Why?

She collapsed into the foetal position on her bed, clasping at her duvet, closing it around her. How could this happen? Why does the world hate me so much? Why? The air around her face was warm and damp. The duvet was making her feel claustrophobic and she felt sick. She tore at it, throwing it onto the floor, then wanted it back and clawed at it. How could everything change so completely? She crawled out of bed. She definitely was not feeling well. She dragged her head to the sink. With great effort she managed to vomit into the sink, then thudded onto the tiles beneath it, gasping. And still crying. She could not stop crying. The realisation that she too might be affected flickered into her mind, scaring her momentarily. But then it didn't matter - if Dee died she would inevitably die also. She knew she could not exist without him. Her face felt unbearable. The water gushed from the tap, her hand turning it on then splashing her face and helping her lips to lap up the warm water. Again she collapsed back onto the tiles. She wept more, every few minutes surging into fits of fanatical weeping. For many hours, the radio droned on, drowning out the sounds of her falling off the edge. Several times she heard voices, thuds on doors. She could not deal with them. She could not deal with her own existence - every time she gained a handful of reality, it would spill out through her fingers as she thought of Dee, herself, saying goodbye; she would lapse back into uncontrolled dejection.

It was dark when she woke up. She felt calmer - she could breath now despite the humid claustrophobic air that filled her room. Looking in the mirror she saw a face that she did not know. She needed so desperately to accept herself, even at the most superficial level. Following an automatic routine she cleansed and moisturised her face, carefully dabbing on the creamy blobs then slowly, rhythmically rubbing it in, not allowing thoughts into her head. After changing into some fresh clothes, she put aside all panicky thoughts and walked boldly out of her room. She did not really think about where she going, she just walked. Along the corridor, downstairs into the cool air of the quad. When she reached the main college buildings, she paused to look up at the clock tower. The time was 5pm. Looking down again she could see dim lights on in the bar. She walked towards them, thinking that some warm alcohol would be rather helpful for her now.

* * *

The uncomplicated blue sky reflected through leafless trees onto the still river. Andrew sat on a low branch of an oak, looking down into the water. He knew he needed to think, but there was no time. Every moment he managed to focus his thoughts they were suddenly dispersed by an inner voice shouting sound-bites at him :

'Fuck! Andrew! This is serious'.

'I'm going to loose Heather.'

'Why us?'

He did not know if there were decisions that he should be making. He did know what he should be doing. He had tried to talk to Heather that morning after she had read the letter, but she would not let him in. Her door had just stayed closed.

Would she ever talk to him again? They had to split up. Andrew could not imagine ever sleeping with Heather again. He cared for her too much. Sex could no longer be casual fun. It had baggage, each caress, each kiss would carry doubt and guilt. They would have to split up. But they could still be friends. Andrew hated himself. Life had changed direction and now seemed filled with nasty emotional imagery. Angels with scornful frowns flew around his head kicking and degrading him. He was such a shit. His life had always been complex, but now he had exploded a bomb under someone else's chair. He was the sort of shit person who messed up his own life, then felt the need to cast his bitter perversions onto others. The only way to keep any dignity would be to disassociate Heather from him. Freeing her from contact with him would stop him from hurting and destroying her any further. He would write her a letter, that way he could say what he needed to say. He could say what he knew he had to without short-lived feelings making him say something else. They could not see each other anymore. Heather could continue without him. Whatever happened to him would not matter.

Andrew swung down from his perch in the tree. The physical motion felt good. It was a clean action. No history, no consequences, no guilt. He walked back across the field to the university. 'Too much thought for today. I'm done with being me.' Andrew needed to get back down to earth.

* * *

'D'you fancy going to see FunkFeet tomorrow?'

'They're pants. I saw them in the SU last year. Where are they playing?'

'Fiddlers. C'mon, Paulie, it'll be a laugh. We can sit at the back, do some gear, laugh at all the tarts dancing up front.'

'Oh, yeah. Why not.'

Two people were hidden away in a dingy corner of the bar. The girl was slouched across a bench. She had her lecture notes in a pile next to her. Her fingers twiddled with a pen giving the impression that she was mid-flow through her work. Two half-full pint glasses sat in the middle of the table. They both found it far preferable to work here than in their oppressive rooms, or the resounding silence of the library. Also, they often got free drinks.

Sandra, the barmaid, walked over. Paul could tell that she wanted to ask them a question.

'Rizz, have you ever had a tattoo done?'

The girl, Rizz, nodded and started to loosen the laces on her left DM boot.

'I'm thinking of getting one. Something small, a flower maybe. Do they hurt…. Wow! That's really cool.' Rizz had revealed a small picture of a sleeping black cat a few inches above her left ankle. Paul absent-mindedly looked up,

'Sandra, looks like we've got another member for the afternoon drinker's club!' They turned around to see a girl relaying back and forth in small deliberate steps along the carpet in front of the bar.

The barmaid walked over towards the bar.

'Hi ya Heather', she called out. 'What can I get you?'

Looking along the array of optics Heather replied, ' Hi. Can I have a ', she paused, ' a double brandy.' She had not really wanted a double, but the word ‘Brandy’ sounded as if it needed something in front of it. Single would have been inadequate, and just plain stupid. Then by way of an excuse, she added, 'I think I'm coming down with something. I need it.'

'Well in that case it's on the house - Doctor's orders!'

Heather smiled gratefully. Out of the corner of her eye she could see someone walking towards her. She recognised Paul. The realisation that she would have to talk to people was just dawning on her.

'Hi ya. How ya doing?' Paul spoke at her.

Heather nodded a reserved, 'Fine.'

'We're sitting over here.' Paul beckoned her over into the corner. She didn't really feel as if she had a choice. But it was a friendly territory - she could down her drink then leave. She wouldn't have to talk for very long.

* * *

Andrew walked along the corridor in Lauder College. He knocked on Chris's door. It was only the third or fourth time he had been to Chris's room during his time at college, even though they had been great mates at school. Chris was the stereotypical student, and could always be found in bed, watching TV or drinking in the bar.

Andrew heard a noise that sounded like an invitation. He pushed open the unlocked door. Chris greeted him in a typically laddish way, and Andrew replied similarly. Then after a few minutes of conversation, Chris said,

'So what's eating you, Drew?'

'Oh. Life's gone a bit shitty, really.'

'Bummer. Nothing that a few beers with an old mate won't help. You can tell me all about you and that Scottish chick. Or not.'

'Was it that obvious?', thought Andrew.

'I'll just pull on some trousers and we'll pop over to Lauder bar. John owes me a drink or two.'

* * *

Rizz studied the girl that Paul was chatting to. She looked hopelessly out of place, slightly distraught, yet also she seemed quite aloof which Rizz found dangerously sexy. She felt her heartbeat quicken as the two of them walked in her direction, and quickly moved along the bench to make room for the new arrival.

They sat down. The two girls looked at each other. Paul took a sip of his beer, making no attempt to introduce them. Rizz leant forward and gave the girl a hug. 'I'm Rizz.', she said as she noticed the gorgeous smell of Heather's neck. She was instantly turned on.

'Oh, sorry. This is Heather.' Paul finally woke up to the conversation. Heather cut him off, turning to Rizz,

'Het. Everyone calls me Het.'

Rizz didn't answer. She smiled instead. That voice was too dreamily sexual, hers would sound too crass in comparison. She gulped down a large mouthful of beer to try and moisten her throat, and then regretted it as she realised how vulgar it must have looked.

Heather was still feeling slightly unwell, although the alcohol was already helping. She studied the girl, making an effort to keep her thoughts at the most superficial level possible. Rizz had short, cropped, black hair, which made her look a bit boyish, but a single silver stud through her left nostril also made her look quite rebellious. Her eyes were impenetrable black marbles, softened by a mischievous look to them as they darted about. She was wearing a large baggy black T-shirt, which fell loosely over one shoulder revealing her pale skin beneath. Heather looked back to Paul. He looked very dull by comparison, and he was talking at her again. She made an effort to concentrate. He was asking her about her course, her work - hadn't they already done all of this in Week 1? He seemed very enthusiastic - markedly so compared to the girl who was rubbing her calves against the bench in a very strange way. Sitting with Rizz, and Paul, Heather began to feel more comfortable.

The bar filled up gradually, and they talked. They didn't talk about much. Just the right things for strangers to gel together. They talked about drinking, music, work, things that they had in common. They didn't talk about Dee. Only Heather thought about him.

Later on in the evening, after a few more drinks, Heather excused herself to go to the toilet. Rizz followed, grabbing her hand in a friendly way. She was feeling a lot better, although she now was quite light-headed. In the 'Ladies', her reflection in the mirror caught her for the second time that day. It looked at lot more in control. Strangely, there was a hand brushing Heather's hair aside. It lingered around her cheeks then across her lips before dropping down across her chest in an unashamedly intimate way. Heather looked uneasily at Rizz, then walked away quickly to use the hand-drier.

Back in the bar they had missed last orders. The three of them went back to Paul's room more by default than decision.

* * *

At midnight, Andrew stumbled back into Rievaulx. He went straight to Heather's room. He didn't know what he wanted to say. He hadn’t written the letter - he could explain it better if he told her. He knew that he would be able to come up with the right words. After a few door knocks and a strained conversation with Trish, the girl who lived next door to her, Andrew went outside. Her curtains were still open and her light was off. Andrew decided she was out. He felt too drunk to go to bed, so instead walked back to porter's lodge. Jim was on duty tonight. Cool, there would be an hour or two of chat here, he thought.

* * *

The toast ejected. Rizz caught it, then spread some jam over it, and passed a slice to Het. She was plotting how she could seduce Heather. She knew it could happen sometime - not now, but sometime.

They talked for a while. Het seemed vacant and lost. She also looked very tired. Rizz retrieved Paul's spare duvet from the cupboard and laid it across Het, who hardly needed the encouragement to fall asleep there. Rizz and Paul talked for a few minutes longer, then turned off the light. Rizz slipped off her shoes and trousers, removed her bra from beneath her T-shirt and lay down next to Het, under the edge of the duvet. As she lay there, Het snuggled up against her, sleeping soundly. Rizz's heart was beating far too fast for her too sleep.

It was morning. Andrew stood in the porter's lodge chatting to Brian, the porter.

'Have you seen Heather about this morning? She's not in her room and I don't think she went back last night. I'm beginning to get a bit worried.'

Brian replied, 'Sorry Andrew. I could ask around some of the other porter's if you like?'

A short girl in DM's walked over towards them. Andrew had seen her around college before. He said 'Hi', then turned back to Brian. She hovered, then spoke,

'You looking for Het?'

'Do you know her? Where is she?' Andrew's mind flickered into life.

'Follow me,' the girl replied enigmatically.

They walked along many corridors. Andrew tried to think of conversation, but didn't get much beyond a few polite questions. His mind was racing. Where had Heather been? How did she know this girl. They carried on walking, passed many people's doors where he thought,' Ah she's stayed with Liz, or with Jane or Karen.'

The girl knocked on a door, D274. Andrew recognised it. She then opened it. Inside he saw a guy, Paul - he hadn't seen him since the start of term. Paul was naked all but a pair of white boxer shorts. He then saw Heather's head sleepily rising from beneath the duvet. Paul said something. Andrew did not hear. How could she? He could hear blood rushing in his ears.

'No. I can’t live here. This isn’t my life.' He muttered the words to one side. He then turned and walked as fast as he could out of the block. To his room. Out of college. Out of this life.