The Thrill Is Gone

It was the sound of the fire alarm going off that woke her in the morning. Her body had intended to sleep well past noon. The exhaustion of staying up into the wee hours of the morning, coupled with her alcohol consumption, had made her body desirous of rest, but sadly her plans did not come to be, because at a bit before ten that morning, the fire alarm went off, and it wasn’t long before she was roused from her deep slumber.

At first, she thought it was the building’s main fire alarm. That some flat or another had caught fire, and as a result of it, all the tenants were to evacuate immediately, that was why she shot straight up from her place in the bathtub, that was why she nearly lost her balance and fell over, but thankfully for her, she managed to grab hold of the sturdy shower curtain pole, and stopped herself before she fell onto the cold tile that was riddled with her discarded clothes. Her pants were near the door, her top rested on the sink, and her discarded bra hung on the doorknob. As quickly as she could, she threw her clothes on, and readied herself to grab the bag that housed her passport and other important documentation, some money that her parents had sent over, and her laptop. Those were her necessities, she wouldn’t be able to do without them, and as such, they were the only things she truly needed to get to safety, but when she opened the door to sprint towards her bedroom area, she realized that it wasn’t an all over fire alarm, the alarm was only blaring in her apartment, because there, standing in the middle of her kitchen, was Harry. And he was trying to shut the damn thing up by fanning it with a plate.

Harry had woken at eight that morning to make her breakfast. He’d planned on making her French toast, eggs, and sausages, a breakfast that was very much one of her favorites, and that he was utterly unaware of how to prepare. But he was determined to make it for her, to show her that he was sorry and that he’d made a massive effort for her. That was why he woke up at eight, and then ran off to Tesco to pick up everything the internet said he would need. It was around nine-thirty when he returned, and as soon as he’d set everything out on the counter, he’d began the tedious process of making the French toast, but it turned out to be a lot more difficult than Harry had anticipated, and he ended up making three half assed slices before he turned up the heat, and ended up burning the fourth beyond recognition.

That fourth attempt at French toast was the one that set the fire alarm off, and ended up waking Paulina. As soon as it started blaring, Harry grabbed a plate from the cabinets and began fanning it, hoping to shut the damn thing up before Paulina woke up. He didn’t want her to wake before her time. She’d be particularly grumpy and irritable, and with things the way they were, he needed her well rested and with a full stomach, so her body wouldn’t join in on his telling off. But try as he did, the fire alarm didn’t shut up, and just as he was about to grab a second plate to try to fan it with, the bathroom door open, and out she came.

She was a mess. The top she was wearing was stained with vomit, a gift from an overly intoxicated Terry, whom had aimed for a nearby bin, and had thrown up on her instead. Her pants were put on backwards, they weren’t the sort that needed zipping up so she wasn’t even aware that they weren’t on right, and her eyes, oh those eyes of hers were bloodshot. They were worse than when she smoked out and forgot to put eye drops on, they were so bloodshot that it honestly looked as if one of the blood vessels in her eyes had ruptured. Her hair was sticking up in random places, and there were bits of confetti and glitter mixed into it.

Her appearance made it clear that she’d just woken from a night of heavy drinking. Had she been completely sober, she would’ve been suffering from a massive hangover, but as it was, alcohol still lingered in her veins, keeping the hangover from coming to be, and allowing her to remain in a state of slight intoxication.

“What the fuck’d you do?” asked Paulina, her voice hoarse.

“I . . .” the plate in his hand suddenly became unbearably heavy. He had to set it down on the counter. He had to relieve himself of it. “. . . I was having a go at making breakfast,” he said, hoping that statement would be enough to soften her features. It wasn’t.

“You don’t cook.”

“I know, but I thought it’d be alright enough, and had myself a go at it. Didn’t work out though,” he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “And I reckon that alarm won’t be quieting down anytime soon.

Irritated by the incessant screeching, she made her way over to the balcony area, and slid the glass door open, letting only the thin screen door act as a barrier between her apartment and the outside world. With a cool breeze blowing in through the door, she proceeded to open the windows, and once there was proper ventilation in the apartment, she picked up the plate that Harry had discarded, and fanned the fire detector until it quieted.

They were standing mere feet from one another, but they dared not speak. They were silent, each trying to figure out what to say, how to go about saying it, and they were even struggling to remember how to breathe around one another. There was much to say, much that had remained unresolved between them. And despite not being particularly keen on him at the moment, she knew they’d have to have a proper talk. They couldn’t just scream at each other and be hysterical; they couldn’t have a repeat of last night, with her storming into the bathroom and locking herself in there.

If they were going to be in a serious relationship, then they had to act like adults. They were both in the wrong. Both had said and done things that they shouldn’t have. Paulina knew she’d let her feelings get the best of her. She should’ve never said she hated him. That wasn’t true. She could never hate him. Not even when he was being an absolute ass. She was annoyed with him, terribly so, and disappointed, but she didn’t hate him. No. She only hated his decision. Not him though, never him.

“I don’t hate you . . .” she found herself saying, breaking their silence. “I didn’t mean that.”

A visible wave of relief washed across his face. That had been his worry. He’d spent most of the night fixating on those three torturous words, but now . . . now she’d alleviated him of that distress. There was still much more on him, pressing down on his heart, but he’d been the one to place it their, it had been his own doing.

“I was worried you did.” He admitted to her. “Glad to hear you don’t, though.” He slowly closed the space between them, taking cautious, deliberate steps out of fear that she’d take off in a sprint if he moved to quickly. “I'm sorry . . .” he reached out for her hands, hoping to link their fingers and begin to sort the mess out, but she pulled away from him, letting her hands fall at her sides.

“Just because I don’t hate you, doesn’t mean I'm not still angry.” Her features hardened. “What you did was fucked up.”

“I know it was.”

“Do you really? Because yesterday, you kept making it sound like you were the victim in all this, like you had to help him, like you had absolutely no choice in the matter. And you’ve no idea how infuriating that was. What you did, I . . . I honestly can’t believe you did. I spent most of yesterday unable to wrap my head around the fact that you’d actually ditched me on my birthday.”

“But I was helping out a mate,” he blurted out.

“See! There you go again, making it seem like you had to help him and I'm the bitch who doesn’t understand. And even if you didn’t have a choice in helping them, that doesn’t change the fact that you ditched me,” she said, curtly. “You ditched me on my birthday! And I was so hung up about it, that I tricked myself into thinking it was some sort of ploy to get me not to suspect that you were going to surprise me by being here before I got home, but then I showed up and you weren’t here. And I waited for you to get here. I wanted until I was almost late to my own birthday dinner.”

“I didn’t think you’d wait. You didn’t answer any of my calls, I thought . . .”

“That’s because I didn’t want to talk to you on the phone,” she said, her voice tight. “I wanted you here, with me.”

“And I wanted to be here.”

“Then why weren’t you?” she took a step back, he was getting far too close for her liking. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Not soon enough.” Her back was pressed against the counter. “Look, I understand you might think I'm being selfish for not caring about those two, but I can’t help it. I'm selfish when it comes to you. We get to spend so little time together, that I'm selfish with every last second that we do get. And for you . . .” she shut her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. “. . . For you to now be here with me on my birthday, that’s just fucked up! And then . . . then you have the audacity to tell me that you’ll take me to Paris to make up for it.”

“I thought you’d be keen on that. You love Paris!”

“That was insulting!” cried Paulina. “How dare you think you can neglect me, and then make things right by bribing me with a trip to Paris?”

“It wasn’t to be a bribe.”

“Don’t you lie to me, don’t you dare.”

He didn’t want to admit to it, but the look she was shooting him, made it clear that if he didn’t fess up, it’d be worse. “Alright, maybe it was, but I didn’t think anything wrong of it. I thought you’d fancy that. Paris, with me, I thought that’d be something you were into.”

“I would. I am into it, but not like this. Not like a bribe. Like I said last night, I don’t want you to take me to Paris. All I wanted was for you to be here, with me. That was it. But you . . . you couldn’t give me that.” Her voice died down to a whisper. It pained her to say that. It pained her to see the look of desperation that filled his eyes. “Why couldn’t you give me that? It was just one day. Why couldn’t I have my birthday? Why couldn’t you give me it?”

“I . . .” he didn’t know to respond. He honestly didn’t know why he couldn’t have given her that one day, why he couldn’t have left Chelsy and Jake overnight in the cell, they would’ve been fine, they would’ve been looked after, he could’ve sorted them out in the morning. “I . . .” he tried again, but he couldn’t muster anything more than that single, pathetic sounding word.

“I know you love me.” She looked straight at him, her chest feeling tight as she spoke. “I know you do, but this isn’t how you treat the people you love. I don’t know how you’ve done it with your past relationships, but this doesn’t work for me. If you’re gonna be with me, you have to be with me. Now, I'm not asking you to never leave my side, that’s fucking ridiculous, people can’t live like that, it’s not healthy, but what I am asking is that you give me my proper place.”

“You’ve already got a proper place.” He reached out for her hand, and this time, she didn’t recoil at his touch, this time she allowed him to take it, to place it atop his heart. “This is it.”

“Is it really?” she cocked her brow at him. “Because I'm pretty sure people don’t treat their hearts the way you did.” She slowly slipped her hand out from under his. “If I'm gonna be your heart, then let me be it. I told you when we officially got together to not put me through crap. So don’t.”

“I’ve not put you through of any of that. I’ve been loyal.”

“Being faithful isn’t all you have to do to be in a relationship. And I know you’re still learning, because you haven’t exactly done anything as serious as this before, but just . . . just be mindful of me. Alright?” she said. “Because that’s all you really have to do, be mindful of me and my emotions. You know I'm not one to get all hung up on things, I don’t let every damn thing get to me, but things like you missing my birthday, I will make a big deal out of.”

“And you’ve every right to. I was a massive prat, and I'm sorry. I honestly am. I never wanted to upset you. I was just . . . I was so set on helping them out that I didn’t stop to think of what it would really mean to you. And I'm sorry for that. I’ve made a mess of things. I know that now. But like ya said, I'm still learning here. This is my first serious relationship. I know I was with Chels for a long time, but it was never as serious as this, not half as serious. This is the first time I’ve ever loved someone. And I know you think I'm lying whenever I say that I’ve never told anyone that before, but I haven’t. You’re the first. And if I fuck up, which I will, then I'm sorry, but I'm trying to figure things out here, and I just . . . I need you to be patient with me. Because even sticking around after a fight is a big deal for me. Back before you, I would’ve just stormed out, and said to hell with it all. But I love you. I love you so much I’ll even stick around to have you tell me off,” he added, weakly. “I really am sorry.”

“Alright then . . .”

“Huh?” He wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

“Alright then, we’ll move on from this. Take it as a learning experience and that’ll be that.”

“But you . . . I thought . . . weren’t you gonna tell me off?”

“I'm pretty sure I did that last night.” She ran a hand through her disheveled curls. “I'm not gonna lie, there is a part of me that wants to be more dramatic and drag this out, but I'm throwing a party here today, and I’d rather not be miserable during it. You know? And I'm pretty sure people would say this is a lot healthier than me screaming for you to quiet your face.” She couldn’t help it, she started to chuckle.

“Loads healthier,” he agreed, smiling as he spoke. “I'd honestly never heard anyone tell anyone to quiet their face. When you said that, I didn’t know what to think.”

“You should’ve thought that you were bordering on dangerous grounds.” She told him. “Because after quiet your face, I start cursing in Spanish, and that’s never a good sign. I go ape shit whenever I start cursing in Spanish. It can’t be helped though. The language is more fiery than English, and I don’t know, I get swept up in that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then.” He smiled and stepped towards her, he placed both hands on her hips and then lowered his face ever so slowly, but just as his warm breath tickled her upper lip, she pulled away. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“There won’t be any of that.”

“What? Why?”

“Why?” she snapped. “Do you really want to know why?”

“I reckon I already do. But we’ve just made up. People always rave about make up sex and . . . I should shut up, shouldn’t I?”

She nodded.

“But you said you didn’t want to be miserable. Ya just finished saying that,” he muttered.

“That doesn’t mean I have to sleep with you right away.” She said. “I'm not gonna let you off the hook and then fuck you.” She peeled his hands off her hips. “So what were you trying to make?”

“Uh, well, the main dish was meant to be French toast.”

“French toast?” that might not have been all that complicated for most people, but she knew that was an ambitious task for Harry. “You were gonna make me some?”

He nodded. “Eggs and sausage, as well,” he said. “But it didn’t work out. It’s all just a mess now. Sorry about that. I’ll tidy up later.”

“You’re gonna tidy up?”

“Well, yeah, I made the mess. I’ll tidy up. But, since I’ve made a disaster of breakfast, I reckon we should go out. What do ya say? Will you have breakfast with me?”

“Yeah, that sounds rad. Let me just go get the mail and then I’ll jump in the shower.”

“I can get the mail.” He told her. “That way you can jump right into the shower. Unless you want to get the mail, and then, that’s fine. What’s wrong? Why ya looking at me like that?”

“I'm trying to figure out whether you’re my boyfriend or a really good clone.” She teased. “I can’t help but think it might be the latter. God knows you’re being way to helpful to be him, then again, you’re probably just kissing my ass because of yesterday.”

“Not kissing your arse,” he mumbled, though that was precisely what he was doing. “Just trying to be helpful is all. So am I getting the mail or not?”

“You’re getting it.” She walked over to the bookcase where her keys rested in a glass bowl. “Here you go, and make sure to really check, I'm, uh, expecting something.”

“Still waiting on Harvard?” he asked, knowingly.

“Yeah, I honestly thought yesterday was gonna be the day, but then it turned out it wasn’t. Today though, I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

Shortly thereafter, Paulina jumped into the shower, eager to get the nights remnants off her body. And as she scrubbed and washed herself, Harry made his way downstairs to pick up her mail. There were a few others gathered around the wall mounted mailboxes, not many, since it was still somewhat early. At least, it was for a Saturday. Those who were there, looked like they’d just rolled out of bed, their hair was sticking out at all sides, and their eyes were so sleep filled that none of them even noticed Harry was there, and if they had, they didn’t even bother acknowledging them.

Not that he minded. He was glad not to have to smile at the tenants and take pictures with the ones who asked. He grabbed the mail out of the compartment, and then gave it a quick look over to check that he hadn’t left anything behind. Confident, that he’d grabbed all her mail, he locked up her box, and then climbed up the stairs.

It wasn’t until he got to her floor that he finally glanced down at the pile of mail in his hands. There were adverts at the top, announcing the weekly specials at the local markets, and there was a coupon for a steam cleaner. He had to go through quite a bit of rubbish before his eyes landed on the Harvard logo.

“Paulin!” he cried as he ran down the hall to her apartment. “Paulin!” he called to her as he threw the door open and rushed inside. “Paulin, love!” he ran towards the bathroom door, and stopped when he was right outside out. “There’s a letter! You’ve a letter from Harvard!”

“A letter?” she croaked out. “What do you mean a letter? Is it just a letter or is it –?” she felt herself growing faint. “Henry! What is it? Is it just a letter?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not opened it. You want me to open it?”

“No. No! Just tell me, is it a big envelope or a small one?” there it was, in a few short seconds she’d know what the future held.

Harry held the envelope in front of him. “I’d say it’s a big one. Definitely a big –”

He didn’t get to finish his statement. As soon as he’d said that it was a large envelope, a joyful cry erupted from the bathroom. Paulina threw open the curtain, and leapt out of the tub, not even bothering to wrap a towel around herself or slip on her bathrobe. And with dripping wet hair, and every inch of her body exposed, she ran out of the bathroom and snatched the package away from Harry.

The tears started almost instantly. There it was in her hands, the admissions package from Harvard, there was everything she’d been working so hard for, there was the reward for all the sleepless nights, and emotional breakdowns she had while forcing herself to study more than she wanted. There was her acceptance letter.

When the initial shock subsided, she tore the package open and took out the acceptance letter. She’d never seen anything more beautiful than that piece of paper, there was no novel that compared to its magic, no printed word that could equal its charm, and her eyes greedily devoured the words on the page.



Had she ever read anything more beautiful? Had she ever felt more joy than she did at that moment? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember having lived before then, having breathed. She’d been accepted into Harvard Law School. She would be part of the graduating Class of 2012.

“Why are you crying?” asked Harry, unsure of what was going on. “What’s happening? You alright, love?”

“Yes,” she managed to say between her tears. “I . . . aye Dios mio,” she closed her eyes, a beautiful smile spreading across her lips, “Mi bendito Dios, gracias, muchas gracias (my blessed God, thank you, thank you).”

“What are you going on about? What you saying about God?”

“Thanking him,” she said when she opened her eyes. “I got in, Henry.” She began to laugh. “I'm going to Harvard!”

In her fit of happiness, she launched herself into his arms, forcing him to let fall the rest of the mail he’d brought up. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him in tight, and his made their home at her waist, he buried his face into the crook of her neck. He was thrilled for her, truly he was, but he couldn’t feel her level of happiness, not now that it was so official that she would be leaving England. That she wouldn’t be just a short drive away from him.

“I got in . . . I got in . . .” she kept repeating, the tears never letting up. “I got in . . .”

They stood there like that for several minutes, he held her in his arms as she rambled on about how she’d gotten into Harvard, about how everything was going like she’d always dreamt. He held her in his arms until she announced that she had to finish up her shower, get dressed, and call her parents to tell them the good news. He set her down, and stood there with his clothes dampened, watching as she ran back into the shower.

She’d gotten in.

She was going to Harvard, and although he wasn’t looking forward to her being so far away, he knew that Harvard was a lot closer than Stanford would’ve been. And he was glad of that.

With a sigh, he began to walk towards his overnight bag. He had to get into dry clothes, but as he began to move, he stepped on the mail that he’d dropped to the floor. Thinking it best just to pick it up and place it on the coffee table, he crouched down and began to gather the various envelopes, and that was when he noticed it. That was when he noticed that mixed in with the larger adverts, there was another envelope, one similar in size to that of Harvard’s, only that one didn’t bear the Harvard insignia, that one bore Oxfords.