I've always loved reading. A bookworm from birth Mum would often brag to her friends, ogling at me curled up with a book like I was caged in a zoo. It's why I'm sat, three rows from the front in the middle seat, in this crowded lecture hall listening to Jack our professor drone on and on about Charles Dickens. I want to be a writer you see. To walk into Waterstones, beeline for the young adult shelves and see my name in bold letters. I just didn't realise university would be so boring.

Okay sure, it's only the second week but I crave the excitement, the wow factor, I'd been promised as I scanned endless prospectuses. So far there's zilch. Just a short, chubby professor whose voice is slowly sending me to sleep. I mean does he really need to take so many paused mid sentence?

"Psst!"
I jump as a folded piece of paper lands in my lap. Turning around, I find the offender. A tall, blonde girl the row behind me. Her blue eyes are wide as she gestures to the boy in front of me. Rolling my eyes I oblige. One more hour. That's it until this torture is over. I can hold on for one more hour.

I doodle on my notepad, mind wandering to the events of the night before. I've never been a drinker and let me tell you, I will not be touching the stuff again. Nick, the only housemate who has made any effort so far, had begged relentlessly for me to go to the local nightclub with him. I'd wrinkled my nose, turned his offer down three times until I finally relented. It had been fun, to start off with. The music was a little loud, songs I didn't recognise deafening me as people danced along.

I'd felt so out of place in my leggings and t-shirt surrounded by hundreds of girls in short skirts and dresses pressed up against any member of the male species they could dig their claws into. Nick had handed me a drink, something he had called a jager bomb. It wasn't completely awful but after another two my throat had burned it's protest. After that I'd stuck to vodka and orange juice, a single shot, sipping the sweetness as though it were squash.

I'd woken this morning in Nick's bed, naked with his arm wrapped around me - vague memories of us stumbling back back our flat in my mind. I wasn't a virgin by any means when I'd started university, though if my parents ever ask I'm waiting until marriage. I'd heard Nick groan, complaining of the pounding in his head. Me too bud, I'd thought as I fought the urge to vomit.

"Don't forget to read chapters 1 through 5 before Friday. I'll see you tomorrow,"
I blinked. Wait. What book? I whipped my head around, asking whoever would listen.
"Oliver Twist," a girl with red and black hair smiled as she stuffed her laptop into her backpack. I think her name is Eloise. It's the first time I've heard her speak to anyone, she normally sits sullenly tapping away at her keyboard before speeding out of the room. My thanks fall from the air unheard.

Nick is pottering about in the kitchen when I get home, the smell of his tomato and basil pasta hitting me. My stomach growls, a reminder that in my rush to not be late again I'd forgotten to eat breakfast or pack a lunch.
"Want some?" He offers reaching for two plates. I nod.
"That would be great, thank you."
We eat in silence. I can tell Nick is still hungover, his eyes bloodshot and hair a mess. I suspect he never went to his lecture.

I take his plate and dump it in the sink alongside my own, making a mental note to clean the kitchen once I've done some studying. He follows me to my dorm room, leaning against the fire door as I search my bookshelf for the copy of Oliver Twist I'd bought over the summer.
"You still coming out tonight?"
I half glance at him, fingers finally finding the paperback, and grimace. I'd much rather stay in bed and get some reading done. I tell him so. He pouts and crosses his arms.
"Don't be a spoil sport, unis about getting drunk, having lots of sex and having fun," he winks at me before sitting on the edge of bed. I roll my eyes.
"Well someone should tell the lecturers that then. I think they missed the memo,"

————
Somehow, by some magical force, Nick has convinced me to put my book down and get out of the flat. I look at myself in the mirror, flat chest hidden beneath a floral blouse, long legs underneath a short brown leather skirt. I look like a man, I think sadly. My little sister and Mum have huge D cup boobs and mine barely fill a B cup. I long for the curves other girls possess.

Nick gives a low whistle as I zip up my black ankle boots. With my hair curled and an almost too thick layer of make up I swear I could pass as someone else entirely. It feels alien to me, like I'm wearing a mask.
"First rounds on you," I tell him as I triple check my purse for my ID and bank card. He clutches his chest pretending to collapse against the wall.
"And after I bought all those jager bombs last night," he gasps. Looping his arm around mine he pulls me towards the door.
"You look gorgeous, come on let's go get drunk."

————-
I've lost Nick. How does someone lose an entire human being? I push past people desperate to find him. I recognise faces here and there, I think from my course, but I can't remember their names.

Ah. There he is, tangled up with the tall blonde from earlier. I turn, leaving him to his moment, only to bump straight into a guy I've never seen before. His drink spills down my shirt, staining it yellow. Great. I loved this blouse. I wave my hands in defeat, ready to go home.
"Oh god I'm so sorry! Here let me help,"

I try to protest but he's already thrusting napkins trying to salvage the wreck. I swat him away. It's futile anyway.
"Don't worry about it," I say, "I hated this shirt anyway."
He gives me a small smile as though he knows I've lied.
"Let me at least get you a drink,"
I follow him, Mum's words ringing in my ears. Never trust man to give you a drink. Blah blah blah.

One drink becomes four. Four drinks becomes a snog, hands fondling beneath shirts. He's sloppy and tastes of beer. I hate beer. I can hear Nick calling my name from somewhere. Thank god. I break apart from ... whatever his name is ... and scout the area. Bingo!

I don't even say goodbye, just leave him standing in place bewildered as I walk away, leaning onto Nick for support as we leave the cesspit the other students seem to love.

—————
God I love McDonald's. It's the perfect fast food. Perfect as a kid when your mum wants to shut you up. Perfect as an adult when your drunken self needs something to sober up. I rest my head on my hand as I pop a chicken nugget into my mouth.

Nick's chattering away but I'm not listening. I'm too busy savouring this delicacy. The chocolate milkshake is a lifesaver for my dry mouth. I let out a moan of delight. Nick dances around the kitchen, chips flying out of the container. I laugh. A drunken high pitched laugh that has Sally our other roommate storming in to tell us to shut up, that some people are trying to sleep. Oops.

His lips taste of coke and grease, a combination I'd usually hate. Drunk me doesn't care. She pulls his t-shirt over his head and pushes him backwards onto the bed so she can straddle him.

He fumbles with drunk me's bra until she slaps his hand and takes over. Amateur. Boobs remaining in place she rides him. She moans like she's seen a million times in porn movies. Sober and drunk me have never cum. We don't get the big hype over sex. It's mundane, it's boring. It's why I only do it when I'm drunk. I tried so hard to enjoy it with ex boyfriends. I think there's something wrong with me.

"You're so tight," Nick moans as I rock my hips back and forth. That's because I'm bored, I think. He grunts and groans until he fills the condom. I dismount, pulling his shirt over my head.
"Did you cum?" He asks, his breath shaking.
"Er, yeah, sure,"
I close the door behind me, shutting off whatever he wanted to say next.