CHAPTER THREE , fuck pub rule!

      There is no such thing as eternal change, Desdemona was slowly learning. One season may bring blistering cold, but the sun will always come back in the end. Snow will melt and the grass below it will stay green, this was the comfort of the universe. And it was that very comfort that got her through the final forecast of winter rain; the promise that, soon enough, the sun would peek out from behind the clouds, and she'd be in Saltburn once more with utter tranquility and expensive tequila.

   But, for now, pints would do instead.

   Remnants of the beer head trailed down the inside of her glass while she half-listened to her friends. She was tracing the Catton family sigil on Farleigh's ring with her head on his shoulder and her mind on her coursework.

   Earlier that day, her tutor showed her a picture of one of Helen of Troy's portraits and Desdemona found herself besotted. The unapologetic wildness of her hair and sloping of her nose—the kind of pure beauty that Desdemona considered to be her favourite thing of the past. Before the tutorial ended, he told her that Helen had a tragic story that she may enjoy reading about. She ran the fastest she could to the library.

For the rest of the afternoon, she stayed in the library, curled up on a chair with her nose in a book. She skipped the rest of her lectures without a shred of care. How could they even blame her? She had a perfectly valid reason!

   Helen of Troy, the woman so beautiful a war was waged to reclaim her. The woman who chose her heart over her head and faced unjust hate for doing so. Thoughts of her hadn't left Desdemona's head since. Homer called her "Helen, queen among women", and Desdemona had to agree.

Her beauty had been a curse from the day she was born, her very life a battle of who could charm her favour. She was judged as a divine, as if she could control the violent urges of man, their obsessive need to love with a closed fist. It reminded her again of her grandmother's words of angry men and made her realise that the story of Helen of Troy was the story of womankind.

To be seen as lucky to be loved, then to be held accountable for a cruel man's angry words if it's not returned.

   Her stomach flipped at how viciously Greece turned on her, a girl no older than eighteen. How they said she chose lust over logic, fleeing to Troy with her love, as if she fared any chance against the will of Aphrodite.

   Then, suddenly, Felix burst out in a yell. "Ollie! Ollie, mate, come over!" Desdemona jumped in fright and Farleigh looked at her in concern. Over the heads of her friends, she couldn't quite see who Felix was calling over. "I was just telling them how you saved my life."

   Once he got a bit closer and slotted himself in between Annabelle and one of the other girls, Desdemona's face lit up. "Oh my gosh!" The group turned to her, confused, but she just looked at Felix. "That's the same Oliver I helped at the Christmas party!" Felix laughed in realisation and nobody noticed how Oliver awkwardly shifted from one foot to another as they talked about him like he wasn't there.

   "That's mental." Felix said, voice laced with a smile. "Take a seat, mate."

   Oliver looked over his shoulder and the group followed, only to see Michael Gavey looking at Oliver with a confused and slightly hurt expression, arm raised stiffly in a sort of wave. "Oh, is he your friend?" Felix asked.

   Strangely, Oliver paused as if he had to plan out his answer. "Uh," he hesitated, looking at Michael one last time before facing the group, "no." A round of 'hi's and 'welcome's overlapped when Oliver pulled out a chair at their table.

   Desdemona could see Michael's hand falling dejectedly, shaking his head in disbelief at Oliver, and walking put of the pub. She almost felt bad for him. She didn't hear one of the guys asking Oliver what college he went to, or the quiet answer of "yours", but the awkward laughs that followed reeled her back to reality, just in time for Felix to leave and cover his round of drinks.

If there was one thing that Desdemona could count on for certain, it was the fact that she was never bored at Kings Arms.

They were slamming their hands on the table, chanting and laughing as Oliver downed his shot. "I think it's time for Jägerbombs!" Farleigh cheered and everyone made slurred sounds of agreement. He looked Oliver dead in the eyes. "Your round, Ollie."

   "Farleigh." Desdemona said softly, looking at him disapprovingly.

   Without shame, Farleigh shrugged. "It's pub rule."

   "Fuck pub rule! That's gonna cost a fortune." She defended. She looked over at Oliver in poorly masked pity. "I'll help you with the round, Ollie." She offered, about to stand up.

   "No, it's fine." Oliver insisted, standing up shakily. Desdemona saw him as a lamb, and they were the wolves, panting and lying in wait with snapping jaws.

"Fuck sake, Farleigh, mate." Felix tutted, sharing a disappointed look with Desdemona. "That's just bad form." He got up to walk over to Oliver before anyone could say anything more.

It seemed as though Felix and Desdemona were the only ones who saw anything wrong with that happened, because as soon and Felix left the table, drunken chatter resumed the same as before. Only now, Desdemona had shifted off of Farleigh's lap and had her back to him, turned to talk to India about nothing in particular.

   Then, Felix was back, holding a tray of shots and sporting a bright grin. "Everyone say 'thank you, Ollie!'" He yelled, the boy sheepishly following behind him, clearly not used to the attention as a chorus of thanks was thrown at him.

   Desdemona found that her spirit was shot down, and she couldn't find herself in a good enough mood to drink. One of her only rules about substances was to never drink when she was upset or annoyed. In that moment, she was both.

   "I think I'm gonna go to bed." She said suddenly, downing the last of her pint and standing up. "See you all tomorrow."

   "Want me to come with?" Farleigh asked, wide eyes blinking up at her.

   She shook her head tightly. "No, it's okay. Have your fun."

   He grabbed her had and squeezed it reassuringly. "See you when I get back."

   Desdemona squeezed his hand back, and did her best to ignore her guilt when she spoke again. She leaned in to say it in his ear, not wanting everyone to be privy to their matters. "I think I'm gonna stay in my own dorm tonight, actually."

"Oh." Farleigh's face dropped. "Are you okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me. I'll see you tomorrow." She was about to leave when she turned around and placed an uncharacteristically quick kiss to his cheek. "I love you." She whispered, and then all that was left of her was the lingering scent of her perfume and a very faint print of lipstick on Farleigh's cheek.

Desdemona shuddered at the cold, pulling her jacket tighter around her shaking figure. Her heels clicked against the cobblestone path and all her attention was on making sure she didn't slip.

   Her stomach was in knots. She didn't like being mad at Farleigh, she loved him more than anything, but, sometimes, he said things that made her skin crawl. She understood him about as well as anyone, growing up being fed with a silver spoon meant you thought it was the norm as a child, and thinking it was superior as an adult. She knew they were privileged, but she didn't see why he made a point to antagonise Oliver because he wasn't.

   Surely being a scholarship kid meant you had more of a claim at Oxford than anyone else, those who merely paid their way it for a fancy story to tell at josh interviews, right?

Maybe Oliver had struck him the wrong way during their tutor sessions, she thought. Maybe he was arrogant and the kind of smart that was painful to be around because they know they're smart, but she doubted it. It didn't take much for Farleigh to decide against someone, and Oliver seemed lovely. She took a deep breath and realised that she was far too drunk to be thinking about it all.

With a huff of air that she could see billow out before her, Desdemona looked up at the sky, smiling at the stars, and continued walking.

"Desdemona! Wait!" A familiar scouser called out, voice echoing off the empty streets.

She turned around, hair flipping over her shoulder as she did. "Ollie?" She questioned with a budding smile. He jogged up to her, slightly out of breath. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, no, everything's fine. I've been getting tired for a while but didn't want to leave just when you let, y'know, so I waited a few minutes. Thought you would've been back at college by now, though."

   They started walking again, slowly. "I was just thinking." She explained.

   "About what?"

   Desdemona laughed. "You're very curious, aren't you?"

   "Sorry." Oliver apologised nervously, a red tint creeping up his neck.

   "No, it's okay. I was just thinking about what happened with you in there. I'm really sorry about Farleigh, he's great, but sometimes he can be a bit," she paused, "cold when he doesn't know people. I'm sure he'll come around."

   Oliver nodded, he didn't say anything back and Desdemona worried she said the wrong thing. "Have you guys been together long, then?"

   Her shoulders dropped in relief, a gentle sigh escaping her. "We've officially been together for about two years now, but I had kind of liked him for ages before that." She laughed nervously, one arm crossed over her torso and her other hand in front of her mouth.

   "Does it ever get awkward?"

   "How d'you mean?" Desdemona asked, furrowing her brows.

   "Like, you've got all the same friends. If you fight, or anything, is it weird in the group?"

   "I mean, it's not something I really like talking about." She said with a side glance to Oliver. "But not really. I don't go around telling people the details if we fight. It's our relationship, not theirs. It's no one's business, really."

A tension hung in the air for a few minutes. "Sorry for snapping." Desdemona mumbled. "Sometimes I get really defensive when I don't mean to."

It was true, as much as she tried to deny it and run from her heritage, Desdemona was her father's daughter, and she was born to bare her teeth and bite. You can't hide from the rage in your blood.

"No, 's alright. It was my fault for overstepping, anyway." Oliver had a habit of nodding his head as he spoke, Desdemona noticed. It was endearing enough to bring a smile to her face just in time for them to get to the stairs to her dorm.

   Without warning, Desdemona reached out and gave him a tight, but fleeting hug. "See you tomorrow, Ollie." She smiled warmly. "Goodnight."

   Dazedly, he smiled back. "Night, Desdemona."

   "Call me Mona." She said, leaning over the stairwell railing. "It's what all my friends do."

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   The following morning, Desdemona woke up in a much softer mood. She'd forgotten how much she truly loved her own dorm. The emptiness was calming, it was surprisingly refreshing to breath in and smell wood and petrichor instead of cigarettes and cologne.

That being said, she'd be lying if she said she enjoyed waking up alone. She missed the feeling of being lulled out of sleep with Farleigh's arms around her, holding her tight to him, afraid he'd wake up and she'd be gone if he didn't.

   But, in her opinion, being sad was no excuse to wear a bad outfit, so she straightened her back and pulled a pair of her mum's old bell bottoms and a black top with lacy sleeves from her drawers and didn't step away from the mirror until her smile was genuine.

Humming along to 'Dream a Little Dream of me', Desdemona opened her door, fixing the strap of her handbag as she did so. Had she waiting half a minute more, Farleigh would've walked out at the same time. But, she didn't, so he was left to hang like a ghost in the frame of his door, watching as she disappeared down the hallway.

She was sitting between India and Annabelle at breakfast, with both girls filling her in on what she missed the night prior—Janet Owens hooked up with Joshua DeLuca and Megan Harrison threw up in India's bag, "I was absolutely gutted." The brunette frowned. "I loved that bag."

Farleigh caught her eye when he walked in with Felix right behind him and she gave him half a smile. He returned it, taking the seat across from her. He nudged her leg with his foot, sending her a look, 'Can we talk?'

   She took a deep breath in and blew it out through her nose. She nodded and looked over at the clock, 'Later.' She unfolded her hands from her lap and quietly rapped her knuckles against the table three times, 'I love you.'

   He smiled a gentle smile that only she got to see and nodded to her once, 'I love you too.'

   Out of the corner of her eye, Desdemona saw Oliver wander into the hall. "Ollie!" She yelled, waving him over. She took a bite of toast and covered her mouth. "Good morning."

   "Morning, Mona." He smiled, taking the empty seat beside Felix. Farleigh looked at her, "Mona?" He mouthed with a curious grin.

   Desdemona picked the corner off her toast and flung it at his face, giggling when it landed right between his eyes.

   She'd always loved libraries, happy to spend her days thumbing through pages and staring idly and the first edition covers of some of her favourites.

   When she was looking over a copy of Perfume by Patrick Süskind, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. The hold was gentle, and she could rip away from him if she wanted to, but she knew that touch anywhere, and raced into him instead.

"I'm sorry." Farleigh whispered into her neck, kissing her shoulder as he did.

Desdemona placed her hand over his. "I know." She leaned her head on top of his. "And it's okay. Just promise me you'll try be a bit nicer to Oliver, please? It's hardly been easy for him here. For god's sake, it's the near year and he's only just making friends. You don't need to make it any harder for him."

   She turned around in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. "He's so weird though." Farleigh complained. "He's always, just, like, hovering around. He's like a rat."

   "Please?" She drawled, leaning up to him, nose brushing against his. "For me?"

   Farleigh groaned. "You're pure evil, you know that, right?"

"And you love me regardless." She smiled, hand cupping his face, slowly bringing him even closer.

"Always." He promised before closing the gap between them, leaning to dip Desdemona ever so slightly. She laughed into the kiss, arms still holding him tightly.

Unbeknownst to them, a certain blue-eyed 'rat' was on the other side of the shelf, returning a borrowed textbook. He rolled his eyes and walked away with a slight scowl.

               ( author's note. . . )
over 1k reads already thank u so much angels i'm so thankful, this book's only been up a few days i love u all sm 🥹💘
EDIT: the love u guys gave me & this was and is crazy it still makes me emotional ily

also the book Desdemona is looking at in the library is an obscure sense of foreshadowing because the book is a wild and unsettling take on obsession and how the desire to find and have something will make you do insane shit and one of the best goodreads reviews i've ever seen is about it!!