String the Player

4.

I lean my butt against the table edge and cross my arms. "He's not my agent. He's just an overpaid babysitter," I grumble.

"You're talking like you don't need one."

And just for that, I punch the switchboard to my right, and all the lights in the room turn on.

He hisses and tugs the comforter over his head in a poor attempt to shield himself from the onslaught of photons. "Turn it off!" he yells.

Yeah, no, not happening. I need to start packing if I want to make that flight, and with the way I'm currently sauntering towards the bed, I have a good feeling I'll be practising for the Olympics in How Fast Can You Throw Things in a Suitcase and Race to the Airport.

I plop down the bed, belly first, and pluck the comforter from Liam. "You thinking of leaving anytime soon?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a second. I'm recalibrating."

While Liam rubs his eyes hard enough to gouge one out, my eyes snag on the unopened Champagne bottle on the bedstand.

And I go back to last night.

A stubble-lined throat stretched under the moonlight. His Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Dull brown eyes crinkling at the edges when he laughed. Slim, long fingers holding the bottle's neck.

It's a shame I didn't pique his interest. He definitely piqued mine, and the more I go back to last night's interaction, the more I'm convinced there was something there. If not an outright spark, then perhaps a tiny flicker. Like a teeny tiny burst of light?

I sigh and roll onto my back.

After I left the rooftop, I came straight to my room. I didn't bother going down to the party again, I knew what the drill was. People sitting in a circle, chatting, gossiping and trying to one-up the other or drunk people sitting in a circle, chatting, gossiping and trying to one-up the other. I texted my dad I was crashing for the night, I ignored Rishabh's messages asking where I was, and entered my room, feeling... pretty good about myself, to be honest.

Which was a surprising change from all the other nights.

I was rooming with Sawant, but his girlfriend had flown in for the match, so needless to say, he had packed up, moved out and was busy doing the devil's tango in some corner.

I don't like being alone for long periods of time. Alone with myself, alone with my thoughts, alone with my never-ending spirals of what-ifs. I like being with people. Anyone really. It gives me an object to focus on, to have an outlet to release all of that excessive restlessness.

Nights are always the worst. Because that aloneness morphs into soul-wrenching, gut-crushing loneliness. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that it will pass and tomorrow will be a new day where I don't have to struggle to live with myself, it doesn't quite work. So, I just sit down and fester in the cocktail of my self-created misery.

I can outrun a lot of people and situations—God knows, I do it with Rishabh and all the bullshit he puts me through—but I can't outrun my mind. What's the point in trying to outrun your feelings when you know they'll follow with a vengeance and catch you in your most vulnerable state? In the same vein, loneliness needs to be dealt with head-on.

I was about to do just that last night. I dropped cross-legged on the floor, held my head in my hands and waited for the pain to overwhelm me. Only problem... It didn't quite arrive. I was still full of pleasant feelings and a giddy sensation that sent insects skittering about in my stomach. I had fun. With a nice dude who knew how to take a joke. Leaning back on the floor and stretching my limbs like a starfish, I let that pleasantness drown me instead.