The Art of Keeping Faith by Anna Bloom

telling me I had broken his heart?” I rounded on her, my blood boiling in a dangerous way. I was going to explode or I was going to cry.
    “Oh, Delilah, do calm down. You are so dramatic all of the time. It all worked out for the best, didn’t it?”
    “Well, yes. But it would have been much easier if I had known from the beginning. I would have never gotten in such a mess. I can’t believe you did not tell me.”
    Mum waved her glass at me in a dismissive manner, which nearly sent me over the edge.
    “Do not give that woman any more of my gin,” I shouted at Tristan, who was watching me with amusement.
    “I brought my own,” she told me.
    “Good, you can bloody take it with you when you leave in two minutes, and don’t bloody come back.”
    Then I slammed into my room like the teenager that I am.
    So that was Sunday. Afterwards Meredith and Tristan tiptoed around me like they were walking on eggshells. And well, now I pretty much hate everyone.
    Meredith has hidden all the wedding stuff and she and Trist are sitting at opposite ends of the sofa in an effort to not make me uncomfortable. This in turn makes me even more uncomfortable.
    To make matters worse, Ben did not call on the landline as he promised. I just got a text at midnight telling me he was tied up and he would talk to me later today.
    Excellent.
    30th October
    No phone call.
    Last night, while I sat there pathetically waiting for my non-existent phone call, I looked at the Facebook pictures. I wish I hadn’t. There were more of girls falling over Ben and there were even more of Mhiiraan—fucking—dah with him. I know I should not read too much into it. However it is off pissing, when your boyfriend is in a different country and every time you see a picture of him, a six-foot blonde, size zero, has a hand strategically placed on him.
    I think I may be depressed, and the worse bit is the fact that knowing I am depressed is making me even more depressed.
    I feel like getting completely lashed but all my ‘friends’ are busy, so I am in the library by myself like a sad fuck.
    5.30 p.m.
    “Hey,”
    “Uh?”
    “Lilah? I’m here behind you!”
    It’s Richard. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, us meeting in the library is becoming too frequent. He gauges my reaction and a half smile lifts his mouth. “Blimey, Lilah, chill out. I am not stalking you.”
    “Well, uh, yeah. I would never think that, that would be silly.”
    Also, I am the stalking freak in the room .
    “I came up a few minutes ago and saw you asleep. So I popped down to the cafe and got you a coffee.”
    He offers me the cardboard cup with a crooked smile.
    “Thanks,” I reply taking the cup and placing it on my desk/sleep station.
    “What are you doing here if you are just sleeping?” he asks. It’s a reasonable question.
    Before I can stop myself I scrunch my face up, my expression giving away more than I want.
    “Come on, Lilah. What is it? Are your legs still hurting because of that run? I can take it easier on you next time …”
    “I never agreed to a next time!”
    “True. So spill, what’s up?”
    I sit there in silence working out what to say.
    Deep breath.
    “I guess I just feel a bit lonely, you know? Meredith and Tristan are doing their thing, Beth and Jayne are doing theirs, and well Ben is, um, gone. I don’t know anyone else here at Uni and I am not sure if I even fit in. Now I just feel old and like I am not really supposed to be here.”
    Don’t hold back.
    Richard looks at me with his warm brown eyes and I feel completely exposed. “Well, maybe you just need to get involved more. Everyone thinks you are fun to have around.”
    I stick my tongue out. “Everyone just thinks I am a pisshead.”
    “No, they don’t! And for the record no one thinks you are old.”
    “I feel old right now.”
    “Lilah, give it up. You are not old you fit in just fine.”
    “Well I am older than you,” I retort.
    “Lilah, I am only a little bit younger than you. You