by Elena Monroe
I saw the empties littering the coffee table, like badges of honor. I watched him look it over more than once before he looked at me silently thanking me. I pulled him in for another small hug, patting his back, while I said in a low voice, “Keep her busy, man.”
I looked at Layla still in the doorway, analyzing the scene of beer and a more out-going Aspen. I touched her hand giving it a small squeeze, “I’ll be right back. Hang with the boys.”
I walked up the stairs, guilt-free still. It wasn’t until I was about to push my door open that I felt the guilt start at my ankles and travel up to my heart. I was running away from my problems, like I always did. After I got sober, I learned to not create any more problems. Layla wasn’t the problem, but loving her came with problems, named jealousy, insecurity, and drama—all things I was used to running away from.
I was on autopilot in my room, not even having to think, when I found myself reaching into my desk drawer and pushing my hand under books for the small bag to dull my demons.
I had only been having the smallest amount and stretching out hours of fasting. I was trying to wean myself off, which seemed pretty impossible with demons crawling up from six feet under, named Maddison and Hunter. They were haunting us, and we weren’t holy enough to exorcise them.
I pinched the smallest amount and carefully letting it live between my thumb and pointer finger, staring at the blow for longer than I meant to before a swift inhale made it evaporate. I convinced myself this was the equivalent of Caden’s classy aspirin, Percocet, Aspen’s alcohol, Elizabeth’s Ritalin, Hayley’s love for pussy instead of dick being secret, and just a guess but B’s intolerance of food. I still hadn’t seen her eat yet, and I guessed that wasn’t a coincidence. We all had little helpers that were secret. So why did mine feel lethal in comparison?
I let it sink in the same way someone had a headache and waited for the medicine to kick in, in a way that was unrealistic. My medicine was going to kick in almost immediately.
I realized I needed a reason I was gone, so I grabbed my Alice in Wonderland book off the desk before heading back downstairs. Typically, I wouldn’t care, and I could bet no one would notice, except maybe Caden. Layla was my priority worry until I weaned myself completely off the blow again.
I quickly thought, If we all had vices and sins, then what was Hunter’s? Was it crippling? Could I use it to my advantage?
Layla was a closed book on Hunter, not giving me a single hint, and it made me question her loyalty to me.
Aspen was shot-gunning a beer with Caden, even though he had plans, and I was on night shift with Aspen’s drunk ass. I leaned against the frame, dividing the living room from the foyer, “Caden, don’t you have practice?”
Caden was in off-season baseball, and practice was starting up again. This behavior wasn’t a-typical for him. There had been too many instances where Caden had played hung over, and he claimed it was the best cure. I never argued. I couldn’t.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going. See? We’re always keepin’ it fresh with the role reversals…”
His hand hit my shoulder before leaning down into his gym bag near my feet, ripping his shirt off proudly. I rolled my eyes, mentally annoyed with his cockiness that was on 24/7. He grabbed his gym bag, hanging it heavily on his shoulder, and he bent down to whisper to Aspen something inaudible.
Layla was sitting next to Aspen, most likely prodding him for answers to her questions, while in a weakened state. I let my body fall into the chair I commandeered every time I found myself in this living room. I made a habit of marking my domain; no one challenged me, until Hunter.
I heard Aspen talking about Maddison with more ease than normal. “It’s hard to get over someone when you ruin their life.”
Layla’s hand landed on his forearm, giving him a comforting squeeze, and I had to remind myself that was who she was—nothing more.
She looked just as wounded as he was when she said, “She can’t possible hate you after all this time.”
Aspen made eye contact. “How long did you hate Hunter?”
I scoffed loudly, unapologetically, “Not anymore.”
Her head snapped over to me, with a scowl that could compete with mine. Aspen could easily see what was going on, even drunk—the heavy tension just at the mention of the new student on campus. He looked past Layla, only at me, and asked, “What did I miss?”
That was the best part about Aspen, he may not be himself ninety percent of the time, but his memories were enacted so it made the adjustment easy.
I sat back, relaxing, kicking my feet up on the coffee table before I answered. “Hunter enrolled at Amherst today.”
Aspen’s jaw literally dropped. He didn’t bother picking it up from his lap when his eyes moved to Layla, questioning her silently.
I sat forward, knees connecting with my elbows, “While we’re on the topic—”
Aspen cut me off, asking for me, “Well, what do we know? Is he coming after you?”
Layla laughed, like we were plotting his death instead of answering us. We might as well have been. This group wasn’t nicknamed “Amherst Sinners” by the campus because we kept our hands clean. We played dirty and didn’t take threats well.
Layla looked stunned, not having met this direct Aspen too many times before. She was used to asking the questions, not answering them.
She rolled her eyes when his eyes went wide in her direction. “Why would he be after anyone? We’re friends now…”
Aspen’s hand landed on her knee, and I sat even more on the edge of my seat, paying attention even more than I already was. He spoke to her like a child, explaining what she was oblivious to. “Oh, sweetie… Hunter wouldn’t change schools to be better friends with you.”
She stood straighter up at the idea of ill intentions. “He probably hates Oliver, but he’s not going to betray me by coming after people or trying to be inappropriate with me. That’s crazy. We don’t live in a fictional thriller, Aspen.”
His eyes squinted at her, taking in her words, and I could see him mentally contemplating if she was believing what she said, because we didn’t.
The conversation ended quickly, when we both realized she couldn’t see the root evil of him, even after he… did what he did to her. I couldn’t even silently say the word in my mind anymore, without igniting a fire inside me directly pointing at Hunter—a fire that wanted him to burn and consequences only fanned the fire. Her forgiveness was something holy—something I was unfamiliar with.
Aspen got more drunk, really it was sobering as even more of himself came out and he talked about Maddison being back. Layla seemed comfortable taking on the role of protector, coddler, and sober companion in a way I imagined her teenage years were filled with. She didn’t drink or take part in typical high school fun, with this being her role instead.
Aspen went through too many conflicting emotions for me to keep up. Anger. Next beer. Sadness. Next beer. Remorse. Next beer. Love. Next beer.
“Will you talk to her for me? Get her to come to the fundraiser this weekend? I can do the rest.”
He pleaded with Layla like I wasn’t in the room, with his hands on her legs as he faced her—his hands on what was mine. This group was known for having comfort and connections that outsiders couldn’t figure out. I figured the whole campus assumed we had orgies on the regular because of moments like this. What outsiders didn’t know is that I didn’t share.
I was an orphaned infant with no siblings and used to not letting myself have anything that was just mine. I was a guest in my own life. I never had anything to share.
I wasn’t going to start with Layla.
I watched her features scrunch up, questioning if his suggestion was a good idea.
I sat up again, alert. “Aspen, you and I both know that’s not a good idea.”
I spoke to him like the wounded bird he was normally, forgetting for a moment he was himself. I sat back, letting my tongue suck the back of my teeth, realizing I just made a mistake,
but I was ready for his temper.
“Don’t fucking talk to me like a child! I don’t know anything is a bad idea; nothing is when you’re trying to be sorry. I’m not you. I don’t wreck everything around me and have no remorse for others!” he said loudly.
We both knew we weren’t talking about Maddison anymore. I couldn’t let him take this any further.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. How you feel is fucking fleeting. Tomorrow you won’t even look at the girl, and you’ll go back to the empty shell of yourself.”
I was the only one who didn’t tolerate the duel sides of Aspen. This argument was a long time coming.
He sat up straighter, probably proud of himself for the comeback, he was about to let cut through his own lips. “How do you deal with your demons, Ollie? Wanna share? You don’t think you’re a shell of the guy I met in high school? You don’t think that the blow, the dead baby, and sting of endless fucks, who can’t even look at you on campus, have changed you?”
We both stood up, unapologetically ready to let this go to blows if it meant getting it out of our systems.
“The real question is why you care so much!”
He scoffed, spinning around in place, like looking at me was painful and the answers obvious. “Because you’re my best friend, Ollie! You’re my family! And if you can’t figure out how to keep the demons quiet, then we’re all fucked, aren’t we?”
Instead of blows, he pulled me into his chest, and my body refused to relax. My firsts still clenched along with my jaw. I was a piece of plywood in his muscular arms. Somehow his duel personalities became about me and my demons, not his.
He spoke low against my face, as he squeezed tighter. “I wasn’t bidding, Ollie. I was paying my dues for ruining her life, and now it’s time to get forgiveness. You won’t even blame anyone, so who will you forgive to silence your sins brother.”
It wasn’t a question or even a suggestion. He was letting me in on the secret everyone else seem to know. Aspen couldn’t be himself without feeling sorry for himself, for putting himself in some kind of torture for what he’d done. Now, without Maddison, he couldn’t move on. They all waited for him patiently, while I only let my anger build. He abandoned us, just like everyone else we counted on.
I think part of me hated him because we both held so tightly to our pasts, and I resented him for being weak. I didn’t want to be him. I didn’t want the pity or stares.
He words rattled me to the core, and my mouth begged for a cigarette between my lips—anything to steady my grip on reality.
He needed forgiveness from her.
I needed it from myself.
The weekend was here, and I was too well programmed to not know the drill when it came to fundraisers. I had already fielded three calls from my mom and some uncommitted texts from my dad reminding me.
Fundraisers were crack for this level of rich. We didn’t blow money on Gucci; we exchanged it for plaques with our last name on buildings. It was a whole new game of power plays. Monopoly wasn’t just a game, but a version of the real world—the one percenters.
Thankfully our name was on other buildings far off campus. I was already the reason for the crackdown and the dry campus after my accident. I didn’t need to also be the kid with his name on buildings.
That was all Ollie, and he hid everything he didn’t want known all too well. He was infamous just as Ollie, and I was pretty sure only students in his TA class knew his last name. They were too dumbfounded by his chiseled jaw and don’t-care attitude to put two and two together. His last name was directly after the words “happily donated” sprinkled through campus.
I woke up this morning feeling slightly hung over, and I argued with myself that one shot was going to cure my pounding headache. “Hair of the dog,” Caden always said. I wasn’t sure I ever believed that, but now was the perfect time to test that theory. Tonight, I’d be in the same room with the girl I love and broke…
I always picked up our suits from the same shop, every time we had a stamp of “mandatory” over the invite. The man must have been early seventies, still making custom suits, and I felt some kind of loyalty to people who worked hard for what they had—maybe because I never really had to.
I was envious of the feeling of exhaustion from work instead of boredom.
I knew my life was different when I got my first failing grade in middle school. I was prepared to explain to my parents the truth: I didn’t study, and I guessed each answer. Except the teacher never gave me a failing grade. She handed me back my test and said, “I knew which answers you really meant.” I told my dad about it anyways; my moral compass wasn’t cracked back then, yet.
He sat me down outside, where the truth could fly away after it was said, like it never came to fruition.
His hand patted my back comfortingly as he spoke: “Son, there’s going to be two kinds of people in this world: Those who don’t want to see you fail, so they’ll do anything to be part of your success, and those who will take pride in laughing when you do. The money won’t make you make better choices, but it’ll change how those choices pan out.”
“I didn’t study. That wasn’t even my test. She should have failed me…” I protested hard, from my gut.
He saw how confused and upset I was. I was fighting to be heard. I took pride in my grades and honesty. He sighed, like it was too much to explain, far too completed, and I was just a kid.
“When you can get help, take it, because everyone else is going to want to see you fall. You have what they want. You have too much. It’s justice in their minds.”
His words didn’t sound real.
I was the continuous double standard. My dad didn’t bother explaining all this, so I could test the limits of people willing to cover up mistakes, but that’s exactly what I did.
Shortly after, I started testing boundaries—the same ones my friends I came to Amherst with didn’t call boundaries. We all tested the rules in our own ways, for our own reasons.
I experimented with everything, before I realized I was the only one who could get away with being heavily intoxicated, even behind a wheel. That made me feel invincible. I had something no one else did: a free pass.
I had a mental record built up of all the times I was pulled over without any real punishment, all the times I didn’t bother to study and passed anyways, or all the times I smoked joints in public, only to get a nod and a verbal warning.
I learned I was untouchable.
I was invincible in a way my friends weren’t.
I tested the boundaries, until I found the line: hurting someone else—someone I cared about. Immunity only worked for me, not her.
I dropped Ollie’s suit inside his room, laying it on his bed and shooting him a quick message, “Suits arrived. I’ll meet you there later?”
I knew I was expected to be there early to greet people arriving. I’d be alone until my friends made an appearance. I was their golden child, expected to reach heights my brothers and sisters didn’t. In this case, it meant greeting the people donating to our fine institution.
Where my siblings (one sister and three brothers) landed was still successful in every ounce of the word—lawyers, financial advisors for huge companies, starting start-up companies, and corporate robots. They were certainly not the idiots investing in Fyre Festival and seeing no return.
Nothing with too much risk.
I was destined to intern next summer at the firm my brother was on the partner track with.
I shrugged with a casual “sure” the moment I got that call from my mom. I could tell she was excited to tell me about the internship when everything ended in: “Aren’t you excited?”
I always went with the flow—never making waves. That wasn’t who I was. I did what I was told to—never even speaking too loudly, never giving anyone a reason to hate me beyond the last name and inheritance that came with it.
I was okay with law. After I bent and broke it so many times, I found it fascinating.
I smirked to myself, realizing this was Ollie’s second home and somewhere no one ever looked for him—his hideaway.
I walked in, adjusting my shirt to be perfectly tucked into my pants and the belt centered. My mom had a strong opinion around fashion—always giving unsolicited advice on how to take your look to the next level.
She kissed both my cheeks. “Aspen, you wore the brown shoes? I wanted you to wear the mustard shoes with your suit.”
“All three phones calls, and you couldn’t mention that? Really, Mom?”
She laughed the smallest laugh. Right now, she was directing people and things around the room. Right now, she was a tough leader, not my mom or wardrobe specialist.
It smelled old, like that antique scent, but the windows let in enough light to be warm and cozy. I hung my double breasted pea coat over my arm, before a young girl, also recruited against her will, offered to hang it up for me. I swiped my phone from the pocket, pushing my hand inside the breast of my coat as she handled my coat with too much care. She must have been my age. She wasn’t hard to look at either, except I was here for Maddison.
It was a good feeling to know I had a backup plan in case I struck out.
I anxiously awaited her parents stepping through the wide-open doors and her trailing behind them, like we all did. We all came second to our privileged parents in their world, at their events.
I waited and waited for her. Good thing I wasn’t holding my breath.
Fake excitement.
Fake smiles.
Fake small talk questions.
The realest part was their lips pressed against your bare cheek. That kind of intimacy can’t be bogus. Skin to skin never was.
There was a coffee bar set up towards the back of the room for all those unable to drink, publicly, and for those too hammered off the complimentary bar to leave without caffeine.
