Twitter ∞ Dan Howell

128

Okay, so there are two ways I thought landing in London could go: 1, I'd land, feel the London air in my bones, and immediately fall in love with the city; or 2, I'd realise I knew absolutely no one and have a near-break down in the middle of the airport.

It went something between the two.

My legs felt a little like jelly and my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool after the 22-or-so hours of flying and stop-overs. I just wanted to sleep. Sleep, eat, and relax. But I was still at the airport and had no particular desire to be that one chick drooling all over her suitcases, so I headed out towards the exit to grab a cab. 

I trundled along with my two suitcases crammed full of clothes and various inseparable knick-knacks, the wheels squeaking on the polished floor as I made my way out of Heathrow, through the doors and into the London night. It was bitterly cold outside - a thin breeze kicked past, but then settled, nuzzling against one half of my face, pinching my cheeks pink. It was 1 am, or something like that, but there were cabbies stacked up against the taxi rank, families and couples and other lone travellers like me huddling by the bay. 

I let out a long breath as I looked out at the unfamiliar world at the edge of my feet. An overwhelming sense of both excitement and paralysing fear settled over me, making me want to scream, cry, and laugh at the same time. I was finally here, in London, knowing absolutely nobody else.

Okay, well, I knew Dan, I told myself, resting up against my suitcase. But that hadn't been going particularly well. We'd been messaging relatively regularly until about two months ago, when the messages became more sporadic. I could practically feel the disinterest from him. Maybe he got a girlfriend, or something. Or maybe I just lost my appeal. 

I closed my eyes, a burning sensation brimming in my chest. I could feel that familiar pit of sadness rising, and all I could remember was his lips against mine and the stars burning above our heads as he whispered, don't forget about me, Meg. 

I'm more worried you'll forget about me. 

I bit my lip, looking up at the unfamiliar sky of stars. 

Fuck you, Dan Howell.

My cab driver was comically lovely, the kind of cab driver you see in all the British movies who hobbles out to help with the baggage, giving a warm, alright, love?

He told me about his family and his kids, and I told him about Australia. He seemed particularly fascinated about our slang. He kept on getting me to say the strangest Australian slang I knew, then he'd laugh madly, shaking his head and muttering, ah, Australia. 

He dropped me off at a shitty little hotel I'd booked for the night, seeing as my halls of residence weren't going to be open. I thanked him and handed over the foreign cash, hobbling up the stairs with my luggage. I'd booked one of those places with 24hr check in, so there was a bored-looking girl a similar age to me behind the desk, picking at split ends in her hair. She looked up when she saw me, plastering a smile onto her face. 

'Hi, welcome to The Royal Hotel. How may I help you?'

'Um, hi,' I said, lugging my bags over to the counter, dropping them with a huff. 'I made a reservation for a room?'

The girl tapped away at her keyboard. 'What name is the reservation under?'

'Cartwright.' 

There was tense quiet for a few moments as the girl stared at her screen, clicking a few things before looking up at me again with the smile. 'That's all paid for. Here's your room key and an information pamphlet with the wifi password.'

I made a sound of sheer joy. 'Oh, thank Jesus. Wifi.'

The girl gave a small laugh. 'Unfortunately it's pay-by-the-hour,' she said, and my face sunk in disappointment. 'Don't worry, though. There's free wifi in the lobby,' she explained. 'Do you need any help with your bags?'

'Nah, I'm fine, but thanks anyway,' I said, waving the offer off, although I probably could have used a bit of help. I was the kind of person who felt weak if they couldn't carry their own bags. Perhaps it was some kind of stubborn souvenir of pre-evolution humanity. The strong outlive the weak, or something like that.

'Enjoy your stay.'

I dragged my bags over to the lift, taking it up to the fifth floor where my room was. The carpet swallowed up the sounds of my bags rolling down the hall, so the place was eerily quiet. Scone lights on the papered walls cast long shadows. 

My room was nice. Sort of. It was the kind of room you know a lot of people have stopped in to have sex in. Another bitter reminder of how alone I was. Taking boys into hotel room to have wild and magical sex was about as far away for me as the Queen was from sprouting wings and flying herself to the moon. 

I didn't bother to change, or shower, just crawled beneath the covers and tried not to imagine how many people had ejected their bodily fluids onto my pillow. Before I went to sleep I pulled out my phone, wondering if Dan had replied to my DM from a few days ago.

direct message to @danisnotonfire 

@phanoclock: so how'd the trip with Phil go?

seen 9:23 p.m. 

I put my phone face-down on the bedside table, turning away from it. I gathered the duvet around me like a cocoon, burying my head into the pillow, all previous thoughts of bodily fluids gone. I tried to let my mind slip away from everything so I could sleep, but that night four months ago was replying over and over again in my head, like a tape that never ends. Those eyes boring into me. 

Don't forget about me, Meg.

I ground my teeth together. 

Fuck you, Dan Howell. 

ooooohhhhhhh no

dan what have you DONE ASSHOLE YOU MADE A PROMISE

this will all become clear later, do not worry my children

love you guys so much. I'm almost at 10k reads which has been my goal for so long, so thank you thank you thank you for helping me come so close to it!

see you soon <3

xx