by Ney, Sara
It kills me to walk away from that house to my car, but I do it, one step in front of the other, legs moving faster the closer I get to my vehicle.
I’m parked in front of the house so it’s not a long distance, but my heart is racing from adrenaline as I sit behind the wheel.
Abe
Don’t call me until you care more about me than about what your roommate thinks.
Shit, Skylar sounded pissed.
I glance out the window at her retreating figure then back at my door, JB’s fist connecting with the wood once more. Jesus, what’s his damn problem?
I stalk across the room and give the door a good yank.
“There better be a goddamn emergency.”
Actually I hope there isn’t, because I’d probably have to be the one to deal with it.
“What took you so long to open this fuckin’ thing?” He shoves his way through, glancing around the room. “I thought I heard two voices—you hiding someone in here?”
“No.”
“I swear I heard a chick.”
“Nope.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare. “What the hell do you want? It’s almost one in the morning.”
JB flops down on the edge of my bed then reclines the rest of the way until his head hits my mattress. “I was bored.”
He smells like stale beer, marijuana, and a few bad decisions.
“You were pounding on my door because you were bored? Seriously dude, what the fuck.” Not cool. He caused a fight between me and Skylar, and she probably won’t see me until I’ve told JB to piss off.
I really wish I could.
It would save me a lot of trouble in the long run, even if it causes fucking drama today.
“Where were you tonight? I thought maybe you’d come out.”
“Nope.”
He rolls to his stomach, feet hanging off my bed. Stinking up my clean comforter and fresh sheets. Well…they were fresh before I screwed my girlfriend in them.
“You’re turning into a fucking pill.”
“Get off my bed.”
“I can’t move my legs.”
I nudge him with my knee. “I used that excuse when I was five.”
“Can you get me some food?” He raises his head, propping his chin up with two hands. “Why are there two indents on the pillows?”
He’s drunk and high and talking stupid, and he’s going to notice that shit?
“You’re drunk.”
“You said you didn’t have a girl here.”
“I didn’t.”
He’s back on his back, raising himself into a sitting position. “I’ve fucked enough chicks to know a head dent when I see one, bro. Why are you lying?”
I have no rational reply for that. “You’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk.”
“Whatever.” I bend at the waist, retrieving my shirt from the ground and pulling it on over my bare chest. A gray thong drops from its folds and lands back on the floor.
JB homes in on it.
“Is that underwear?”
I feign ignorance. “Is what underwear?”
“That thong on the floor.”
I scoop it up and shove it in my pocket.
“You fucking liar.” He stands. “Let me see.”
I wave him off. “I’m not showing you the underwear.”
“I don’t even believe this—you were banging some chick in here and won’t tell me. Was she a barker? Is that why you’re hiding her?” He walks to the closet, pulling the doors open. “Where is she hiding?”
Out the window, in her car, and back to her apartment—that’s where she’s hiding.
I don’t know who to blame for this fuck-up, myself or JB.
I watch as he checks out the closet, feeling around for a body. Dips to peer under the bed.
“Why would I be hiding a girl in my room? We’re not in high school anymore and this isn’t my mom’s house.”
“I don’t know why you’d be hiding a girl, but you are. Where the fuck is she?”
My lips tighten as my brain mentally weighs the pros and cons of being honest. “Gone.”
“Gone? How?”
Simultaneously, our eyes stray to the window.
“Shut the hell up, she did not go out the window.”
I shrug.
“Dude, what is she, MacGyver? What’d you fucking do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything. She didn’t want you to see her here.”
JB pauses, wheels spinning. “Why? Have I already put my giant purple eggplant inside her?”
Jesus he’s drunk. “No.”
“Then why did she leave? Who the fuck cares if I see the two of you in bed—this is college, not a fucking convent.”
“I tried to convince her to stay,” I lie. “But she bolted.”
Shit. Now I’m throwing Skylar under the bus, and if she heard me she’d be totally disgusted.
“So she’s a psycho.”
“Would you please leave so I can go back to sleep? It’s one o’clock in the morning.” I stand next to my bedroom door, holding it open with my hand on the doorknob.
Jack doesn’t budge. “Not until you tell me who it is.”
“Why do you even care?”
“I’m curious—humor me.”
I’m silent.
“So it’s someone I know.”
Silence.
“Is it Tasha?”
“What? What the hell—no, it’s not your ex-girlfriend.”
He’s quiet, thinking. “Is it someone I’ve dated?”
More silence.
“Shit. You just boned a chick I’ve dated? The fuck—who was it? That Miranda girl?”
He’s never dated a girl named Miranda. He’s never dated a Mindy, Michelle, or Mary, and it would be great if he could fucking remember their names without me having to remind him half the goddamn time.
“There is no Miranda.”
“Dude, you’re pissing me off. Just say it.”
I stalk out of my bedroom and head to the bathroom, directly across the hall. “Oh—I’m pissing you off? Ask me if I give a shit.”
He follows, unable to let the subject die. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I run the water in the sink, stab toothpaste onto my toothbrush, and start scrubbing. Watch him behind me in the mirror, leaning against the doorjamb.
Suddenly, I want to smack his arrogant face.
I scrub my teeth harder.
“What’s her damn name?”
“Go to hell,” I mumble around my toothbrush, foam dripping from my mouth, frothy like a rabid dog.
“You want me to find out myself?” he booms, stepping into the room.
I roll my eyes. “Please. You can’t do jack shit without me.”
“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”
I face him in the mirror, raising a brow at his reflection. “If I didn’t hold your fucking hand, you wouldn’t even be able to jerk off at night.”
“Fuck you, Abe.”
I spit in the sink, rinsing my toothbrush with water.
“No—fuck you, Jack. Find a new errand boy. I’m done.”
“You’re so full of yourself, Davis, do you know that? You think you’re so much smarter than everybody else. Well I’ve got news for you—you’re not.”
“Boohoo, big deal.” I laugh, practically in his face. “Like I give a shit what you think of me.”
“What is your damn problem?”
“You’re my problem.” My voice rises a few octaves and I finally turn to face him. “You’re my fucking problem. You are.”
“Oh, I’m the fucking problem? How about this? You’re the fucking problem.” He stabs a finger in my chest.
We sling the words fucking and problem and fucking problem around a few more times—sounding like absolute idiots—so many times I’m actually starting to get confused by the lack of control I have over the situation, and the argument.
“I’m fucking Skylar, okay? Are you ha
ppy now? We’re dating and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
There.
Let the drunk, high asshole choke on that bit of information.
I wait for it to sink in, really let it marinate to achieve the full effect before dropping another bomb.
“We’ve been dating since the two of you went out.”
Damn the truth feels good.
Not as good as her mouth felt around my cock, but it’s a close second.
“What?”
“Skylar is my girlfriend. She’s the one who went out the window.”
“Dude.” Pause. “What?”
“Are you deaf? Do you want me to spell it out for you?”
It’s a dig and he knows it.
“Screw you, Davis.”
“Hard pass—your dick is too small. I’d rather be screwing Skylar.”
“Right. Your ‘girlfriend’.” He uses air quotes. “What are you, in kindergarten? You haven’t even been going out a month. How is she your girlfriend?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“What if I make it my business?”
“Oh, okay, Jack. What are you going to do about it, tell your mommy? Have your dad fix it?”
Spoiled, pampered Jack Bartlett, unable to fight his own battles.
“Screw you.”
“I take out the garbage. I clean your shit up. I’ve changed your tires, written papers, made excuses for you with the coaching staff.” Once I start listing off his offenses, I cannot seem to quit. “Lied to girls. Pretended to be you. Paid your half of the rent. Bought groceries. Lent you money. Cleaned up your puke.”
“That’s what friends do, asshole,” he shoots back.
“Oh yeah? And what have you done for me, JB? Huh? Name one thing.” I lean against the counter, waiting. “Go ahead. Tell me.”
“You’re a dick.”
“That’s it? I’m a dick? Whoa, way to hit below the belt.”
Fucker can’t even come up with one decent thing he’s ever done to help me out or make my life easier when I have a life full of chaos myself.
Selfish prick.
“I know one thing I don’t do—steal girls from you.”
“Give me a damn break.” I roll my eyes at him for the second time tonight. “Don’t act like you care—you didn’t even like her.”
“So? That’s not the point.”
“What is the point then, huh? Get to it.”
“I want to beat your ass so hard right now,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
“Go right ahead, big shot.” I spread my arms wide, inviting him over. “Take a swing at me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“For real, Jack—what are you waiting for? If I’m such a jerk for stealing your girlfriend, go ahead and punch me.” I poke at my jawline with the tip of my finger. “Right here. Go ahead. Hit me.”
I’m egging him on, the idea of being walloped in the face a welcome feeling in comparison to the one churning inside my gut.
Guilt.
Guilt.
Guilt.
“You don’t have the guts to do it, you puss—”
JB fucking hits me.
Draws back and, with a closed fist, decks me right in the fucking face before I have a chance to react, or duck, or move out of the goddamn way.
I rear back, shocked.
I know I was provoking him, but Jesus Christ, I didn’t think he’d actually have the balls to do it.
Stunned, it takes me a few seconds to move. Then I lunge forward, hands gripping him by the shirt collar. He’s unsteady on his feet, so I shove him against the wall with all the force of a man who has finally hit his breaking point. One who’s had enough bullshit to last a lifetime.
JB’s drunk ass recovers, managing another swing, this time catching me in the eye—which is bound to leave a mark—and I shove him again, locking his arms down with my entire body.
“Enough.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” he retorts.
“Yeah, I am.” He does nothing around here, and he can’t tell me what to do; it’s just taken me this long to realize it.
“I don’t want you seeing that LoveU hoe again,” he slurs.
“What did you just call her?”
“I said,” he repeats slowly, “I. Don’t. Want. You. Seeing. That. LoveU. Hoe.”
That’s what I thought he said. “If you don’t like it, pack up your shit and get out of my house.”
His bloodshot eyes roll. “You don’t own this place.”
“No, but my name is the only one on the leasing agreement. You technically don’t exist.”
“What?” Why does he look so surprised? Did he not know this?
“I’m letting you live here because I’m a nice fucking guy, and you needed a nice fucking place to live, so I let you stay in my nice fucking house.” I give him a jostle so I have his full attention. “Piss me off by hitting me again, and I’ll call the landlord and have you kicked out.”
“You wouldn’t do that. You don’t have the guts.” He’s a bit too cocky in my opinion, so I knock him down a peg.
“Try me.”
His smug smile falters as he tries to readjust himself, attempting to wriggle out of my firm grip.
“Whatever. Let me go.”
“Not until you’re cool with me dating Skylar. And when she comes over, I don’t want you to say a damn thing to her about any of this. Got it?”
His mouth thins into a straight line, refusing to concede.
“Got it?”
“And if I don’t?”
“I just told you what I’ll do—I’ll kick you out.” It’s going to be awkward enough as it is after this. We’ve never been in a fight (mostly because I always bite my tongue), let alone a physical altercation. “And you’re going to be a goddamn gentleman when you see her so she doesn’t feel unwelcome.”
His nostrils flare.
He hates being told what to do, and now I’m the one making the rules.
The long overdue ground rules.
“You’re hurting me,” JB whines.
I relax my hold on him so he can sag a little. “Oh chill out. I am not hurting you, you big baby.”
“Yes you are. You’re bigger than I am, cocksucker.”
It’s about time he recognized that fact.
It’s about time he looked at me with some respect.
JB steps out of my hold, back into the hallway where he should have stayed to begin with.
“Fine,” he says. “I won’t be a dick.”
“Fine. You can stay.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Me: I told him.
Skylar: New phone, who dis.
Me: Knock it off.
Skylar: Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that.
Me: You’re responding to me, so I’ll take that as a good sign.
Skylar: You started the conversation with “I told him” so now I’m curious about what that means. It sounds kind of ominous.
Me: I told JB about us.
Skylar: Okayyyy…
Me: Will you let me explain myself?
Skylar: Yes.
Me: Really? I thought for sure you’d tell me to go fuck myself.
Me: Can I come over?
Skylar: Yes.
Me: When?
Skylar: Tomorrow night. 5:00.
Me: See you then.
Skylar
“Abe is coming over. Can you make yourself scarce? We have shit to talk about and I don’t need you eavesdropping.” I hunt my roommate down and find her in the bathroom, plucking her eyebrows, face inches from the big mirror hanging over the sink.
She shoots me a look through the reflection but continues gingerly grasping hairs with the tweezers and yanking.
“Eavesdrop? Who, me?”
“Yeah you.”
“I guess I could lock myself in my bedroom and resist the urge to bang on the wall.”
“Thanks. I’d
appreciate it.”
“What if you start having sex?”
I shouldn’t deny the possibility of that happening but do it anyway. “I’m not going to have sex with you in the apartment.”
This time Hannah does turn to look at me, tweezers poised in her hands. “Why?”
“Because you’ll hear it and you’ll never let me live it down.”
“True, but you’ve heard me having sex a million times.”
Not quite a million, but about five too many.
“I’d really prefer you did not hear me screwing Abe.”
She sets the tweezers on the counter with a clang. “I cannot believe you just called it that. You strike me as the ‘lovemaking’ type.”
“That sounds awful. I’m not in love.”
“You’re not?”
“No. It’s been two weeks. One. I don’t know—I’m not keeping track.”
“You wouldn’t be letting him come over to beg for mercy so soon if you didn’t care about him. I know you well enough to know that.”
That’s true; I was tempted to make him sweat it out longer.
Hannah walks to the toilet, backs her ass up over it, pushes down her leggings, and sits.
Begins to pee while I’m standing there.
It doesn’t faze me; I do it to her, too.
“When is he going to be here?”
I look at my wrist. “Soon.”
“All right. I’ll grab food and prepare to camp out.” She finishes, poking at the toilet paper, letting it fall from the dispenser, then wipes. “But don’t not have make-up sex on my account—and if it gets uncomfortable for me, I’ll just pack up my shit and go to Jessica’s.”
“Thanks.”
She washes her hands. “Do we have potato chips?”
I’m not the one who buys the junk food. “I don’t think so?”
“Ugh, dammit. Those are the perfect food for camping out.”
I scrunch up my face, confused. “Why?”
“They make noise when you crunch them. Drowns out the noise.”
“There won’t be any noise.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No.”
While Hannah adjourns to the kitchen to gather rations, I use the bathroom, too, peeing before fixing my hair. Even out my complexion with foundation, add blush, clean up my mascara. Add gloss.
Give myself a little grimace. “This will have to do.”
