Page 21 of Sad Girl Hours

Chapter Twenty-one

Saffron

The clocks went back last night.

There was a second when I woke up, one blissful second, when I was pleasantly surprised to see how much light was ushering into the room round the slats of the blinds on the dormer windows in my attic, casting a warm glow on the star-chart tapestry on my wall, lighting the paths between constellations.

And then I remembered.

I remembered that the payoff for having a lighter morning was to feel a huge jump in darkness at night.

I like mornings in summer – I’m usually up early every day, eager to greet the sun.

But in autumn and winter I tend to wake up feeling jet-lagged, like my body thinks it’s somewhere it’s not supposed to be.

So, while I was glad to wake up to light this morning, I would much rather have had another hour of not-dark in the evening, when I’m actually conscious and have time to do things.

This is exactly when, last year, my SAD really took over.

And I can feel it happening again. I know how this story ends, with me crying or staring at the walls in my bedroom at home, wishing I had a different brain (maybe even a different life).

Except this time, if that happens, it means saying goodbye to my career dreams. Uni would kick me out for having time off again – as they should really, because there’s no point in me paying back student loans for a course that I haven’t actually studied – and it would mean saying goodbye to my friends.

The only people who’ve ever made me feel safe and wanted .

I know it doesn’t really make sense then that I’ve stayed away from them this week, hiding out in the library for hours on end, probably making them feel very un wanted. I don’t know why I’ve felt like I have to keep them away even more than I normally do.

I’m walking down to the dungeons with Nell by my side in complete silence. We’ve never done anything in complete silence before.

I want to reach out and take Nell’s hand, to tell her I’m sorry for ignoring our plans and that my time with her means more to me than it would seem, given the aforementioned ignoring.

But then I remember how the guilt at burning my parents’ card and at making my life Nell’s concern gnawed at me like wild hunger the night of our birthday.

And I know that I can’t do that. I can’t offer apologies without also promising changed behaviour.

And I certainly can’t change my behaviour and be more open with her when not doing that is the only thing keeping her in my life.

After our crushingly awkward walk to the castle, we arrive at the gates to be greeted by people in old-timey costumes waving various items of weaponry in a threatening manner. I get out my phone to film some bits, ready for my ‘spend a night with me in the castle dungeon’ mini-vlog.

“Are you filming our adventures tonight for the good people of TikTok?” Nell asks, nodding at my phone.

“Uh-huh,” I say. “I thought it would be fun. Not many people can say they’ve spent a night in a castle dungeon.”

“Not anyone currently living and frequenting a chaos hole of the internet, no.”

This is fine. Normal. Just two friends having a chat. I can do this.

We’re corralled inside with the rest of the dungeon-sleepers and given a brief tour of the castle’s dungeon system, wandering through dank tunnels lit by fake torches on the walls.

There are staff members dressed up as the people who were once placed in the cells.

They’re quite convincing and Casper, with his gentlemanly instincts honed from hundreds of years of aristocratic ancestral history, is walking closest to the ‘danger’, Jenna on his other side.

He looks petrified and half jumps out of his skin when one man clanks against the bars and roars in ‘anger’.

“Crackers and milk!” he exclaims, grabbing Jenna’s arm.

“Crackers and milk?” Jenna says scornfully.

“Casp, you’re a grown man. You can say ‘fucking hell’.

Also, hi, Benjamin!” Jenna waves at the roaring man, and he gives her a subtle wink before going to scare the group behind us.

She turns to me and Nell. “He’s on my course – he’s in my Shakespeare group.

He was my Bottom when I was directing Midsummer for last year’s showcase. ”

“He was your what ?” Casper looks so shocked (and, I have a hinting suspicion, a little jealous) that we don’t stop laughing until we’re successfully past the scary people.

They settle us into a big hall with cell doors lining it, sleeping bags and pillows set up around the floor. They give us a final big speech about the history of the hall and the prisoners that passed through it on their way to be executed.

“Grim,” says Nell, getting to the crux of it.

A very large man in a beefeater costume, axe in hand, says, deep voice booming out into the room, “Sleep well … if you dare…” He leaves the room, slamming the door behind him and locking it with a ginormous key. Then we’re on our own (except for the four members of staff stationed round the room).

I don’t really get claustrophobic but the sound of the door slamming makes me realise that I’m locked in a room – albeit a very large one – with a great number of people I don’t know, and a smaller number that I know very well, but have been avoiding so that they can’t see me slipping.

I try to distract myself with making videos – the gang are all very up for joining in – then I also film bits around the room.

As Vivvie predicted, a great many people ask us what our costumes are over the first couple of hours, and our explanations appear to do little to clear things up.

One girl who Nell knows, however, Harpreet – in a stained, white dress, with smeared crimson lipstick down one side of her chin – comes over to say hi and successfully guesses everyone up until Vivvie, when she pauses.

“Hmm, OK. You’re a portrait of someone. Someone grey.” They deliberate for a minute before clapping their hands together. “Dorian Gray! The Picture of Dorian Gray .”

“Correct.” Vivvie smiles, posing in the frame.

“All of your vibes are incredible. You definitely have the coolest costumes here,” Harpreet says, and I have to agree.

“Your Carmilla costume is also peak vibes,” Nell says, shifting over to let Harpreet sit down in our sleeping-bag circle.

“I love that you got the specific vampire inspiration.” Harpreet smiles.

“Well, I know you want to write your diss next year on all the different queer allegories in vampire fiction throughout history—”

“ Carmilla through to Twilight and Buffy fanfic, yep.”

“—so who were you going to come as, a heterosexual vampire? I don’t think so.”

As their shared laughter fades, something grows inside me. Something unpleasant.

“You found another you,” Jenna jests, affectionately nudging Nell in the ribs.

“Did you also make your friends dress up in similarly obscure costumes?” Vivvie asks.

“Nah.” Harpreet shrugs. “My friends are over there dressed as various members of the Scooby gang – original, not Buffy – the basic bitches. So, either you guys are better friends or Nell’s more persuasive than I am.”

“Perhaps both,” Casper says, before realising he’s accidentally disparaged her friend group. “Although I’m sure your friends are as lovely as you.”

“Nice save,” Vivvie says dryly.

Harpreet smiles at her, before her brows furrow into a frown. “You do know Dorian Gray wasn’t actually grey himself, right? That was just his name.”

“ Ay ay ay . There really are two of them.” Vivvie tosses her hands into the air, while Nell says,

“EXACTLY what I said!”

Something about this situation, about sitting here pretending like everything’s normal for me while Nell and Harpreet joke around, is making this giant hall feel a whole lot less giant.

“AHHHH!”

There’s a collective scream as we’re thrust into darkness. I feel somebody’s limb brush against me and shudder. Menacing music is played as the lights flicker, affording me just enough light to see Casper shoot backwards into Jenna as he notices the ghostly faces grinning from behind the cell bars.

After another minute, the lights flicker back on.

“Well,” Nell says, “they’re really committing, aren’t they? Very haunted Rainforest Café energy.”

“I’ll say.” Casper gulps, still not removing himself from Jenna’s lap. Jenna just strokes his hair, like he’s a quivering Shih Tzu she’s trying to calm.

“When in Rome,” Harpreet says. “Or a dungeon in Lancashire, I suppose.”

Nell laughs again and I notice how warm her smile is. August beach, not a single cloud blemishing the blue of the sky warm. I can almost hear the waves breaking when I look at it.

Nell feels my eyes on her and directs that smile at me. I look down straight away. And then hate myself for it.

I feel trapped. And not just in the I have literally paid to be trapped in a dungeon sense. I feel like if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to burst into tears in front of everyone, and I really don’t want to do that. What explanation could I possibly give?

I know you all think everything’s fine with me, and I’m the happy-go-lucky person of the group who normally gives instead of takes, but can I let you know that’s not who I am and let me take the fun out of this evening for you?

Not likely. Except maybe possibly likely if I don’t get out of here soon.

Again, I’m aware that I’m locked in but that doesn’t stop me from standing up, candle and phone in hand.

“Excuse me,” I say with a very forced smile to the group, desperately scanning the hall for something that will make me feel less like I’m a walking grenade.

On the other side of the room, I notice two modern-looking doors that I know don’t lead to cells.

I’m not allowed through them if the Staff Only signs above them are anything to go by.

I walk up to them and then realise that I have no plan. In some ways, I’ve made this worse for myself. I have nowhere to go besides back to the group, and they’re definitely going to have questions now.

I feel the swell of anxiety swirling and growing in me like a sinkhole, while I just stand, staring at the doors.

“Saffron?” I don’t have to turn round to know who it is. Part of me wants to scream that she needs to get away from me; the other half wants to turn round and fall into her.

I know neither of those is a real option. Instead, I just say – still facing the wall, “We like following each other out of social events, don’t we?”

“Seems like it,” Nell says. “Are you OK?” Her voice is soft in its question.

I want to pull it over me like a quilt and pretend that nothing else exists. “I’m fine.”

Nell steps forward to stand next to me. She puts her hand on my arm. “Saff.”

I turn to her, my eyes gleaming and wild, words still frozen somewhere between my brain and my lips.

Nell’s face crumples into concern. “What do you need?” she asks, focused only on me.

“I…” I’m not meant to need anything from people. But here I am, staring at her with tears brimming. I want to let her in but I also need her around. I can’t have both.

“I need to get out,” I hear myself say.