Page 48 of Sad Girl Hours
“Sure, sure.”
I nod, though internally I want to scream. I hate having this weird, stilted conversation. I want her to tell me the truth. I’m sure it must be stressful with exams. I know the STEM subjects have way more exams to contend with than us silly English students (though at least theirs don’t have ten-bajillion-mark essay questions). But that doesn’t explain why she’s not looking me in the eye for longer than a hummingbird’s heartbeat or why she ignored all my messages.
I feel pathetic thinking about it. Again, she doesn’t owe me anything. I just thought we’d grown close these past few months. Closer than awkward silences and walking along with a space between us so our hands don’t brush as they swing.
But the silence continues until we reach the bottom of the hill, no words trailing behind us like the glow of the street lamps extending backwards along the pavement.
Chapter Twenty-one
Saffron
The clocks went back last night.
There was a second when I woke up, one blissful second, when I was pleasantly surprised to see how much light was ushering into the room round the slats of the blinds on the dormer windows in my attic, casting a warm glow on the star-chart tapestry on my wall, lighting the paths between constellations.
And then I remembered.
I remembered that the payoff for having a lighter morning was to feel a huge jump in darkness at night.
I like mornings in summer – I’m usually up early every day, eager to greet the sun. But in autumn and winter I tend to wake up feeling jet-lagged, like my body thinks it’s somewhere it’s not supposed to be. So, while I was glad to wake up to light this morning, I would much rather have had another hour of not-dark in the evening, when I’m actually conscious and have time to do things.
This is exactly when, last year, my SAD really took over. And I can feel it happening again. I know how this story ends, with me crying or staring at the walls in my bedroom at home, wishing I had a different brain (maybe even a different life). Except this time, if that happens, it means saying goodbye to my career dreams. Uni would kick me out for having time off again – as they should really, because there’s no point in me paying back student loans for a course that I haven’t actually studied – andit would mean saying goodbye to my friends. The only people who’ve ever made me feelsafeandwanted.
I know it doesn’t really make sense then that I’ve stayed away from them this week, hiding out in the library for hours on end, probably making them feel veryunwanted. I don’t know why I’ve felt like I have to keep them away even more than I normally do.
I’m walking down to the dungeons with Nell by my side in complete silence. We’ve never doneanythingin complete silence before.
I want to reach out and take Nell’s hand, to tell her I’m sorry for ignoring our plans and that my time with her means more to me than it would seem, given the aforementioned ignoring. But then I remember how the guilt at burning my parents’ card and at making my life Nell’s concern gnawed at me like wild hunger the night of our birthday. And I know that I can’t do that. I can’t offer apologies without also promising changed behaviour. And I certainly can’t change my behaviour and be more open with her whennotdoing that is the only thing keeping her in my life.
After our crushingly awkward walk to the castle, we arrive at the gates to be greeted by people in old-timey costumes waving various items of weaponry in a threatening manner. I get out my phone to film some bits, ready for my ‘spend a night with me in the castle dungeon’ mini-vlog.
“Are you filming our adventures tonight for the good people of TikTok?” Nell asks, nodding at my phone.
“Uh-huh,” I say. “I thought it would be fun. Not many people can say they’ve spent a night in a castle dungeon.”
“Not anyone currently living and frequenting a chaos hole of the internet, no.”
This is fine. Normal. Just two friends having a chat. I can do this.
We’re corralled inside with the rest of the dungeon-sleepers and given a brief tour of the castle’s dungeon system, wanderingthrough dank tunnels lit by fake torches on the walls. There are staff members dressed up as the people who were once placed in the cells. They’re quite convincing and Casper, with his gentlemanly instincts honed from hundreds of years of aristocratic ancestral history, is walking closest to the ‘danger’, Jenna on his other side. He looks petrified and half jumps out of his skin when one man clanks against the bars and roars in ‘anger’.
“Crackers and milk!” he exclaims, grabbing Jenna’s arm.
“Crackers and milk?” Jenna says scornfully. “Casp, you’re a grown man. You can say ‘fucking hell’. Also, hi, Benjamin!” Jenna waves at the roaring man, and he gives her a subtle wink before going to scare the group behind us. She turns to me and Nell. “He’s on my course – he’s in my Shakespeare group. He was my Bottom when I was directingMidsummerfor last year’s showcase.”
“He was yourwhat?” Casper looks so shocked (and, I have a hinting suspicion, a little jealous) that we don’t stop laughing until we’re successfully past the scary people.
They settle us into a big hall with cell doors lining it, sleeping bags and pillows set up around the floor. They give us a final big speech about the history of the hall and the prisoners that passed through it on their way to be executed.
“Grim,” says Nell, getting to the crux of it.
A very large man in a beefeater costume, axe in hand, says, deep voice booming out into the room, “Sleep well … if you dare…” He leaves the room, slamming the door behind him and locking it with a ginormous key. Then we’re on our own (except for the four members of staff stationed round the room).
I don’t really get claustrophobic but the sound of the door slamming makes me realise that I’m locked in a room – albeit a very large one – with a great number of people I don’t know, anda smaller number that I know very well, but have been avoiding so that they can’t see me slipping.
I try to distract myself with making videos – the gang are all very up for joining in – then I also film bits around the room.
As Vivvie predicted, a great many people ask us what our costumes are over the first couple of hours, and our explanations appear to do little to clear things up. One girl who Nell knows, however, Harpreet – in a stained, white dress, with smeared crimson lipstick down one side of her chin – comes over to say hi and successfully guesses everyone up until Vivvie, when she pauses.
