Fully English

CHAPTER 8

After just over an hour of half sprinting half tiptoeing around my neighbourhood, I fInd no-one who fit all elements of the profile in my mind. I had no idea who I was looking for to be frank. The image in my mind's eye shapeshifted one too many times for me to pinpoint the elusive figure.

Was the person short or tall? Fat or thin? Light, medium or dark?

I couldn't tell you. All I know for sure was that I was in need of warm shelter and a sit-down. Not too long after reaching the city centre, I end up in a local coffee shop with a steaming hot chocolate before me: my hands curled around the mug's circumference, I let the warm energy emanate through my fingers and palms and into my bones. I only bought it to keep my hands busy, so every once in a while when one of the baristas walked past me I bend my head low and slurped. It was a decent drink. The barista had taken me too literally when I instructed her to go easy on the milk though.

The woman responsible for my lacklustre beverage draws over to my table as if sensing I am thinking about her and taps the table. "Shop's closing in ten minutes."

I nod at her and start to glug the drink down faster than my gag reflex will allow. I splutter and choke for a few seconds before collecting myself and exiting the shop. I know that my mother is probably home by now but I decide to take the long way home so I can make a call.

Idly, I scroll through my phone contacts as I wander through the city centre amongst the medley of different faces and bodies that comprise it. Noises, people and presences snake into my periphery in an effort to distract me from the task at hand.

"Hello."

I almost forget that the phone has stopped ringing and the call has gone through. "Hey George," I catch myself. "It's me Karma."

"I know, I've got caller ID."

I meander through the throng of voices until I reach a street that I know leads to a network of roads near my home.

"So how are you?" I enquire.

"I'm great."

I turn down a side street away from the market to hear him better and I can tell by the background he has company: hushed voices, low music, shuffling bodies are all within earshot and not too far away.

"You busy?"

I hear the smile in his voice. "Never too busy for a girl."

I laugh slightly too loud. "Wow... still cheesy yeah?"

"As crust."

I roll my eyes and pull at my top to keep it sticking from my chest. Even though I'm only on the phone, the sound of George's voice is making me clammy. I feel nervous for some reason.

"Where are you?"

I hear muffling and then it's as though a wall is constructed to block the blend of noise. "In a bathroom." The sound of a door locking accents his statement.

"No I mean where...I heard noise, like, are you at a party?"

"Of course," he demonstrates.

The wet patch on my top is slowly drying and I feel it crinkling as it does so. I am suddenly conscious that I am walking around my the city centre with a huge brown stain – that could very easily be mistaken for shit – slapped right across my chest. I suddenly feel self-conscious and double up my pace.

"Bit of a party animal are ya?"

I already know the answer is yes. George was that one university dude with too many friends on social media, knew everyone worth knowing and was terribly easy to befriend. A social butterfly so to speak. Something I've grown to be the total opposite of.