'Fucking Hell!'

Heather watched her reflected lips repeatedly ejaculating the curse.

'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking Hell!'

How could she have screwed up so badly? When Andrew had found her in Paul's room, it was like all of life's possibilities shuffling themselves into the most absurd nightmare. Somehow the situation might have been salvageable. So why did she have to screw up even more?

Soon after Andrew had left, she had gone back to her room - to hide - to cry, to swim in more self-pitying tears.

The day had been unbearable. It dragged and she felt lonely. Later in the afternoon she moved to the snack bar. She tried to read a book. She could not concentrate. She wanted someone to appear and spirit her away. Rizz was the one who appeared. She offered to cook dinner for Het. She offered company.

* * *

After dinner they sat in Rizz's room chatting. Heather could not relax. Her body was broken and weary. Rizz suggested that Heather could take a bath in her ensuite (what luxury - Het's corridor shared one shower between eight of them). Rizz would walk down to the off license and get a bottle of wine. Rizz seemed to be offering everything she wanted.

She stood wrapped in Rizz's towel. Hot water pummelled into the base of the bath, steam mushrooming upwards from the high-pressure torrent. She was searching through Rizz's cupboard - the bright green lid of a bottle of bubble bath was a beacon shining through the myriad of brightly coloured plastic. Her hand reached through the maze, feeling for a familiarly shaped lid. She found something else that felt intriguing, her hand dropped following the curves of the long thin bottle. The texture was erotically rubbery. Then it flashed into her mind - she realised what she had found and her hand released its grip, quickly withdrawing. She giggled mutedly as she thought it, then slightly embarrassed by her thoughts, she quickly shook some of the bubble bath into her bath and closed the cupboard.

After five minutes of delicious relaxation the temptation became too great. She had to see it. She had never seen one before - definitely never held one. She lay there trying to block the thought from her mind, but all she could see was this huge slightly bent pink thing. The bubbles were lapping against her thighs, the swell of her breasts were shores in a sea of foam. She massaged her calves. She thought of relaxation. Except she couldn't. All she could think was, 'Rizz has got a vibrator!'

She swung the cupboard door open and tried to reach carefully through the skittles, but inevitably scored a strike, knocking over several bottles. Hastily she propped them back up trying not to leave bubbles. She then climbed back into the bath holding the vibrator. It had one main prong with a small growth-like appendage at the base. It reminded her of the sort of cactuses they use in logos for Mexican restaurants. The base swivelled. As she turned it, it shook almost like she had got an electric shock. She dropped it into the bath, then gasped in horror as it resonated noisily against the side. Quickly, she grabbed it, fumbling as she tried to deactivate it. It seemed as if the whole block must have heard the bath's rapid oscillations. There were feet slapping against the tiles in the corridor, then a key in door. She panicked and quickly put the vibrator back into the cupboard.

Rizz called out, 'Hi ya Het! I've got us a robust and fruity red - I'll pour you a glass.'

A couple of minutes later the door opened and Rizz was standing there. Heather felt slightly embarrassed. She had not expected Rizz to boldly walk in. It felt like the bubbles were rapidly popping to expose her nudity. Rizz passed her a glass of wine.

Heather feeling increasingly awkward, said,

'I've used some of your Radox. I hope you don't mind - I'll buy you a drink sometime. I'm just getting out now - would it be OK if I borrowed your dressing gown.'

She had just realised that she had nothing fresh to wear and really did not want to dress again in her tired clothes.

'Make yourself at home, Het. Stay in there as long as you like.'

Later, Heather was submerged into a beanbag. Rizz sat opposite on her bed. An candle scented the room gently with spicy musk. Heather felt calmer and more relaxed than she had since before the letter. She was enjoying getting drunk in such a safe environment. They had talked about travelling, about Scotland, about sex. Heather had steered the conversation away from Andrew. Rizz kept asking about men she had slept with and what it had been like. Heather had replied guardedly. She wanted to ask Rizz about the vibrator. She had almost asked times, but then not quite found the right words. Every time she would mentally picture it and shift sideways into a fantasy world, which would leave her feeling slightly more aroused, then she would see Rizz opposite, in her long black T-Shirt with her slender legs, the beautifully smooth colour of white chocolate, curled up beneath her. Then they would talk and Rizz would shift position to reveal a fleeting glimpse of her silky black boxer shorts. Heather was surprised at how attracted towards Rizz she felt.

'So tell me, Rizz, have you ever used a vibrator?' She giggled as she said it. It masked the embarrassing silence which was sure engulfed her words.

'Have you?'

'No. I've never even seen one - except once in a magazine.'

Rizz disappeared into the bathroom. Her voice called out,

'I think Het, darling, that you are lying.' Rizz reappeared holding the obscene item in her hand. Creamy bubble bath dribbled down the side. Heather blushed burning red. She bit her upper teeth into her lower lip.

'Sorry.' She said.

'Did you enjoy yourself? No wonder you were so long in the bath - did you try it at both speeds?'

Heather wanted to die.

'I didn't use it. I…', she stuttered, then giggled,' I was just looking for the bubble bath when I found it. It looks so rude.'

'You really should have tried it. It's excellent fun.'

Then Rizz said something which really did not sound extraordinary at all.

'I can show you if you like.'

Heather did not know what to say. She almost said what she thought she should say. She almost said, 'No, I think not. I'm not that kind of girl', but she was fascinated. She desperately wanted to try it. She did not believe it could be that exciting - it was just so obscenely tacky.

She said, 'Is it safe? I mean, it looks like you could injure yourself with it - it's so huge!'

'Ha! It beats any bloke I've ever known!'

'But does it really work?'

Heather knew that it had to. She was enjoying the conversation too much to kill it though.

'I'll show. No, ' Rizz smiled slyly, 'I'll race you.'

'Race me? To where?'

'Come on Het. You know exactly what I mean, Last one to come has to do a forfeit.'

Heather could not believe this conversation.

She protested, 'But…'

Rizz interrupted. 'OK, I'll give you a thirty second head start. Your time starts now.'

Heather stared at Rizz. She was amazed at how brazen she was being.

'OK. You're on.' Had she really just said that?

She thought she could win, her excitement had been building for so long - she was halfway there already. She slipped her right hand inside the dressing gown, still staring hard into Rizz's eyes. From the moment she touched herself she could not draw her hand away. She smiled confidently. She could win - although she almost wanted not to. She wanted to watch Rizz.

Rizz counted down in her head. Whilst counting she was concentrating on her feelings, imagining Heather's fingers at work, remembering times she had masturbated thinking of Heather. She was cheating. She thought she could possibly come without even touching herself - let alone using her toy.

'Three, two, one!' She called out loud.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed. She slipped aside her shorts then picked up the vibrator, switching it onto high speed. This was going to be too easy. It was almost unfair. She slipped it between her legs, letting it linger, pressing it against her clit. She noticed Heather's stare momentarily drop then swing back, locking her gaze. Rizz softened her stare back, as she slowly pushed the vibrator deep inside of her. She did not try to hold in an impulsive gasp. She was there. She savoured the moment, holding out for another five seconds, then closed her eyes, gasping as she relinquished control on her body.

She then opened her eyes to see a frantic motion continuing beneath the gown Heather was wearing.

'Stop!' Rizz commanded.

Heather stared back challengingly.

Rizz leapt across, landing astride her. She grabbed Heather's wrists and pinned them to the wall.

'You lose Het! That means you have to do a forfeit now.' Rizz leant across in a feline way and licked one of Het's fingers.

'Mmmm. Someone tastes good!' Rizz released Heather's wrists. 'Now, let me see, a dastardly forfeit for the losing team. Well…' Rizz paused as if she were thinking. She leant forward, lightly brushing her nasal stud across Heather's nose then lips, then letting her nostrils flare against Het's cheek. Her hand dropped and crept inside the dressing gown onto Heather's thigh. She was so excited she thought that her hand would start shaking. She searched Heather's eyes for approval.

Heather wet her thumb and forefinger boldly, then reached out and extinguished the candle beside her. The image of the room hung, imprinted on her vision, then it slowly faded. The last few moments of reality were disappearing. She could feel hands untying the dressing gown, then slipping around her. It seemed like days since she had sat down in Rizz's. Now it had become a secret home. Rizz's duvet against her left cheek had such a friendly smell. The room was so warm that it enclosed her. She didn’t feel naked, she felt as if the whole room were her clothing. She would not have believed that the harsh tiled corridor with fluorescent lights was only three feet from where she sat. She was not even convinced that the room was rooted in reality - it seemed extremely possible that the whole set was built somewhere in one of their imaginations. A warm tongue was curling back her lips. She was responding instinctively. Rizz had pulled the large duvet around her, beneath her. She could feel the firm pressure of Rizz's pubic bone on her. Her nipples tingled as she felt Rizz's brushing against her. Rizz was hanging over her, letting her hardened nipples rub teasingly against her chest, under her chin, across then between her eager lips. Again instinctively, Heather sucked hard onto a nipple, pushing it against her teeth with her tongue, following it as it pulled away from her. She wrapped her arms around Rizz. She wanted this so much. She pulled Rizz down onto her, let her lips find Rizz's. She kissed, lightly, then voraciously, loving it as Rizz's hand massaged the back of her head. Then Rizz's lips left hers. She felt Rizz rubbing her short stubbly hair against her nipples, then reading her mind, she felt something solid rubbing against her leg. It rubbed then came down from above, pushing hard against her, opening her up, then sliding up and down between her legs. It started vibrating, first slowly, then more quickly. The vibrations seemed to hold her there, not letting her come, but making it so that she could not feel anything but intense arousal. She felt it slipping in - she felt her whole body stretch then relax as Rizz pushed it in then let it slide out, then fully in until she thought she would burst. She was gasping, seeing pin pricks of light flying out of the darkness at her. The vibrating became faster suddenly and it was all somewhere else as she came, gasping for breath. Gripping onto Rizz's head, pulling it towards her, grabbing. She screamed, coming again. Her hands grabbing at Rizz. Then screaming again, then Rizz biting onto her nipples, fingers kneading down, massaging into her. Again she came, less powerfully this time, but still gasping for breath, pushing Rizz away, removing the vibrator, feeling the warm hot breath on her stomach.

* * *

Heather stared back into the mirror. She had not been unfaithful. It was different. She would not tell Andrew. She would reconcile herself to Andrew, to the truth. Soon he would come back. She was going to cry. She could not think of Andrew, of the future. She blanked her mind. She would forget everything. The world would be OK. She lay down on her bed. Soon, she slept.

* * *

The route was so familiar it made him impatient - every little farmhouse, every set of signals. He had spent almost 48 hours travelling back from Prague. Initially the hours grinding through unknown industrial areas of Eastern Europe had been spent planning what he would say to Heather. Then he had planned all of her responses. Then his. Until he knew all of the conversations they might have. Now, the final minutes hurtling through the monotonous hills and vales and villages seemed interminable. Andrew thought of nothing except his destination.

He was drumming his fingers on the door window when the guard announced their imminent arrival. Why do trains have to slow down so far in advance for stations, then still fly passed the platforms at dizzying speed, only stopping after passing half a mile of platform?

The lines widened out, Andrew tried to guess which platform they would arrive at. The train lurched across several sets of points. Andrew hurriedly repositioned himself next to the opposite door. A river of wet tarmac drove past the window. The shadow of the cavernous Victorian roof fell across the window. Faces blurred into brightly coloured ruc-sacs as they streamed across the portal. A footbridge and a departures board caught Andrew’s eye. But then were gone. Sunlight rushed in again as the train eased to a halt well beyond the main concourse. Andrew cursed himself for not sitting closer to the middle of the train. Briskly he retraced the path back to the station exit, weaving between bundles of people who spent their lives walking, pausing, hugging then pausing, then walking again.

Andrew could not wait for a bus – that would take too long. He joined the queue of like-minded people waiting for taxis. Five minutes later, stopped at the traffic lights next to the Odeon, Andrew was rubbing his temples.

Why do the lights always have to be against me?

Another five minutes on and he was engaged in mindless conversation with the driver. Shoppers ambled along forming an unceasing flow across the zebra crossing. The taxi passed the entrance to Wadsworth college. Still another mile to go.

How could this university be so large?

Lazily the road hooped around the landscaped mounds and hollows, past the entrance to Lancier college, then Galbraith. On over the roundabout, beneath Peterson bridge, then the fast left as the taxi swung into the driveway up to Rievaulx Porter’s lodge. The car drove around the last corner. Andrew already had a five pound note in his hand. He passed it to the driver.

‘Cheers!’

He climbed out. Only then did he pause. He breathed in the air, endeavouring to taste it. He held his arms out full span, allowing the breeze to filter through his outstretched fingertips. He then marched forward to F Block, to Heather’s room.

* * *

Her door was open. A waft of air blew over Andrew as he stood in the doorway. The air had circulated around her immaculately pristine room, picking up loose particles on the way; particles of hairspray, particles of fabric from the curtains and the carpet, a sleepy (slightly stale) aroma from the duvet. With each breath, the wind sucked across the silhouette in front of the open window. It released sad morsels of melancholy from the aura that surrounded the silhouette. It spread them around the room, then sprayed them across Andrew’s face in amongst the maelstrom of atmospheric noise. He felt an eerie tingling as he immersed himself. He walked forward slowly.

He stepped back. The depth of emotion made him momentarily giddy.

‘Heather.’ He spoke calmly. ‘It’s me. Drew.’

She interrupted. ‘Get Out Now!’ Her arms flailed around her. This was too horrid. Her hands snatched, grabbed, found : something. She scratched him. Across his bare arm. She cut him. She lashed out with the paper knife.

Andrew looked down. The slit, in shock, did not bleed. He could see what looked like bone. The world became dulled and still for moments. Then Heather moved. She ran around him, out of the door, gurgling a scream.

He looked around him. He grabbed a tea-towel with his other hand. He wrapped it around his arm. With his teeth he gave a sharp tug, tightening the awkward knot. He could not see the cut now. He could not feel it.

He left the room. One hundred and eighty degrees of corridor scrolled past his eyes as he swung his head. Where was she?

Heather sat in the kitchen. She drew her fingers slowly, deliberately across the Formica table-top. Repeatedly she stretched her arms out then drew her fingers back across the surface. Her fingers were soldiers marching across the furrowed terrain of the table. Moving repetitively, obeying orders. Her fingers were all miniature pencil-top erasers, wiping clean pages of messy scribblings. The imprints stayed beneath. Why would they not disappear. She did not understand. Her fingers were trains running on parallel tracks, across points, into stations. Why were there so many points. So many junctions. They searched for new routes, smoother routes - without junctions. Routes that took them straight to empty platforms. She was not crying, although water was gently seeping from her eyes.

He touched her hand. It drew back. Again he touched her hand, more lightly this time. She stopped dragging it across the table.

‘I really want you to trust me, Heather. I love you. I have not lied to you. I will not. I love you so much.’ He pressed his fingers between hers so that they interlocked. She looked up. His eyes searched into her blank twin tunnels.

‘Believe me. I promise.' Heather’s pupils flickered at that word. ‘I promise’, he repeated, ‘I promise, I will not fall over. I’m here. I am here as long as I can be. As long as you need. You can trust me.’ Heather started crying. Andrew gripped her hand tightly, their four hands now interlocked.

The kitchen door opened, a girl walked in. She started to say something, then stopped. She saw Andrew and Heather. She saw blood on the door handle. She saw blood on the table. She saw Andrew and Heather’s hands and arms covered in blood. She gasped and rushed out again.