Petra had only been at Haulcross University seven weeks and for the previous three, she had decided that she didn’t have the energy or the inclination to attend lectures. The amount of calories getting up, getting showered, getting dressed and the ten minute walk to the lecture would burn off failed to entice her to open the curtains. On this particular day she had been woken by a text message that caused her mobile to bleep ridiculously loudly. It was her best female friend, Gemma, more fondly known as Gem Gem.

Pet, ring me when u get this message. Need tell ya something xxx

Peering at the screen with very bleary eyes, Petra determined whatever it was that Gemma wanted to talk to her about couldn’t have been that urgent. The fact that she included three kisses lightened the tone of the whole message. If they hadn’t have been there, she probably would have called her straight away. She virtually crawled to the bathroom to get herself some tissue and blew out the remnants of white powder still up there from last nights “mad un”, and rolled over to face the wall and went back to sleep.

Petra’s university room was horrible. The walls were merely breeze blocks painted white. One lick of emulsion was stopping it being on a par with an actual prison cell. How anybody could be truly happy in a room like this was beyond her reckoning. The carpet was lovely, rich, dark red colour, great for hiding the stains of spilt vodka or cider, but felt like tiny needles, pushing themselves into the soles of Petra’s feet. Very rarely did she dare to venture out of her bed without her feet protected from the harsh reality the carpet bought to her; especially in fragile states such as now.

The sheets were sodden with sweat, as were the clothes she had worn the day before. They still clung to her clammy body as she couldn’t remember arriving home let alone being in a fit enough state to remove her jeans, black camisole and grey linen jacket. It was mid November, and the wind howled through the vent that gaped open on her window. No amount of sticky tape was keeping that bugger shut, evidently.

Everyone so often, a waft of the smell of burnt toast burst through the vent, causing her to heave slightly and bury her face in to the pillow more ferociously than she had been doing beforehand. Students, she hated them. Even though she was one herself. Petra knew she was doing it for the right reasons; for her love of the English language and her passion for creative writing. She knew she didn’t need a degree to be a successful novelist, but had succumbed to the fact she would be taken more seriously with one. Not that she minded. Structured academia had always been something in which she had excelled. In fact, if she was honest, it was something she struggled without.

Yesterday, before going out and becoming less than sober, Petra had begun to write her piece for the end of the year. It was worth over 50% of her marks. Technically, she wasn’t even supposed to know about it yet but Gemma had had a dalliance with her lecturer at the beginning of term, and spied the criteria.

“Would this be of any use to you?” Gemma grinned as she slammed down a file on to the communal kitchen table.

Petra dived on it to cover the writing on the pale yellow cardboard; it read, “First year assessment marking criteria, authorised personnel only”. Samuel Jackson, one of the people in her flat, was in there making the typical student breakfast of waffle sandwiches. Petra didn’t think he would have said anything if he knew what Gemma had just provided her with, but she didn’t fancy taking the chance.

“It’s his own fault. Has he never heard of a computer system and passwords? Really!” she scoffed, putting her feet on the kitchen table so Petra had to bat them off.

Silencing Gemma with a scowl, Sam playfully nudged Petra as he went past and sat in the chair next to her. A drop of coffee spilled on to her jeans so Petra felt it warranted a slap of Sam’s thigh. As she made contact with the blue denim stretched over his thigh he caught her hand and stared directly into her eyes.

“Don’t think so Mrs!” he smirked, and his blue eyes pierced hers.

Petra pulled her hand away, picked up the folder, her cup of coffee in her Eeyore mug, and looked over her shoulder at Sam.

“When you least expect it Samuel Jackson, you are going to be so shocked. Just you wait!” Petra threatened flirtatiously.

Gemma stood up to follow Petra into the cellblock of a room. Great, Petra thought. She was going to have to explain that little episode with Sam to Gemma now. In fact, no she wasn’t. Gemma didn’t even go to this university! She had no right to be here and witness her terrible attempts at flirting with a man that she shouldn’t even be thinking about in that way. Petra decided then and there, Gemma was going home in the next half an hour. After all, she had work to do on this piece.

“Gem Gem,” Petra sang, obviously wanting something, “ I know you haven’t been here long but I have loads of work to do. Do you mind if I just call you later?” She winced at her own words, knowing that Gemma would be mortally offended as she could always tell when Petra was lying.

“K, don’t worry about it because I’m only here while Patrick’s wife drops his lunch off!” Patrick was of course, my creative writing lecturer.

“Gemma Louise Bowman!”, Now she was in trouble. “You cannot possibly tell me you are OK with this? You’ve never been happy with the amount of attention you’ve received from a bloke when you’ve been the only one in his life! Patrick has a wife, you and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing that red haired woman from the photocopying department…”

“Petra, Petra, Petra. I have decided, as of yesterday, I am now low maintenance.”

Unable to contain her laughter as she unlocked the door to her room in the most awkward fashion she almost fell through it. The Eeyore mug crashed to the ground, splashing coffee up the dark red door and carpet.

“Bollocks!” Gemma giggled and scuttled a couple of steps back while I mocked hitting her. “You mourn the loss of Eeyore while I go and have fantastic sex. There’s a sentence you never thought you’d hear!”

With that she turned on her heels and almost skipped down the corridor. Petra liked to see Gemma happy, she’d had a hard life and it was unusual she was so content. This time though, Petra knew that it would end in tears.

The door slammed behind Gemma, and Petra bent down to pick up the chunks of pottery sprawled across the floor. She would never admit it, but that Eeyore mug was so close to he heart. He Dad had bought it as her first purchase on Ebay and she held it in so much regard as it was the only present he had bought her that she hadn’t specifically asked for, and it was perfect, or used to be.

Just as her eyes began to well up, Petra felt someone press against her raised bottom and all at once she was shoved forward. Stumbling around trying to get her balance, her head thumped into the door. Sam was in her eye line as she spun round and he caught her with his firm hand on her forearm.

“That hurt?” he asked sympathetically, evidently shocked by his own strength.

He covered her hand with his on the back of her head and applied some pressure. Petra shooed his other hand away as he went to wipe a tear that was making tracks down her porcelain face. Guilt was flooding Sam’s face; he really hadn’t meant to hurt her, just to make her smile. Petra slid her hand out from underneath his, pushed the tear away, and jokingly wiped it on Sam’s t-shirt. Before she realised what she was doing her hand was resting on his chest for five seconds or more.

“Pet? Petra! Petra, come on please?!” Petra snapped out of her panic at the sound of Sam voicing his concern.

“Sorry, knocked myself a bit dizzy I think Sam.” Petra lied, pleased that she had a valid cover up for behaving like a complete idiot.

Sam put his right arm round her shoulders, his left supporting her left elbow and steered her through the doorway and newly caused debris towards her bed. He lay her down slowly, planting a slow and firm kiss in between her eyes.