The Thrill Is Gone

In the days following her drunken night with Harry, she entertained the thought that he’d soon get in touch with her. That he had someone going through the Rhode Scholar archives to get her contact information, and that as soon as they’d gotten it to him, she’d get a call. She knew it was childish to think such things, but it couldn’t be helped. The romantic in her was running wild and there was no reining it in. It made her think that there’d be a courtship; dinners, polo matches, nights in, and other absurd novel worthy ideas, but come Thursday afternoon, the romantic grew hopeless and gave up those thoughts. It retreated back to its rightful place where it could be controlled, and Paulina was left to scold herself for having been foolish enough to think that a Prince would be smitten with her.

She should’ve known better than to let her imagination run wild, but she was bored and didn’t have much to occupy her time. Had that exact event happened during Hilary Term or Trinity term, she wouldn’t have given it more than an hour’s attention. She would’ve been swamped with coursework and meetings and with trying to make time to hang out with friends. There wouldn’t have been any time for her mind to concoct such improbable thoughts. It would’ve been busy trying to make sense of ancient and modern philosophers, but since her drunken night with Harry happened during a break, her restless mind was free to fixate on it. It thought up elaborate scenarios, ones better suited for a Hollywood film than real life.

The sensible part of her always knew that nothing was going to happen with him. That part had known that his wanting to spend time with her and his mentioning that they might have sex meant nothing to him. Those were things he said to a lot of women, to those blonde models he surrounded himself with and the members of his socioeconomic class. They were just words, meaningless words. And she was upset with herself for having thought that they meant more than they did, than they ever could mean. And in an attempt to work out her frustration, she began playing rugby again. She’d stopped the week before her finals and initially, had no intention of starting again until term began, but she needed to work out her frustrations, and there was no better way to do that than on the pitch.

The rugby team she played with wasn’t much of a rugby team. It wasn’t filled with burly men that spent hours in the weight room. It was the other Rhode Scholars, the guys from New Zealand, Australia, and South Africa. They were fit. That there was no denying, but they didn’t have the standard build that rugby players were famous for. That was one of the reasons why the local rugby clubs always laughed whenever they held a scrimmage against them. And when they realized that there was a girl on the team, there expectations were lowered even further. Paulina didn’t mind being underestimated. She was used to it. In high school, she’d played football and soccer, and whenever it came time for a football game, the other team always shook their heads at the sight of her, but she was hardworking, she was stubborn, she was also a bit of a brute and she always left it all on the field, which was why she was fighting with an opposing rugby player at ten a.m. on a Saturday.

“Say that to my face, you fucking asshole!” she bellowed, her eyes flashing with rage. “You’re running your mouth around the pitch so say that shit to my face! Say it!”

The young man in question was a stocky fellow originally from Cornwall. He had only moments before been tackled by Paulina, and was so mortified that a girl had knocked him down, that he’d begun to talk shit about her, claiming that she was a lesbian or that she was a bloke in a wig. Paulina always became unreasonable and confrontational during matches, and when her frustration was added to the equation, she was left acting like a temperamental teenage boy, instead of an academic twenty-three year old woman.

“I’ll say it to ya face, ya bloody rug muncher! Or are ya just a bloke in a wig? Either way you’re bent.”

“Oi!” shouted one of his mates. “Tom! Get a hold of yourself, mate. She’s just a bird.”

“Bugger off, Ryan!” hissed Tom. “This ain’t a bird. Birds don’t play rugby. This one’s bent! And mental! Yeah, I said it, you’re mental, you are!” he bellowed.

“Mental? Oh! I’ll show you mental!” and with that, she launched herself at him, not caring if she was about to make an ass of herself in front of her fellow Scholars.

As her arms wrapped around his midsection, she placed her right foot behind his so she could knock him over. It was a trick she’d picked up in high school, and it was a trick that worked out, because as soon as she did it, he was sent tumbling onto the grass. He bucked his hips upwards, trying to throw her off him, but that didn’t work out as planned. She scurried upwards, straddling him across his abdomen and then, when she felt secure enough in her place, she raised her right hand to deliver a punch to his face but right as her fist was flying towards his already bruised face, she was peeled off by two pairs of strong arms.

“Let me go!” she thrashed in their arms. “Just let me go! I'm not fucking around!”

“Paula, calm down!” implored Callum, one of her friends. “Just . . . come on, calm down. You’re hotheaded right now and need a moment to –”

“To fuck him up!” she interjected. “Hey! Don’t smirk at me asshole. If it weren’t for them, your ass would be –”

“Let her go!” shouted Tom as he got on his feet. “Let’s have a go, you and me! Oi! What part of let her go, didn’t that thick head of yours get? No!” he shouted when he felt Ryan grab his arm. “No! Ryan, get off me! Get off!”

“You’re out of control, mate.” Ryan grabbed onto Tom, and with the help of another friend, managed to assume control. “She’s a bird! A bird, Tom! So what if she tackled you? She did a proper job of it, like any of us would’ve done, so just . . . just be a man and get over it! Fighting with birds ain’t right, mate, it ain’t right.”

“She fucking started it!” argued Tom.

“Not even!” exclaimed Paulina. “All I did was tackle you! We’re playing rugby! People are tackling people, but you went all psycho on me and then started running your mouth.”

“Well if you weren’t such a –” Tom began to run his mouth, again.

Ryan ignored Tom and looked over at Callum. “Oi, mate!” he shouted. ”S’alright if we call it a day?”

“S’alright,” replied Callum. “Have another go at it, some other day!”

“Sounds good, mate!” shouted Ryan before dragging Tom off the field.

Paulina watched as Tom was dragged off the field, her lips hitched upwards in a snarl as the blonde haired young man continued to curse at her, from across the field She wished she could’ve gotten into a proper fight with him, into one that would’ve relieved her of her frustrations and knocked some sense into that thick head of his, but that hadn’t come about. Her fellow scholars saved her from the ridicule that would’ve surely come with a public fight, and although she knew she should’ve been grateful that they’d stopped such an altercation, she couldn’t help but be upset. She could’ve taken him. Tom might have been burly, but he wasn’t so burly that it was impossible to think she could take him on. She could’ve landed a few good punches, but instead of fighting with him, she was being held back and he was being dragged off the field, by his friends who found it hard to believe that he’d wanted to fight a bird.

“You’re not gonna take off running if we let ya go, are ya?” asked Callum in his New Zealand accent.

“They’re over by the parking lot.” Paulina stated, as if it were a sufficient response.

“Not sure that means ya wouldn’t run over there to rark him up.”

“To what?” she had a feeling that was New Zealand slang, because she hadn’t heard anyone using that phrase in England.

“Right, right, forget you lot aren’t Kiwis,” he chuckled to himself. “That means that you’d go tell him off. Ya know to do a proper job of it, like you wanted to.”

“Ah. Okay, I get it now, but I'm not gonna chase him. Even though I do want to, but no, rather not run over there. By the time I’d get there, they’ve be driving off so there’s no point to it.” She sensed that they didn’t believe her, the fact that their hold didn’t loosen told her so. “Look, I'm not gonna run off. Alright?” she said. “I'm just gonna stand here awkwardly and apologize for having ruined the scrimmage. And . . . and I’ll make tacos if you guys want to swing by the flat.”

“Tacos?” chirped Roger from beside her. “Like the beef ones you made last time?”

“Yeah, just like those. I’ll even make, some beans and rice to, ah, go with it. It’ll be rad and so appropriate since I ruined the scrimmage.”

“You didn’t completely ruin it.” Lesedi spoke from in front of her. “It was very entertaining to see you pounce like you did. Though, to be honest, I'm quite certain I should not have said that, because you might make a habit out of picking fights with wankers.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she asked.

“Well, if you fight with all the wankers, then we’ll never have anyone to play against.” Lesedi replied, a bright smile breaking out across his face. “Not even each other.”

“Are you looking for a fight, Lesedi? Because I think you want to throw down!” she joked, her friends finally dropping their hold on her arms.

Lesedi placed his right hand over his heart. “I would sooner have my hands chopped off, than raise them to a woman.”

“Always such a gentleman,” she complimented Lesedi. “You should give Callum a few lessons.”

“What’s that mean?” inquired Callum.

“That you got a bad case of carpet burn for shagging in front of a passed out Roger.” Paulina replied.

Roger let out a booming laugh. “Hah! I remember that, woke up and saw Callum having a go on the floor right beside the couch, went back to sleep since there was no point in making that bird feel awkward. But yeah, wasn’t a very gentleman thing to do.”

“Hey! I got her a pillow for comfort.” Callum stated.

“Wasn’t talking about you not being a gentleman to her, was saying it for myself.” Roger wrapped an arm across Callum’s shoulders. “Was traumatized for weeks, I was. Kept hearing the, ‘Oh Callum, you’re so –’”

“Oi, Roger!” shouted an embarrassed Callum. “Shut it, yeah?”

“It’s not like no one’s heard the story before. Tell it all the time at the pubs. Ain’t that right, Paula?” Roger asked.

Paulina nodded. “Know it by heart. I especially love the spot when she complimented your, uh, kiwi.”

It was then that everyone in their group started laughing, and as they laughed, Callum told them that it wasn’t that funny and that they’d done worse stuff than him, but in truth, none of them had ever had sex in front of a passed out friend. They always took it over to the next room or to the bathroom; never the ground beside a friend, and that was why they laughed as heartily as they did, why they’d keep laughing.

“You lot done laughing yet?” he asked, his brilliant baby blue eyes staring questioningly at them. “I’ve not the time in the day to just stand around, getting laughed at.”

“Think of it this way, you’ll get tacos at the end of it.” Paulina replied, cheekily.

“If ya didn’t cook so well, I’d tell you to bugger off.” Callum told her.

“A gentleman wouldn’t think of telling a lady to bugger off,” she said.

Callum raised his brow at her. “Who said anything about you being a lady?”

“Ouch!” she exclaimed overdramatically, placing a hand atop her heart. “That one hurt.”

“Looks like someone won’t be having any tacos.” Terry commented in a singsong voice. “Means there’s more for us.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, Paula. Would ya?” Callum sent a pout her way.

“Hmm, I would, but I don’t feel like being that mean today.” Paulina wiped away some mud that was smeared across the right side of her face. “So how about we meet up at my place in an hour? That way we don’t stink and I can get started on the food.”

“Sounds good,” said Roger. “I’ll bring some Guinness over. Make it a proper meal that way.”

“If we’re talking about making it a proper meal, then I’ll take some Newcastle.” Terry stated.

“What sort would ya like?” Callum asked Paulina. “If you’re cooking for us, ya should at least get the beer ya like.”

“Uh, Guinness is good, thanks.” Paulina replied. “Think I’ll be heading out now. See you guys later. Just ring the buzzer so I can let you guys into the building!” she shot them one last smile before walking off towards her bicycle.

The field was an easy distance from her flat, at least it was on her bike, so she got back quickly and jumped into the shower to scrub off the dirt and dried blood that she’d accumulated during the scrimmage. She cringed as she looked down at her body. There were bruises scattered across her stomach and her arms were covered with them. The bruises were the one thing she hated about rugby. They always left her sore and forced her to put on cardigans and jackets to cover them up, but at least the weather was always sweater weather, so being bundled up wasn’t uncomfortable. Apart from the bruises, there were a few cuts; the largest one was beneath her chin. It was deep enough to have bled rather heavily, but not so deep that she felt it’d need stitches. All she had to do was clean it out with rubbing alcohol and then smear some Neosporin on it, to help it heal faster.

By the time she finished putting herself together, there were only twenty minutes left before her friends were set to arrive. She knew Terry would be late, Terry always ran late for everything. Lesedi and Andrew would be early; it was unheard of for them to ever get somewhere right on time, or to be late. Roger would probably be a few minutes late, as would Graham. And Callum would ring the buzzer at precisely the moment he was expected to ring it. Sure enough, Lesedi and Andrew arrived ten minutes early, carrying a case of Guinness and a bag of his favorite crisps. Callum arrived just on time, Roger and Graham got there a little after, and Terry showed up eleven minutes after they agreed on meeting up.

“You lot are always early.” Terry declared as he walked through the door.

“Come on mate, ya know, you’re always late.” Graham spoke from the couch. “Have to tell you to get somewhere twenty minutes early for ya to get there on time.”

Terry set down his case of Newcastle. “Now you’re just exaggerating. Isn’t he exaggerating, Paula?” he looked over to her, watching as she chopped up some onion and cilantro, the latter of which she’d been growing in the apartment.

“Afraid not,” she replied, looking up from the cutting board. “You are always late. And you’d think you’d be on time to stuff, since you’re always being told off for running late to events.”

“Ugh. If the events we had to go to were exciting, I’d get there early, but serving old sods tea and asking them if I can take their coats, isn’t worth being on time for.” He leant against the fridge. “Speaking of old sods, saw Fellowes on my way over here. Spotted him from across the street, that bald head of his was all sweaty and shiny, nearly blinded me, it did! I thought about stopping to be polite and you know, go through the act we all put on for them, but thought it’d be a waste. Don’t care for that wanker, so there’s no point in kissing his arse, since I don’t want to go into politics. I’ll kiss Sir John’s arse. Wait . . . aren’t, you his favorite?” he asked Paulina.

“Me?” she scooped the onion and cilantro into different bowls. “Why would I be his favorite?”

“Because he’s always raving about you, and the other day I heard him say that he was going to try to set you up with his son.” Terry pointed out.

“Paula with Sir John’s son?” asked Callum, butting into the conversation. “You can do loads better than Sir John’s spawn, he’s nice and all, but so bloody boring. Wanted to fall asleep when I met him at the polo match, he just kept talking and talking and I just wanted to shove him off somewhere.”

“Is he really that boring?” she asked Terry.

Terry nodded. “Met him twice so far, was pretty boring, and he’s got a monotone voice so that doesn’t do him any favors.”

“Well it’s a good thing that I'm okay with monotone voices, or else my chance at happiness and British citizenship would be severely lowered.” Paulina joked. “But seriously, I won’t be barking up that tree.”

“Well ya should.” Terry declared. “And you should put in a good word for me. Introduce me as your remarkable friend that’s out to shape the medical world.”

“Sounds like too much work to put in for someone that’s always late.” Paulina scrunched her nose at him and then shooed him off the fridge and pulled out the stack of tortillas that she’d made the day before. “If you really want to impress him then go over to the library at Rhodes House, he reads there in the mornings, because he likes the lighting in there.”

“Does he really?” he asked.

Paulina nodded. “Yeah, he does. I study there between classes so I always saw him in there.”

“Well thanks for telling me. I’ll start lingering about there.” Terry pulled out a Newcastle for himself. “Want one?” he asked her.

“No thanks, I'm fine.”

“Alright then,” Terry walked off with his beer in hand and took a seat on the small ottoman beside the couch.

Paulina redirected her attention to the tortillas, and after heating up half of them manually, she grew restless and opted to heat the other half in the microwave. The tacos were soon made and handed out, and all seven of them hungrily devoured the food, as well as the rice and bean accompaniments. When they finished eating, the guys tidied up, claiming that since she’d done the cooking, they should do the cleaning, and when they finished cleaning, they sat back down in their seats and they started watching Batman Begins.

They were halfway through the movie when her cell phone began to ring. Her brow scrunched when she saw that it was a blocked number, she tried to think of whom she knew that might have a private number, but no face came to mind. She decided that it was probably something related to the hospital or to the Trust, and so she excused herself from her friends, telling them to just keep watching the movie and that she’d be right back. She stepped out into the hallway and pressed her back against the door.

“Hello? This is Paulina, speaking.”

“What a boring way to answer your phone.” Harry spoke.

The sound of his voice made her body tense and her cheeks flood with color. She was glad he couldn’t see her, or else he’d think she was insane.

“How am I supposed to answer, then?” she asked, fighting back the smile that threatened to engulf her face.

“Hmm . . . I believe something along the lines of, Oh Harry, handsome Harry, you –”

“Didn’t know it was you, though,” she interjected. “Number showed up as private.”

“Well, you should’ve sensed it’d be me.” Harry teased.

Paulina chuckled softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you don’t know how to answer the phone properly.”

“How’d you get my number, anyway?” she asked.

“I'm Royal.”

She knew he was smirking into the phone, she could envision him doing so. “So did you make MI6 look for me?”

“Nearly did,” he joked. “But then I remembered I had an uncle that was a trustee, so like any good nephew would’ve done, I paid him some compliments and had him do my bidding.”

There was a moment of mutual laughter, which was then followed by an awkward silence.

“So how was the rest of your night?” she eventually asked.

“It was actually rather boring.” He said. “You see, there was this girl, I meant to spend it with, but she ran off on me. Can you believe that?”

“Maybe you were boring.”

“Me? Boring? Impossible!” he chuckled.

“Then maybe,” she began, hesitantly. “She wanted to stay, but just really had to leave.”

“Hmm . . . suppose that could be why.” Harry paused before asking. “Do you think she’d be keen on making it up to me? You know, going out like we were supposed to.”

“I think she could be, though it’d depend where.”

“Was thinking a football match,” he said. “Gunners are playing the Red Devils next week, over at Old Trafford.”

“Right, for the Premier League,” she commented, knowing very well about the upcoming Manchester United v Arsenal match.

“Yeah,” he said, nervously running a hand through his fiery red hair. “Do you think that uh, you’d want to go? Or do you have plans? I mean, s’alright if you’ve got plans –”

“My plan was to go to a pub and watch the game.” Paulina nervously bit down on her bottom lip. “So seeing it live would be very rad. I mean, it’d be brilliant.”

“Brilliant. I mean, right, yeah, it’ll be brilliant.” He cursed inwardly for having stumbled over his words. “I’ll pick you up early then. Think I should be there at eight. Yeah, eight’s good. That alright?” he asked.

“Y-yeah, eight works for me.”

“Eight it is.”

“Do you need my address?” she asked, realizing only after she’d said it, how silly she sounded.

“No, I’ve already got it.”

“You have all my private information, don’t you?” she joked, though she knew there was a good chance that he did. “I bet you even have a copy of my medical records.”

“Not at the moment, but give me a bit and I will.” Harry teased.

“Wanker,” she cursed playfully.

“That’s not the way to be talking to a Prince you know.”

“Well that’s how I'm gonna talk to you and if you don’t like it –”

“Who said I don’t like it?” he interjected.

“You just said that’s not how I should talk to a Prince,” she said the last word in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Said ya shouldn’t talk like that, never said I didn’t like it.” He said very matter-of-factly.

“You’re so annoying.” Paulina laughed. “You’re lucky you’re taking me to a United match. Ah. And just so you know, I’ll be wearing my Rooney jersey.”

“Rooney?” he mused aloud. “Well at least you’ve got decent taste in footballers.”

“Rooney’s not decent, he’s a fucking beast!”

“Only because he’s got a nasty temper on him,” he argued.

“Even without his temper, he’s an amazing player.”

“We’ll see if that’s true next Saturday then.”

“Guess we will.” Paulina pursed her lips together, wondering what to say next. “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah, me to,” he said.

“I’ll see you next week then, stalker.”

“Stalker?” he let out a hearty laugh. “Why am I the stalker?”

“Well, you did have files that you’re not meant to have access to, given to you so you could call me. That’s pretty stalkerish.”

“Here I thought I was just being charming.”

“Thought you said you weren’t charming, that it was just an act.”

“It is, for the most part, but believe it or not, I do have my moments,” Harry smirked, quite keen on that delivery.

“Stop smirking.” Paulina chuckled.

“How do ya know I'm smirking?” he asked, his words laced with amusement.

“Because your words were oozing self satisfaction,” she stated.

“I’ll have you know that –”

The door was thrown open and Paulina stumbled backwards, struggling to remain afoot.

“Paula!” exclaimed a breathless Terry. “Where do ya have your first aid kit?”

She pulled the phone away from herself. “Why the hell do you need it?”

“Uh, well, you see, Callum bet Graham that he couldn’t squash a can on his forehead, and Graham did, it was brilliant, but now he’s sort of bleeding.” Terry smiled sheepishly at her, much like a small child that knows he’s about to be told off, would.

“Go grab a towel from the bathroom! They’re clean, and fuck, I’ll go clean him up right now!” she ordered. “Are you still there?” she asked Harry, cursing herself for the idiotic behavior of her friends.

“Still here,” he replied. “Though I must admit that here sounds a lot more boring than whatever’s going on over there.”

“You heard that?”

“Hah. Yeah, I did. Sounds like you’ve got a rowdy bunch over at your flat.”

“I do, but that’s expected, they are my rugby mates.”

“You play rugby?”

“Yeah, it’s a rugby team that consists of –”

“Oi!” bellowed Graham. “I'm fooking bleedin’ ta death over here. Tell ‘em you’ll call ‘em back!”

“Hold the fuck up!” she told Graham. “Sorry Harry, I’ve got to get going.”

“S’alright.” Harry chuckled. “Don’t do anything stupid that’ll get you hurt. I need you in one piece if I'm gonna gloat about Arsenal wiping the field with Manchester.”