I'm getting to the point where I've almost caught up with myself now, so I'm not sure whether I'll be posting quite so frequently. Depends on whether I get the time to write or not. Enjoy this part anyway :)
I make an excuse to go to bed early. I've got Ollie's old room, which is painted red and decorated with dark wood. The bed frame, wardrobe and chest of drawers all match and as I sink onto the mattress I compare it to my old room. I'm not quite sure how Ollie came to be the one to give up his room, a draw of straws maybe, but I'm just glad I've got my own space where I can finally let my face crumple with the grimace that's been waiting to appear since the moment Sam blanked me.
I text Tabs, apologising for my tardiness, before settling on unpacking. There's not much else to do. Ollie and Vince had grown quiet when the football match had finished and I know that in some way it was due to my presence. It's hard to have a conversation when there's a stranger listening in. This place may feel like home, and I may be glad of Ollie and Vince's friendliness, but I've only been here for half a day. I'm only at the foot of the mountain.
The last thing I picture before I shut my eyes is Sam's frown and then I settle into an uncomfortable sleep.
The next morning I wake up early. The blinds are drawn, but one of the slats is broken, angling the sunlight right into my eyes. I sit up on my elbows so the light can sear a hole in the pillows instead. I blink slowly, trying to rid myself of sleep, and focus in on where I am. There's a mass of posters on the wall that houses the dresser and I peer at them for a second. I recognise most of them and feel proud that I have something in common with Ollie.
My feet land on the thick red and black checked rug on the floor when I swing my legs out of bed. I pull my hair up into a messy bun and curl my toes into the wool of the rug. On the wall opposite there's the wardrobe, which is plastered with photographs. I root around in my duffel bag until I find my glasses case. Slipping them up my nose, I peer through my reading glasses at the neatly assembled collage of pictures on the wardrobe doors. Ollie features in almost all of them, along with a girl who's really pretty. Like, catwalk pretty. She's tall and slim and her honey blonde hair reaches to the small of her back, I realise, as I spot a photo of her and Ollie standing hand in hand on a beach. I smile and roam my eyes over a few more of the photos. My breath catches a little when I spot one of Sam. He's grinning like an idiot. His dark hair is short and messy, much like it is now, and his eyes are as piercing as they were beneath his frown yesterday. It's like they're staring right at me from the photo. I shake my head and move to get up, pulling on a hoody over my tank top. I keep on my pyjama shorts but slip on my slippers.
The lounge is silent. Sunlight is shining in through the two huge windows and I smile as I see the sun rising over London. The city looks huge and modern, but the older stone buildings peak my interest more. They look almost out of place amongst some of the newer office buildings.
Ollie's old room is next door to Vince's room, where Ollie's now staying too. Sam's is the far door and the bathroom sits between his room and Vince's, I'd discovered, when I'd needed to clean my teeth last night. It looked like someone had made an attempt to tidy up but there were still wet towels on the floor and toothpaste smeared around the sink.
I pad over to the kitchen and flick on the stainless steel kettle. Everything in the kitchen is metallic and new looking; the toaster, microwave and even the breadbin. I pull open random drawers until I find the cutlery and I retrieve a spoon. The tea bags are easy enough to find, but I have to search almost all of the top cupboards before I find the mugs. I pick a blue one with stars and swirls on it before I take the milk out of the fridge. The kettle clicks off, signalling that it's ready, and I yawn as I make my drink.
Morning cup of tea in hand, I sit down at the breakfast bar and skim through yesterday's newspaper. There' not really anything interesting in there, but it's the most entertaining thing I can think to do without turning the TV on. I don't want to chance waking anyone up, especially Sam.
I lean my elbows on the table and rest my chin in my hands, letting the steam from my mug heat up my cheeks. I like the flat like this. The morning light is bathing the room in a yellow glow. It's peaceful and nothing like the warzone I fear it may become if Sam and I don't get along.
I'd dreamed about him last night, and not in a 'and then we kissed' way, either. It was more of a 'and then he cut my hair off with scissors' dream. A nightmare really.
As if on cue, the farthest door creaks open and Sam ventures out. I pray he's not holding scissors. I don't know if he's seen me or not so I make a point of clearing my throat with a tiny cough. He looks up from the floor and I hide my smile in my hands. His hair is dishevelled and he's squinting, eyes still clouded with sleep. He's dressed in a grey t-shirt and black pyjama bottoms. I'm sort of glad he's not in his underwear or I might have fallen off my stool.
I open my mouth to speak before shutting it again, mumbling a morning under my breath.
Sam narrows his eyes in my direction before he pushes a hand over his forehead and back through his hair. He passes me in silence. I hear the sound of the kettle but I don't look up from the paper I've got open in front of me. He rustles through a cupboard and I hear china clanking until there's a long drawn out pause in which time the kettle clicks off again.
He clears his throat and my head snaps up, eyes wide.
"That's my cup." He's pointing at the mug set between my elbows.
I feel my cheeks burn, which is a rarity for me, and I sit up straight on my stool. "I didn't know," I reply meekly.
There's another long pause. My heart's pounding in my chest but I just stare at him. If I look away, I might not have the nerve to look back up at him again.
"It's fine," he says finally.
His tone is flat and disinterested and I feel myself frowning lightly.
"Oh. Okay." I bite my lip. "Are you sure? I mean, I can always switch mugs."
He rolls his eyes and I realise how natural the motion seems to him. "I said it's fine."
I nod. "Okay."
"Just use another one next time," he adds as almost an afterthought.
I nod again, before I stop myself. I hate that I'm so desperate to please him but I can't stand the thought of us not getting along. This band experience was supposed to be fun, the start of something new, but I can't help feeling like it might be over before it's even begun.