Page 97 of Almost Ours

Cam and Oscar have sort of taken him under their wing and he fits in with them, which should make me happy because he’s making friends and settling in and doing exactly what we’re all supposed to be doing here, except a horrible little part of me doesn’t care about any of that because I want my friend back.

I feel like I’m cracking at the seams over all of it, full of this restless energy with nowhere to put it, and if I sit in my room for another hour pretending I’m interested in whether Blair Waldorf should forgive Chuck Bass, I’m going to start climbing the walls.

Which is why, at nine p.m. on Friday, three weeks after Josh declared me nothing more than a friend, I decide to go for a jog.

Oscar’s always been good at every sport ever invented, annoyingly so, but I’ve only ever enjoyed the self-defence classes Mum forced me into, and running. We are not a sporty duo. I’m too clumsy, too easily distracted and far too likely to trip over nothing, but I do like running, especially at night when campus is quieter and there aren’t people everywhere. Oscar hates it and has spent years telling me that going out alone after dark is basically me “asking for trouble”, but trouble has never found me before and, honestly, I’m so wound up tonight I reckon I’d bounce straight off it.

I pull on my leggings, shove my hair into a ponytail and leave Brooke and Abi arguing about the morality of Chuck Bass, with Brooke calling, “Don’t get murdered!” after me as I shut the door.

Outside, it’s stopped raining, but the pavement is still slick and little puddles have gathered along the kerb. I pull my sleeves over my hands, stretch one leg for all of about two seconds, do the other out of obligation and decide that’ll have to do before setting off.

My first few strides feel clunky and uncoordinated while my ponytail smacks against my shoulder blades with every step. After a minute or two my body settles into it, my breathing gets heavier, my calves start working properly and it feels good to be doing something after days of sitting around pretending I’m not waiting for a text that never comes.

By the time I reach the main path of the pond there’s a stitch threatening beneath my ribs, but I keep going hoping I can get five minutes of not thinking about Josh.

I think about him laughing with Cam, about Bonnie, about the way he looked at me when I crawled between his legs, and then about him calling me his friend and how stupidly, painfully lonely the last few weeks have felt without him.

It’s odd to me how little I’ve been depressed since getting here. I’ve barely had any episodes, and it feels like my life is finally going in the direction I wanted it to. For once, I’m enjoying things. I like my course, I like my friends, I’m going out and reading again and doing things because I actually want to do them.

I like my life.

I’ve even started reading properly again. Books have always been somewhere I could disappear into, but romance became unbearable for a while because reading about people falling in love when I could barely get through the day only made me feel worse, whereas in the last two weeks alone I’ve read six different books and enjoyed them.

I run harder. I would really love for my brain to shut the fuck up.

I must run a little too hard because as I round the corner by the pond and tiny section of trees, a cramp shoots through my calf so sharply I nearly trip over my own foot. I hiss through my teeth and slow to a limp, heading towards the wooden bench near the bit of grass Bernardo usually patrols, then plant one hand on the backrest and stretch my leg behind me until the muscle starts to loosen.

The cramp is almost gone when I hear a man talking somewhere close by, his voice slurred and irritated. “Why have you gone all cold?” he demands. “You were all over me in there.” I turn towards the pond, then the trees, trying to place the voice. “Kiss me again.”

“No,” a girl answers, her voice small and shaky. “Please. I just want to go home.”

“Don’t be such a fucking tease. I know you want it.”

“Please,” she cries. “Please let me go.”

My stomach drops so quickly I feel sick. “Hello?” I call loudly. “Is anyone there? Do you need help?”

“Sod off,” the man snaps back.

I follow the sound of their voices away from the main path, twigs cracking beneath my trainers as I move towards the little green cut-through between the two big bushes.

“Can you hear me?” I call to her. “Are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” another male voice calls. “She doesn’t need help.”

There are two of them? Oh shit.

I’m alone, it’s dark and nobody knows exactly where I am, but the girl whimpers again and I know I can’t leave her here.

I move closer until the shapes in the darkness start to separate and I can finally see her backed against the trunk of the willow tree with her arms folded tightly over her chest, one man right in front of her with his hand clamped around her elbow, while the other stands a few feet behind him.

She looks young, maybe my age, and so utterly frightened.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, not paying the men any mind.

She shakes her head so hard her hair sticks across her wet cheeks. “They won’t let me go!”

I look at the two men. “Get away from her.”