01

It’s just for one night.

Those were the words that Jasmine—my fiery flatmate—probably said more often than any others. She was very much a one night kind of girl, not looking back at it and certainly not looking beyond it, either.

Unlike me, Jasmine was a spontaneous risk-taker ; she craved the unknown and thrived off the unexpected. Confident and captivating, flirtatious and fearless : Jasmine’s personality was as bold as her bright red hair. In fact, near enough everything about Jasmine was bright, from her hair to her personality to her fashion sense. She lit up the room with both her sparkling character and her beaming smile.

« Has he left ? » I asked her on a bright Tuesday morning as I passed through the living room on my way to the kitchen.

« Of course he’s left, » she replied. « It’s—« 

« Just for one night, » I finished with a smile. « I know. »

She shot me a sweet smile in return, probably very similar to the one she’d used to persuade the guy to leave, and then tilted her head back down towards her iPad as she lifted a steaming mug of coffee to her lips. Despite the fact that she was a social butterfly, Jasmine was also one of the most fiercely independent girls I’d ever met. She didn’t depend on a man to please her ; she already knew what made her happy and that happiness shone through as visibly as the stars on a clear night.

I bustled about in the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea with the water that was still hot in the kettle and pouring some cereal into a bowl. When I returned to the living room and took a seat opposite Jasmine at our small dining table, I continued with the interrogation.

« So did you kick this one out last night, then ? »

« Yeah, » she said, not looking up from her iPad. « I didn’t have enough cereal. »

« You can always borrow my cereal, you know. »

She looked up at this point and rolled her eyes good-heartedly at me. « No, Izzy. That’s what I told him : I don’t have enough cereal. »

I laughed softly. « Right. Is that your standard excuse ? »

She shrugged and let her eyes drift back to the iPad. « One of them. They’re less likely to stay the night if they realise they won’t be getting breakfast in the morning. »

« And so what about the guy the other morning ? » I couldn’t help but ask, my lips twitching in amusement.

When I’d got up one morning last week, a lanky brown-haired boy had been hunched over a bowl of cereal at the dining table. He’d lifted his eyes upon noticing me and offered a polite nod but nothing else. Whether she tended to pick the quiet ones, or whether this one didn’t speak English, remained to be seen.

« Well, it was throwing it down with rain that night, » she explained. « I didn’t have the heart to make him walk home… »

Jasmine’s regular hook-ups didn’t really bother me. She never hid her love of sex and that was refreshing. She always checked with me before inviting boys over and, when they were here, I never heard a sound from her nor the boy.

« Speaking of men, » she said, « how many days is it now ? »

I frowned. « I’m not counting the days, you know. »

I totally was.

« Okay, a rough estimate, then, » she said, but from her small smile I could tell she was just humouring me.

« About a week and three days, » I replied.

« Oh, yeah ? About, huh ? »

« I’m excited, » I said in my defence.

« So am I. » She smiled, glancing up briefly from the screen. « I can’t wait to meet him. »

Nearly a fortnight ago, I’d embarked on two of the biggest challenges of my life so far, for a year abroad in the land of pizza would consequentially bring about a long-distance relationship. Nathan was yet to visit me in Italy, but that would soon be changing. He’d managed to book a long weekend off work to come out and see me and, needless to say, I couldn’t wait.

« So, what’s happening in the news ? » I asked her, knowing what she’d be looking at on her iPad.

« Same old, same old. » She sighed. « Trump is still finding it impossible to ignore anyone who criticises him, and Southern Rail are planning another strike… Bunch of wankers. »

I wasn’t sure whether her colourful language was directed at Southern Rail or Trump as well, but she powered on before I could get a word in edgeways.

« I mean, train prices go up every year and yet the service doesn’t reflect that. People are paying extortionate amounts of money for pretty much nothing at the moment. »

« And what’s Trump done now ? » I asked, before shovelling a large spoonful of Krave into my mouth.

She scoffed. « Someone needs to take his Twitter account off him and ban the use of exclamation marks in tweets. He comes across as a child, not a president of one of the world’s most powerful countries. »

Jasmine was very passionate about current affairs and avidly followed the news. In just the short time I’d known her, I’d already realised how intelligent she was and, somehow, that intelligence was endearing. She was never going to get herself into silly situations and her wisdom gave her an unrivalled sisterly vibe—just what I needed while I was out here.

I’d met her on what can only be described as a dating site for people seeking to share flats. Although the thought of living with a stranger had been nerve-wracking, it was more appealing than living by myself where I’d inevitably drive myself stir crazy with loneliness. Spending my third year of university abroad was scary enough, so the thought of having to do it all alone was almost unbearable.

After seeing my profile, Jasmine had sent me a message. It was a relatively short message, consisting of only two sentences :

Hey there, I see you’re also spending an Erasmus year in Bologna and I’d love to chat about the possibility of living together.

I’m a bit of a slut (some may say a lot of a slut) so let me know if this is an issue. Jasmine x

As might be expected, the message had completely thrown me and even Nathan hadn’t known what to make of it.

« I’m a bit of a slut so let me know if this is an issue, » he read slowly, over and over again until I irritably snapped at him to stop it. « Why would someone openly admit to being a slut… Especially a girl ? »

I shrugged. « Shall I message her back ? »

« Go for it. I wanna know why she’s a self-confessed slut. »

So I replied to her. The message had intrigued me and, the more we chatted, the more she intrigued me. I didn’t outright ask her about the slut business—obviously—but she did make a passing comment about how it was a ploy to drive away any slut-shaming girls.

Through the messages we exchanged, it soon became apparent that Jasmine was far from stupid. She was a driven, passionate individual who simply knew what she wanted. At twenty-two years of age, she was in the prime of her life and desperate to finish university with a decent degree qualification that would aid her search for a job.

Our personalities had clicked instantly. Her positivity had been infectious and her general easy-going attitude meant that we got on well. Despite her carefree exterior, I knew she had a softer side in there, too, but our heart-to-hearts were usually about me—not her. Naturally I hoped this would change as the year went on but, for now, we were both happy with our arrangement.

« What are you thinking about ? » she asked me, interrupting my train of thought. « You’re a million miles away. »

« I’m just contemplating Brexit. »

She smirked in amusement, not believing me for a second. « Bullshit. What are you actually thinking about ? »

« Do you ever think it’d be easier to get a boyfriend ? » I asked her bluntly.

If I’d worried about offending her, I needn’t have. She scoffed and shook her head, smiling slightly.

« No. »

I accepted Jasmine’s lifestyle choice fully, but that didn’t stop me being fascinated by it. Maybe it was because I’d never had a one-night-stand before, and so I was unaware of their appeal, but I genuinely couldn’t imagine sleeping with a stranger. During my first two years of university, I’d seen the ramifications of many a fling, and it had always been messy, unmemorable and regretful. There was obviously something that deeply attracted Jasmine to them, but I was afraid to ask for fear of seeming critical.

« Do you think you’ll ever get a boyfriend, then ? » I asked, deciding to take a different route.