Better by Far by Hazel Hayes

Author:Hazel Hayes [Hayes, Hazel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-04-23T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

It’s only when I stagger through the door, wincing as it bangs shut behind me, that I realise how absolutely plastered I am. Everything is suddenly too loud, too bright, and much too close. I leave the lights off as I bend to untie my boots, crashing against the wall and coming to rest there with one cheek mashed against the wallpaper as I wrench my shoes off and toss them down the hall. Stumbling forward, I unzip my jeans and peel them down my clammy legs, tripping as I go and then stopping at the foot of the stairs to tug my feet free. My toes are like tiny ice cubes. I can barely feel them. I need to be in a hot bath.

Making my way upstairs, I wriggle out of my coat and yank my jumper (your jumper) over my head, letting everything fall behind me as I go, a trail of cold, damp clothes like bread crumbs on my path to the bathroom. Once there, I turn the tap and wait in darkness for the tub to fill. The artificial warmth of the alcohol has completely worn off now, and I collapse onto the toilet with my knees pressed tight together and my arms folded around my shivering body, hands frantically rubbing at my own arms and shoulders like I am a small child who’s just come in from the rain. I can hear my teeth chattering all the while, banging noisily together like a cartoon.

The water is only shin-deep when I get in, but I’m too cold to wait any longer. I sink into the tub, skin screaming just like it did when I entered the sea, and I watch as my gooseflesh dissolves and the water continues to rise around me. Soon enough, I can feel heat start to soak right through me.

Bliss.

I sink down, closing my eyes and opening them when the world starts to spin. Through the skylight above me, I can just about see a wisp of moon float glacially into frame, gleaming at the left edge of the window like silverware in an open drawer.

“You found me,” I say to her, then I sigh and sink again.

I think about you. Those texts. How close I was to inviting you over. How much I still want to. I think about you being here with me. Then I pick up my phone and start typing.

“I miss you,” I say. Then I wait. I’m shaking, but not from the cold this time.

“I miss you too,” comes the reply, and the hit is so intense it might as well be your mouth on mine.

“Come over,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

“YES.”

“Give me half an hour.”

This is dumb, I think. This is exceedingly dumb. And I don’t care.

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