Page 106 of Composed
It takes fifteen minutes to scrub away the lingering stale scent of club and booze. Another fifteen for me to feel human. Then, I indulge for a further fifteen, sinking to the floor as perfect pressured, hot steamy water, spills around me.
Definitely not telling Theo off.
Wrapping a fluffy towel around myself, I swipe the condensation from the mirror. My face is ashen, my sopping black hair stark against my pasty skin. I sigh.
When will I ever learn?
I dress quickly in leggings, and an old faded black sweatshirt, before shoving my fluffy sock clad feet into white, thick platform crocs. I gather my hair into two French braids that fall over my shoulders.
Moisturiser, lip balm, and eyebrow pencil are the only things I bother putting on my dry skin. Gone are the days where I can fall asleep with a full face of makeup and not feel the aftereffects for weeks to come.
I sit on the king-sized bed, legs crossed, back pressed to the wooden headboard, and grab my phone.
As suspected, Riley has checked in. But her text isn’t the only one waiting on my screen.
ROCK STAR
V.A.N
Do you reckon you’ll make it into the studio at any point today or are you feeling too sorry for yourself?
Butterflies soar through me at the teasing on my screen.
Do you have a grave down there where I can rest in peace? Not sure it’s worth dragging my sorry self out of bed if for anything less.
His reply is instant.
Can’t help you there but I do happen to know of a great coffee shop that delivers if that’s any good to you
They also do the best breakfast bagels in London
Bagels you say??
My favourite
I remember.
He sends a picture.
Two wrapped bagels sit on my screen, one with my name scrawled across the paper.
If you don’t drag your arse down here in the next 15 I’m scoffing the lot
My mind whizzes in a million different directions.
Cole remembers all the little things—how I take my tea, my dream guitar, my favourite foods. He’s slipped them so easily into conversation it hasn’t clicked before now just how much he remembers of the things that don’t even matter.
They’re not big, pivotal moments.
He remembers the quiet things, the things nobody else cares to know.
My throat dries as my phone pings again.
Clocks ticking
I chew my lip.
If I go down there now, without the pretence ofjustworking, I’m on the back foot, entering uncharted territory in which I have no idea how to tread. But not going down there…
