The Time of Our Lives. Portia MacIntosh

      The house is pretty full – full of more people I don’t recognise than people I do. For some reason that I can’t quite put my finger on, I’m feeling a little bit overwhelmed by all the noise and all the people. I wonder where Ed is. Ed has never been much of a party animal, he’s probably hiding in his room. Perhaps I can go and hang out with him for a while, hide from the party chaos, watch him play FIFA until things calm down or Fifi tears herself away from Zach for long enough to spend a little time with me.

      I knock on Ed’s door once. Then again. He might have his headphones on, so I open the door just a crack, only enough to see whether or not his light is on (because you never know what you’ll walk in on when you live with men who weren’t teenagers too long ago), but it isn’t, so he’s either not in there, or he’s fast asleep.

      I sigh, heading to my own room where I close the door behind me. The booming of the music and the chatter of the rowdy crowd is only slightly muted by my bedroom door, but it’s just nice to get away from all the noise. I leave my lights off, only turning on the little fairy lights that hang above my bed. I sit on the edge of my bed for a second before lying back and closing my eyes. I just need a quick breather before I go back out there. It’s just the noise and the people and perhaps because I’ve had a little to drink. I just need a couple of minutes.

      In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I feel myself becoming lighter again. That is, until I hear someone open my door. I quickly sit up.

      ‘Hello,’ a man standing in my bedroom doorway says casually.

      ‘Erm, hi,’ I reply, not sure what else to say to the stranger, hovering right on the edge of my personal space.

      ‘Can I come in?’ he asks.

      ‘I’d rather you—’ I start, but the man closes the door behind him before he sits down on the bed next to me. Now he really is in my personal space.

      I feel so uncomfortable, having this random man sitting next to me, on my bed.

      ‘So this is your room?’ he asks me. ‘Or are you just looking for somewhere to hide from the crowd?’

      ‘Both,’ I reply, scooting over on the bed so that our thighs are no longer touching. ‘Which one of my housemates do you know?’

      I feel like each one of my friends is so different that I’ll be able to get the measure of this man as soon as I know who he fraternises with.

      ‘Oh, none of them, I don’t think,’ he replies, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

      ‘What are you studying?’ I ask, looking for connections.

      ‘I’m not at uni,’ he laughs. ‘I just came for the party, me and a few of the lads thought it might be a good place to meet fun people.’

      Suddenly it becomes apparent that this man looks a few years older than your average third-year uni student, and I don’t want to be cynical, but it sounds like he and his mates have only come here to meet younger girls.

      ‘You look like a virgin,’ he tells me.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Madonna. “Like a Virgin”. You look like she does in the music video, in that little black vest, with all those necklaces.’

      I grab my phone from my bedside table, as casually as I can, like I’m just checking my texts, when what I actually want to do is try to call one of my friends, so they can come in a diffuse this awkward, uncomfortable situation.

      ‘Are you?’ he asks. ‘A virgin?’

      The man leans over to me, placing a hand firmly on the back of my neck as he tries to kiss me.

      I try to wiggle from his grasp, but he’s holding me pretty tightly.

      ‘Don’t,’ I say quietly.

      ‘Come on, just relax, lighten up,’ he demands, taking my phone from me, tossing it to one side. ‘It’s a party, you should be enjoying yourself.’

      The man pushes me back on the bed, pressing his body down on top of mine. He feels so impossibly heavy and my best efforts do nothing to shift him.

      ‘Get off me,’ I shout, trying to wiggle free from under him. ‘I said get off!’

      The man halts his advances, but remains on top of me, pressing down so I feel like I’m trapped under a car.

      ‘Babe, you need to relax,’ he tells me. ‘Let your hair down a little.’

      He might have stopped trying to kiss me, but he’s still on top of me, still trying to reason with me, still trying to get me to change my mind. The thing is, I’m not going to change my mind – there’s nothing he can say to convince me – and the fact that we both seem unwilling to compromise absolutely terrifies me.

      I try to wiggle out from under him again, and this time I feel his weight lifting from on top of me.

      ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hear a different man shout.

      I look up to see someone is dragging the man from my bed by his hair.

      ‘Whoa, whoa, what are you doing, bud?’ the first man asks as he’s dragged across the room, towards the door.

      ‘She said get off her,’ the second man insists. ‘Are you deaf?’

      I quickly sit up and watch as the second man forcefully shoves the first out of my bedroom door.

      ‘Get out of here,’ he tells him. ‘And if I ever see you again, you’ll regret it.’

      I exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes, unable to believe my lucky escape.

      My hero leaves my bedroom door wide open, which I think is a deliberate action, to make sure that I’m not scared of him. Then he makes his way over to me, squatting down next to my bed, which I also think might be intentional. Not shutting me in a room with him, not sitting on my bed – it’s appreciated.

      At least I recognise this man – I’ve seen him in my lectures and I’m pretty sure he’s a friend of Matt’s. He’s tall and broad, with brown, messy hair pointing in all directions. He’s got this cool, easy-going look about him, and he almost always has a smile on his face when I see him around campus. He isn’t smiling right now though.

      ‘Are you OK?’ he asks me. ‘Did he hurt you?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ I tell him. ‘Just shaken up. Thank you for stepping in. If you hadn’t turned up when you did …’ I feel my blood run cold.

      ‘But I did,’ he says. ‘And if I hadn’t, someone else would have heard you shouting. You have nothing to worry about, just take deep breaths. Do you want me to leave you alone or do you want me to stay with you for a bit?’

      ‘Please stay,’ I say quickly. ‘Just in case he comes back.’

      ‘I don’t think he’ll dare come back,’ he reassures me with a smile, playfully brandishing a fist. He does look kind of big and scary when he’s angry, but here, now, I don’t feel scared at all. I can see his softer side, and it’s going a long way to making me feel a bit more relaxed.

      ‘It’s OK, you can close the door,’ I tell him, noticing we’re having to raise our voices to hear each other over the noise of the party. It really is a miracle he heard me; then again, it felt like I was shouting for my life.

      He does as I say, pushing my door closed before sitting down next to me, keeping just enough distance not to spook me, which I appreciate.

      ‘I recognise you from my course,’ I say, wiping away one of the tears that has managed to escape.

      ‘Yeah, I recognise you too,’ he replies. ‘Matt and I are working together on our production project – he invited me tonight.’

      ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, apparently anyone can get in,’ I say, furious about our non-existent