The Other Me by Saskia Sarginson Read Free Book Online

tipping unrecognisable liquid over my tongue. The music slides from one track to the next. The sweet smell of marijuana mixes with nicotine and sweat. I’m free inside movement. Except that the floor keeps swirling past my feet, making it hard to keep my balance, and the furniture jumps from one place to another. I bang my knee against a chair that rattles at me.
    Then I’m in the lavatory, on my knees, white porcelain swallowing my head. My belly heaves and heaves. As I grip the cold rim and retch, looking into a gush of alcohol and bile, fractured moments from the afternoon come back to me like stills from a nightmare. I groan. Why won’t it go away?
    Out in the hall, with my clammy forehead pressed against the wall, I begin to shiver. There are fingers on my arm. A voice is saying, ‘Are you OK? Can I help you?’
    I’m slumped against someone’s shoulder, my head thrown back. Through half-closed lids, I see the dark ceiling spinning, faces revolving, and then there’s only one face, close-up like a dentist. He peers down into my own. ‘You really know how to dance,’ he says.
     
    A fierce light is clawing through my lids. I frown and clench my eyes tighter, turning into the crumpled pillow. My own pillow. My own bed. But now that I’m awake, I’m aware of my thirst. I usually keep a glass of water by the bed. Keeping my eyes shut, I begin to grope towards the place the glass should be.
    My fingers meet flesh. A resisting substance. The knots and curves of a spine. Warm. Naked. There is another body in my single bed. I withdraw my hand as if a snake has bitten it and sit up straight, eyes snapping open.
    There is a stranger next to me. He’s dark haired. And he’s asleep, lying on his back. As I stare into his face, my heart stutters. It’s him. Ice-cube man. Black eyebrows arch in an expression of surprise, as if he’s encountered something perplexing in his dream. He frowns and mutters. I can hear the dry click of tongue behind parched lips. His chest is bare and I wonder if he has anything on under the covers.
    I can’t bring myself to touch him. What is he doing in my bed? I lean away, dragging the covers with me, until I’m huddled against the wall. Checking my body with quick pats I’m relieved to find that I’m in my underwear. I peer across at the floor. The rest of my clothes are abandoned in a crumpled pile. There is a pair of men’s shoes and a tangle of jeans next to them. I’m trapped. I’ll have to climb right over him to get out.
    I bite my lip, trying to remember what happened. Above me, the red poster offers no clues. I attempt to rewind. Short memories jerk into focus. A man peering into my face, as if down a tunnel. I went to a party. The thump of bass. Music. Flicking lights. Before that… I groan.
    Ice-cube man stirs and opens his eyes. He smiles as if we’re old friends. ‘Hello,’ he says, stretching. ‘How’s your head this morning?’ He has the long, almond eyes that I remember, heavy-lidded and so dark they are almost black. A sketch of the room is reflected across them, silvery and slender.
    ‘Terrible,’ I realise. I hold the sheet across my shoulders. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Cosmo. We did introduce ourselves last night.’ He rubs his cheek, making a rasping noise. ‘Don’t you remember?’
    I stare at him. I have no memory of last night. Instead I remember his smile as he set the crackling ice on the table before me. Should I remind him?
    ‘OK.’ He frowns, stifling a yawn behind his hand, ‘Let’s see… your name is Eliza. You came to Leeds to do a geography degree.’ He pauses, blows out through pursed lips as if he’s thinking. ‘But you dropped out and now you spend your time dancing. You’re an orphan. You have two brothers. Oh, and your best friend is about to abandon you for Paris.’ He looks pleased with himself. ‘Not bad with a hangover.’
    He has no idea that we’ve met before. I stare at him. I told him all that?
    ‘We didn’t sleep