Page 29 of Almost Ours

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "That's reassuring."

Josh's mouth twitches. "Talk for yourself, Ruby Hollis. It’s not you she’ll be sick on."

“Fair point, in all honesty.”

We set off again, though 'walking' feels like a generous description. Jess seems to forget what her legs are supposed to be doing every few steps, slowing to a stop without warning before Josh gently coaxes her forwards again. By the third time it happens, I reach across and take her free hand, hoping that if she's anchored to both of us she'll stay upright for a bit longer.

I glance around campus as we walk. The buildings look completely different at night, windows glowing against the dark, groups of students wandering between halls with takeaway bags in one hand and bottles in the other.

“Is your corridor alright?” Josh asks over Jess’ head, I assume striving for some kind of normalcy in this odd turn of events.

“I think so?” I answer. “I’ve only really met Brooke. And a girl named Abi kidnapped us earlier.”

Josh’s dark eyebrows fly up. “Kidnapped you?”

“Yeah. She saw her ex in the S.U. and just kind of… commandeered us. But she ended up getting with Voldemort.”

Josh snorts. “That sounds like a night to remember?”

I chuckle. “I’m not sure I’d be able to explain it even if I wanted to. But at least I wasn’t forced to drink vodka out of a shoe tonight.”

“Please don’t mention alcohol,” Jess mutters darkly.

“What do you mean? Who is drinking out of a shoe?”

I shrug. “My corridor had a party tonight and the entrance fee was taking a shot out of someone’s shoe or something. Me and Brooke thought sod that and hightailed it out of there.”

There’s a pause and Jess whispers, “I think I drank tequila from a shoe tonight.”

Josh balks. “Sorry?”

She doesn’t answer him. She just leans forward and promptly throws up, right on Josh’s feet.

Chapter Seven

Friday

October 9th 2015

Joshua:

When I was six, my parents sent me to a therapist because they thought there was something wrong with me. I wasn't speaking. James kept telling them I could speak perfectly well, I just didn't like speaking to them, and he wasn't wrong.

Everything I did was criticised. Everything I said was corrected. If I got something wrong, it wasn't explained, it was mocked, and after a while it became easier to keep my mouth shut than risk saying anything at all. I remember Dad trying to teach us to read. James picked it up quickly, but I was slower.

One evening I stumbled over a word for what felt like the hundredth time, and before I could even try again, Dad snatched the book out of my hands and launched it across the room. "What are you, thick or something?"

That earned him six months of silence from me. It's always been my way. If someone hurts me badly enough, I don't shout, I don't argue, I don't even cry. I just stop talking to them, and eventually they get the message.

I promised myself university would be different, and so far I think I'm doing alright. I survived football trials, I willingly went to the Student Union despite hating every second of it, and now I'm helping Ruby Hollis carry a girl who's had far too much to drink back to her halls.

Progress comes in strange forms.

As we pass the lake, Jess is managing a little better, but I still have one arm around her to keep her upright. Ruby slips her hand into Jess’s on the other side, and between us we steer her along while she keeps drifting off course.

"I'm really sorry," Jess mumbles for what has to be the fifth time.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ruby assures her gently. “We’ve all been there. And you’ve apologised enough already.”