With You

09. Ex-Girlfriend

I sat on the bench; my face buried in my hands as I tried desperately to ignore the hangover pounding through my brain. My stomach churned. My head spun. I could feel the threads of fabric from my shirt digging into my skin.

I was never going to drink again.

Around me, the crowd was cheering, screaming at each goal, shouting for every yellow card, yelling a plethora of player names. Each noise sent a stab of pain through my head and I only buried my head further into my hands.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to drink before a match?

I'd woken up early in the morning, before the sun was even up, sprawled out on the soccer field. I was still shirtless and woke up shivering and nauseous. Rowan and Flora had fallen asleep a few feet away – Flora curled into a ball and Rowan lying on his side.

I'd crawled towards Rowan first. He seemed so much calmer while asleep. That usual scowl had vanished from his lips and his wrinkled brow had smoothed out. My fingers hovered over him for a minute before I changed my mind, instead waking them both up with a yell.

We'd spent the next ten minutes cleaning our empty bottles off the soccer field. I hadn't noticed my horrible haircut until I found the tufts of hair we'd cut off, scattered in the grass.

Sober, it was much, much worse.

It was mowing a lawn with only a pair of scissors. It was Angelica's doll from Rugrats. It was Rowan, cutting my hair while drunk in the middle of a soccer field. Long strands shot up in some areas while in others, he'd cut the strands to the root. A few curls managed to survive the massacre, but overall – I'd be surprised if I could salvage any of it without shaving it all off.

So, I'd spent my morning in a barber shop, fixing Rowan's handiwork.

I ran a hand over my head now. It was even shorter than last night, now, after the barber had cleaned it up. Not quite shaved, but short enough that the curls were more like waves and no strands tumbled over my forehead or down my neck anymore. Strange.

Last night was still coming to me in flashes. I remembered most of the party – it was what came after that felt blurry. I remembered Flora telling me that Rowan was – what? Disowned? I remembered that he said... something. Something about his history.

My head pounded and pounded and pounded, and I strained, desperately trying to remember, trying to figure him out. Piece him together.

A whistle sounded, signalling the end of the match, and I finally looked up from my hands. That was fast.

Based on the cheering of the team, I figured we'd won, and I stood awkwardly to the side, watching them celebrate.

Reed shouted, tearing his shirt off and running around the field. The other boys jumped on him, cheering, and throwing their fists in the air in celebration. It was a bit dramatic, really. It was only a practice match. It didn't mean anything.

A part of myself knew that I was only being bitter because I'd spent the game as a benchwarmer, as usual, but I glowered anyway, desperate to get back to my dorm and sleep the rest of this hangover off.

I was about to turn to leave when my eyes caught the sight of black hair, pale skin, and I froze. I recognised that face. I knew that smile. Those eyes.

Chloe Pepper.

I'd met Chloe as a freshman in high school. She and her sister, Marcelina, were childhood friends with Isaac, my best friend, so naturally we all fell into a little friendship group. My phone suddenly felt heavy in my pocket.