Synchronised Motion (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 20

Musics loud, mind even louder. Drunk people are really dumb, the flat is a disgusting mess, and I'm struggling to remember why I liked going to these? Guess sober brain works differently.

The swim team are, enjoying themselves, but no ones drinking. At least not a lot—not with Nationals next week. Even I am keeping my distance. I have purposefully positioned myself across the room far away from the beverages, anything to help me behave, no matter how much I want a drink.

If this were a couple of weeks ago, I would have drunk until I drowned. Tried find comfort in the bottom of a bottle.

But things are different now.

I'm actually not quite sure why I'm here, to be honest. Why come to a party if not to drink? To have fun? But fun without drinking? Or am I here to glare at Oliver across the room all night? To ignore him? Or do I want to confront him? Make him pay? Kiss him?

I slam my plastic cup of water on the table a little too hard that his sprays my hand. Here I am sipping water like an idiot, waiting for one guy. He didn't even want to go to this party, asked me after training the other day if I wanted to go out with him, but this was before I talked with Quinn.

Before I learnt the truth.

Finger twirled in my curl, tugging it playfully. "You swam good today" he grins down at me, right after training the other day.

I tilt my chin up, trying not to show the flutter in my chest. "I know."

He rolls his eyes at my response. "and humble."

We're in the locker room, just us. Damp after our swim session. And he's right, I did swim good. Not enough to beat him, but close. Even had Croissant eating my dust.

"Why don't we go out somewhere Friday? Somewhere different..." he says.

Like a date? is what I want to ask, but don't.

"It's Sophie's flat party tonight."

He nuzzles his nose into my neck playfully. "we don't have to go, we could go back to mine. Do something else instead.."

My stomach flips, a heat and nervousness in my body. But something else as well.. a lava in my lower stomach. "Lets show face at the party, then we can go back to yours?"

He presses a kiss to the space between neck and collar, "whatever you want, darling. You call the shots."

And I liked that. I call the shots.

So what shot am I going to call now?

The party's food is shit, only chicken chips left and no damn dip. Everyone looks to be having a ball of time, while I sulk in the corner of the room. Being sober at a party is a new thing for me, but fuck if I aint proud of how I have resisted it. How well I have avoided the thing that used to be my crutch. But I care more about my body now, about giving it the best chance of performance. I want to make life easier for future me. And so far—that has been working out for me, so I'll see how long I can stick with it. See how long giving a little shit about myself makes shit easier.

When Oliver arrives I'm on the opposite side of the room. It's obvious when he arrives, people going out their was to say hi to him. To talk to him. To keep his attention.

Good.

I don't want to see his handsome face and let my anger and humiliation get distracted. I'm pissed—and rightly so.

Swimming has been my identity for so long (and still is part of it), and finding this truth out really sucks. That I didn't earn my spot like the rest.