrugged it off as being connected to my head injury and assumed it was a symptom with a clear source and explanation. It took all my strength and pleading for them to take more tests, to which they were proved wrong. It had nothing to do with my head injury and everything to do with my extreme iron deficiency, that wouldn’t have been picked up if I’d allowed them to just discharge me based on their assumptions. These stories need to be told and more importantly, listened to, in order to make students into better practitioners upon moving into their careers. I give my positive and negative experiences and also tips on how things could be better in these environments that clearly are not designed for neurodivergent and mentally ill people like me. I hope to make a difference in small doses. I get some great feedback and seem to motivate the students. So as far as this work goes, I’m pleased. Sometimes I mess up, trip over my words or get so anxious that I have to contact the team and cancel, but today was a good day. I’m proud of those little achievements.

Whilst I was delivering my discussion, I noticed a tall figure walk past the narrow window of the door, in the hallway. I only saw his face very briefly. Dark hair ruffled slightly but combed into a smart look. Dark eyes slightly concealed by glasses, and dressed immaculately in a crisp white shirt, only the collar sticking out from a deep brown cosy jumper. Why did he seem so familiar from just a short glance? He kind of looked like Quin, the bar guy, but I know I’m now being ridiculous. Wishful thinking. I dismiss these thoughts as I walk through the hallways to my next session. Going from a member of staff to a regular student, I take a seat closest to the wall in the seminar room, out of the way of everyone else since I’m not officially part of this class. But then again, I’d do this anyway. I must say, I’m serious about my job as a professional introvert. I keep my head down, arranging my notebook, pens and highlighters, research questions, and drink. After keeping my mind occupied and my head down whilst everyone else piles into the room and takes their seats, I look up to spot the man I saw during my discussion earlier. He’s the other side of the room so the distance between us is enough to blur the definitions of his face without my glasses on, but when he looks up and straight towards me, I realise exactly who it is. It’s Quin. The bar guy from New Year’s Eve, who kissed me passionately and then ghosted me. I wasn’t imagining things. It’s definitely him. Great. Wonderful. Spiffing! Fucking brilliant. That must be why we both recognised one another when we first met. We must have seen each other in the halls. Plus, I’ve only just started sitting in on the bioengineering classes, so perhaps our paths wouldn’t have crossed prior. Maybe he’s new. Ugh I don’t know!

He looks at me for a few seconds before it becomes evident that he has also realised who I am. His eyes widen, and he tilts his delicious lips into a one-sided smile before looking away. Despite how difficult it is to stop the muscles in my face from reacting to him, I do not smile back. So, not only do I feel like absolute shit from being ghosted, but I now have to share this entire seminar in the same room as said ghost-er ( ghost? I don’t know what you call it ) and go on with my life knowing he attends the same university as me. I’m just glad he isn’t on my course, or else I guess I’d have to up and move far away. Ok now I’m just being irrational. I do my best to completely avoid him during the session. Eyes on the professor and the lesson. Staying sharp. I think my lack of luck has peeked, until halfway through the seminar the professor introduces the next tutor. You guessed it. It’s Quin fucking Russell. Probably his actual middle name. So now my lack of luck has peeked for sure. He’s not a student. He’s a tutor…I kissed a tutor. I mean, kind of hot, but also kind of ew . I thought he was the same age as me, but now that I think about it, he must be closer to Drew and the guys in age, which isn’t that bad. It could be so, so much worse. Plus, I’m of legal age. It’s not like I’m a child who kissed a middle-aged professor. Ok that made me feel a little sick. My mind is spiralling.

I can see he is trying to remain professional. He’s doing a good job. Other than fidgeting with his hand, which currently has a support strap on it. I’m not entirely bitter. I can appreciate a good lecturer. A fellow academic who has clearly worked his way up to this point. I know how hard the guys worked to get to there so I can’t deny the respect I have for him. He does hold his gaze on me every so often whilst the other tutor speaks, and despite the guilt in his eyes when he finds mine, the rest of the time he’s direct, to the point and confident. I see how he could be mistaken for a dick. No messing around or tolerating shitty behaviour from people. Just pure, serious teaching. He embodies none of the traits I saw when we first met on New Year’s Eve. He’s strait-laced and strict. Happily calling people out on their disrespectful behaviour. It earns him some huffs and sighs, but I’m in full support of his style of teaching. I’ve had to put up with this shit from students whilst doing my lived experience work, and the tutors I work with just allow it, so it’s refreshing to see his response to those in his class. A student decided to have his phone out, whilst clearly not paying attention, and Quins response was to sit on his desk in silence until the guy looked up from his screen, realising no further teaching was taking place after a few moments. “Everything ok there Jason?” he asks the student, who replies with a nod and quiet “yeah”. Quin stands up and paces the front of the room.

“Now, this goes for everyone. If my lecture isn’t up your street, feel free to leave. I’m aware people have urgent messages, but I feel like some of your phones may have held your attention much longer than I have during this lesson. And it’s become a habit too over the last week. If you want to be here, pay attention. If not, be my guest and leave” he says, gesturing to the door. Not with a raised voice or harsh tones, just in a matter-of-fact way, before returning to the lesson as if nothing happened.

Why am I turned on by that?

His deep, smooth voice is perfectly articulate. His clothes are a perfect mix of nerdy, professional and casual all at once, somehow. The way he sweeps back his hair every so often is enticing. And when he licks his lips, I can almost remember how they tasted. But then I remember that I’m me. It was clearly a mistake on his part to kiss me that night, hence why he stopped replying to me. I was a mere pit stop, like I always seem to be. The drunken mistake, perhaps.

My self-consciousness creeps in and I wish I could just disappear. Surrounded by a room full of attractive, intelligent students, I stick out horribly, as always. A nerdy, petite, mud-haired, dull eyed, lame mess. How did I ever think there could have been something between us that night. Why would someone like him, be interested in someone like me? I ruminate unhealthily, and I feel myself spiralling into dangerous, unkind mental territory. Thanks imposter syndrome. Big thumbs up for your support.

The seminar finishes and it’s time for the university to close, thankfully. I can go home and attempt to remove this negative train of thought brought on by my good friend Body dysmorphia and her roomie Imposter syndrome. I can already visualise the hot bath full of gloriously scented bubbles, followed by some tasty food and cuddles with my snuggle buddy kitty, Edith. She listens to my problems and offers the occasional comforting ‘ meow ’. She always knows what to say to make things better. Drew or Flic usually help me stop these kinds of self-deprecating tangents, but right now I’m too embarrassed to admit that the guy who ghosted me is a lecturer in a class that I need to sit in often for my research proposal. Plus, Drew took off early to spend the day helping Flic with some DIY furniture, so I’m not willing to disturb both of them. Plus I can feel something on the horizon with those two, and I will not be the one to interrupt that. So, as I do most of the time, I’m going to internalise my struggles and drown my sorrows in my evening of bliss. It’s always been important for me to have a crisis plan, to find ways to help myself when my mind starts to struggle, or I lose control. I’ve come so far, so I don’t let things take my strength away too easily. This is certainly not going to. I’ll let myself feel and then close the door behind the bad thoughts and feelings on their way out.

I’m always the last to leave my classes. It comes down to being terrified of holding others up by losing balance, tripping or causing an obstacle, so I find it easier to leave last, when I know I can’t be a hindrance to anyone or accidently trip them up with my cane. Except today it serves me the pain of remaining in here, with him for longer than necessary. He and I are the last to leave, but before I can scurry out of the door, a firm grasp on my left hand makes me jolt back and stop. I turn around to him towering over me, far too close. I step back and look up. How is he even more attractive than the last time I saw him? His glasses are the perfect fit for his face and add that extra ounce of nerdiness. He didn’t have them on when we first met, but wow they have a mighty impact. His square jaw is kissed with light stubble. His eyes are hopeful yet pleading as he stares into me. He’s also wearing the same coat he wore on New Year’s Eve. His familiar smoky, yet fresh scent fills my mind with memories of him holding me. How wonderful of me to find myself in this situation.

This should be fun.