It was the end of a Spring term in which I had successfully managed to stumble my way to good grades, late nights out, and to top it, somehow back to decent shape. It had been satisfying. I had done well and I knew it. Not exceptionally, perhaps, but well enough for me. We had celebrated it, my shared house and I, with a blow out party. As with any gathering of young people, music, and intoxicating substances from across the spectrum, we had a blast. People had laughed and danced, hugged and kissed, and most importantly, left before the sun came up so I actually got some sleep.
There had been a few nerves when I had moved in back in January. A small house can get quite tense, especially when you’re the new guy. The three girls I moved in with had been together since last year, but had had their last flatmate drop out at the end of the Winter term when she had spiralled down that lurking pit of academic despair. It was very lucky for me, though, because I had just been kicked out of my last house for sleeping with one of the guy’s girlfriends. Personally, I think it was pretty harsh to blame it all on me considering that she had been the one to hammer at my door at three am, but apparently they had been together since they were teenagers and everyone decided that I had committed cardinal sin by spoiling pure love.