by Bella King
Mia shrugged. “Pay him and move on with your life.” She twirled more noodles around her fork. “By the way, are we still on for Saturday?”
“Remind me again,” I said, squinting my eyes in concentration. I couldn’t remember shit all except for school. It was burned into my head by my parents that a healthy social life wasn’t important. Good grades make money. Good friends make distractions.
Mia rolled her eyes. “The booze, girl. The booze!”
“Oh, right. I don’t know because I have to pay Oliver now.”
“Vodka costs like 20 bucks,” Mia replied.
“Tell me why you don’t have a job again?” I asked.
“Not everyone can keep up with their schoolwork and work at the same time. You’re a special kind of busy, Lydia.”
“I think you just prioritize the wrong stuff,” I replied, but I was secretly jealous that she didn’t work. It must be nice to mooch off people who did.
“Tell me why we’re getting trashed again?” I asked, glancing at Oliver again. He was talking loudly with his friends, looking like a total douche. What were they talking about? Probably sports.
“Hello, earth to Lydia,” Mia said, waving her hand in front of me. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”
“Ugh, no,” I said, looking down at my plate.
Mia crossed her arms. “Sure seems like it,” she muttered. “We’re getting drunk to celebrate finishing our first exams. It’s a tradition.”
“For you, it is.”
“For us. You really need to learn how to let loose a bit,” Mia said, grabbing the hard roll back off my plate and biting into it.
“I do know how,” I said, but I knew that wasn’t true. I was about as uptight as they got when it came to socializing. Social retard was aptly put.
“A couple of shots of whipped cream flavored vodka and that busy brain of yours is going to think about anything but getting into Oliver’s tight jeans,” Mia teased.
“Gross,” I said, jerking my head back.
“The flavor or Oliver?” Mia asked, holding up a finger.
“Oliver,” I said too loud.
Oliver looked back at Mia and me.
I buried my face in my plate. “Fuck, shit, fuck!” I panted.
Mia laughed. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”
“Fuck you,” I hissed.
“He’s getting up,” Mia said excitedly, poking my arm.
I saw Oliver in my peripheral, slowly getting up from the table and excusing himself. He was coming straight for us.
“Is it too late to run?” I asked.
“So dramatic,” Mia replied, shaking her head and twirling more noodles around her fork.
I felt the presence of Oliver beside me before I even saw him walk up. I didn’t look at him, shoveling greasy noodles into my mouth sloppily in hopes that he would leave me alone. He didn’t.
“You called?” Oliver said in a deep grumbly voice that made all the little hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“I didn’t say anything,” I said quietly.
Mia rolled her eyes. She turned her head up to Oliver. “You want to have a drink with us on Saturday?”
My pupils got about five times bigger at her words. I took a slow breath in, trying to mask my annoyance. “I think maybe we’re not drinking Saturday,” I said slowly.
Oliver shrugged. “I was thinking about slamming a few back with the boys. You know, game night.”
“Yes, game night, Mia,” I said through gritted teeth. “Which means you can’t drink with us, right?” I asked, finally looking up at Oliver.
He looked good from this angle, the shadows formed from his dramatic features even darker under the ceiling lights of the dining hall. Hell, he looked good from every angle, but I wasn’t about to give him a pass just because of that. No, men in my life had to earn their acceptance, and Oliver was heading in the opposite direction.
He rubbed his stubbled chin. “I didn’t say I couldn’t join. Perhaps after the game.”
Mia’s eyes lit up. “Oh great, what’s your number. I’ll text you.”
I ignored the two as they exchanged numbers, chewing my food with needless ferocity. I could think of a thousand things better than drinking with Mr. Douchebag, including scooping both my eyes out with the cheap lunch utensils, blending them up, and drinking them in a smoothie.
Oliver left after obtaining Mia’s number. She looked up at me with a grin, but that faded fast when she saw my face.
“Hey, cool it, girl. I’m not trying to steal your man or anything.”
I pushed the rest of my food away from me. “He’s not my man. Take him. I don’t want a thing to do with him.”
“I thought you’d want to have a drink with him. Are you shy?”
“I hate him,” I whispered loudly, peeking over to make sure Oliver hadn’t heard me.
Mia shook her head. “You’re going to learn how to express your feelings a little better, and then we’ll see how you really feel about him. I think a drink would do you good.”
“I’ll need the whole damn bottle to deal with him,” I replied, getting out of my seat to leave.
“Well,” Mia said, joining me in my rise, “We can certainly arrange that.”
Chapter 4
I passed my exam with flying colors. I shouldn’t have doubted myself, but Oliver made me panic about my notes. Everything was fine now, except for I still owed him money, and Mia had invited him to drink with us. No fucking thank you.
I had little time to celebrate my exam because I had work on Friday immediately after class. I would be picking up my paycheck and bringing nearly half of it to Oliver after work. He had given me his address, and that was the only way to get it to him.
I would have to drag my feet nearly half a mile away from my own apartment to give him money. I wanted him to come to me, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to know where I lived. I agreed to meet at his place as a result.
Work consisted of little more than stocking shelves and directing clueless customers to clearly labeled isles so that they could find bread or almonds. I honestly think that people just asked me questions there because I was an attractive woman. My male counterparts didn’t get nearly as much attention as I did.
This would have been fine, but nobody was putting extra money in my pocket for helping more people, so I didn’t exactly like it. Plus, I couldn’t just tell people to fuck off. That was against the rules. Bummer.
I threw on my work uniform, a black polo shirt with an obnoxiously large logo over my right breast, paired with whatever jeans I decided to wear with it. As long as they had no holes and didn’t squeeze the life out of my ass, they were alright.
I strongly considered purchasing two bottles of vodka after work just to wash the taste of Oliver out of my mouth harder. The nauseating alcohol smell would be enough to wipe him from my senses, or so I hoped.
I began to unload baking ingredients off of my pallet, placing them neatly on the shelves where they were needed. Everything had to look perfect because customers these days wouldn’t buy a product unless it was arranged in the way they liked.
Flour had to be piled in neat stacks, but not like bricks. Customers didn’t like to pry away brick of flour from a wall on the shelf. I had learned that during my first week at work. They liked vertical stacks that would fall over if you piled them higher then two or three levels.
I seriously questioned myself for how well I knew how to stock shelves. This wouldn’t translate well to the corporate world when I finally graduated, but it was my bread and butter while I was still in college.
Four hours was long enough to fill my shelf and clock out. I typically had more time for a break somewhere in there, but with my mind rolling over everything that had happened in the past two days, I wasn’t working as fast as I usually did.
I would have a full day of work tomorrow since it was Saturday, and I had no classes. After that would be a cheap liquor fest to stave off exam stress and reset my brain for
the next sprint of lessons and homework. While alcohol was a great reset button, I didn’t use it often. It was Mia that encouraged me to get wasted more often.
I knew that I wouldn’t be so stressed after a few shots of sickly sweet flavored vodka, but the thought of having to see Oliver’s stupid face again was stressing me out now. Maybe a shot as I left work would do the trick.
Jesus, I was starting to sound like Mia. I punched in my number on the clock in the break room and switched my shirt so that I wouldn’t be mistaken as still being at work when I bought booze. It wasn’t a good look to have employees carrying a liter of vodka in either hand.
I checked my bank account on my phone as I walked down the familiar aisles of the grocery store to the adult beverage section. My check had already cleared, so all there was left to do was to get cashback at the register and bring it to Oliver’s place.
I scanned the shelves for what Mia had requested. Whipped cream was such an artificial flavor, but was surprisingly good in cola and took the edge off shots. I grabbed two bottles of it from the middle self and retreated to the front of the store to pay.
BREAK
The night air was cool on my face as I left work. The glass bottles weighed heavy in my purse, taking up all of the room and sticking out conspicuously as I walked down the road.
I was starkly aware of how dark it was already, and that I still had to walk to Oliver’s apartment, a place I had never been before. I was sure I could bash somebody’s brains in with one of these bottles if need be. I always told myself that I would buy pepper spray but had never gotten around to it. Woe is me, I guess.
I hurried down the old sidewalks that led back to campus. It was faster to cut through, but after being chased by the police, I thought it best to avoid campus at night. I chose the slightly longer path around.
I got to my apartment, greeting Mia at the door. “I got what you asked for, but wait until tomorrow to drink with me, please. I have work in the morning.”
Mia jumped up and down in the living room, clapping her hands like she had just won a game of Jeopardy while the two bottles clunked down on the kitchen counter. She was always so excited about stuff like this. It would be nice to share her enthusiasm, but I wasn’t so emotional of a person.
I never was. My parents weren’t either. I remembered showing them my acceptance letter to Briarwood college only for them to nod and give me one of those half-smiles that people give when you pass them at work. It wasn’t genuine pride, more like “See, I acknowledged you. Now let me go back to what I was doing before you decided it was appropriate to wave your accomplishments in front of me expecting something in return.”
I was never so keen on showing my parents how well I had done because they never celebrated any of it. Hard to please? Not exactly. They were easy to please, but hard to impress, if that makes any sense. I guess that got passed down to me.
Vodka. Pleasing, yes, but impressive? No.
Mia rushed over to the bottles and crammed them into our small freezer. “It’s better when they’re cold,” she said.
I nodded. “The less you can taste, the better.”
That was true. It was only drinks like mulled wine or fine whiskey that you would ever want to drink warm. While I was a fan of neither, I recognized that vodka didn’t fall into the same category of taste that the former did.
“I have to go give money to Oliver,” I said, pulling a wad of variously degraded banknotes form my purse and stuffing them into my front pocket.
Mia raised her eyebrows. “For sexual favors?”
I placed my hands on my hips and squinted my eyes. “For the cabinet that I destroyed,” I replied seriously.
Mia held up her hands, palms out, at chest level. “I know, I know. It was just a joke.”
“Try a different one,” I said, grabbing my phone from my purse and placing it in my other pocket. “I got to go.”
“Let me know if you’re sleeping over,” Mia said as I made my way past the pile of shoes in the hallway to the door.
“Mia,” I warned, pulling open the peeling white door and heading back outside.
Chapter 5
My shoes crunched against years’ worth of broken glass as I came upon Oliver’s apartment complex. The place had housed enough college students over its lifetime to permanently smell of weed and beer.
I glanced up from my phone at the building numbers. I was looking for unit 145, which was on the first floor. I always avoided the first floor because it was easier for bugs to get in, but the drawback to that was that you had to lug your suitcases up a flight or two of stairs because there were never any elevators at cheap college apartments.
I walked past 143 before noticing that the numbers were decreasing. I didn’t have time to turn around before I heard a deep voice from behind me.
“About time you got here,” Oliver said.
I turned around and let go of my breath when I saw him. I had been afraid that it would be some other creep in the night.
“You scared me,” I said, pulling the money from my pocket. “Here,” I walked up to him and slapped the cash into his large palm. “See you later.”
“Woah now,” Oliver said hastily. “Let me count it first.”
I crossed my arms and stopped beside him, waiting as he took his time thumbing through the mixed notes.
“Mia’s an oddball, isn’t she?” Oliver said as he counted the notes.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, impatient from his slow counting. I knew he was drawing it out on purpose to keep some conversation going.
“I mean, she invited me to hang out with you two and keeps texting me all the time.”
“Wait, she’s texting you?” I asked, now engaged with the conversation.
“Oh yes, texting and making sure that I come. Does she like me or something?” Oliver asked, glancing up at me with innocent blue eyes before stuffing the stack of bills into his blue jeans.
“Maybe. I don’t see why she would,” I said sharply.
Oliver laughed. “You’re a funny one, Lydia. I’m not surprised you’re single either.”
I crossed my arms tighter. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Oliver shrugged. “You have some anger problems or something.” He paused. “But thanks for paying me back. I guess we’re even now.”
I nodded. “Now leave me alone,” I said, twirling around and walking away from him. I was glad to be done with Oliver for now, but I was sure this wouldn’t be the end of things. We shared a class together, and he had been invited to Mia, and I’s drinking party.
I needed to have a talk with that woman when I got home, but I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to do it. Texting Oliver should’ve been off-limits, but then again, who was I to tell her who she could flirt with? As long as I didn’t get dragged in, I would have to be fine with it.
I was almost across the parking lot when Oliver called out to me. “You need a ride?”
I turned my head to see him climbing into a dinged red pickup truck. I waited at the edge of the lot for him to circle around toward me and hoisted myself into the passenger’s seat when he pushed open the door for me.
“I’m only agreeing to this because I’m tired,” I said.
Oliver smirked. “No woman can resist a pickup.”
“I beg to differ.”
Oliver wiggled the stick shift and revved the engine, winking at me.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get us killed, okay?”
Oliver slammed his foot into the gas, pressing me against the seat firmly as he peeled out of the lot. He braked hard when he reached the intersection for the main road, flinging me into the dashboard.
“Jesus Christ Oliver,” I yelled, pushed the hair from my face. “Enough with the theatrics.”
Oliver pulled out into the rode slower, driving normally. “I just wanted to show you what she can do.”
Everything about Oliver bothered me. Calling his car ‘she’ bothered me, his crooked smirk
bothered me, his messy hair bothered me, and his slight southern accent bothered me. Even his being stupidly handsome bothered me because I didn’t want to find him attractive.
Oliver looked me up and down as I sat with my hands clasped between my thighs. “You haven’t given me your address,” he said in a low voice.
The way the words dripped from his mouth made me uncomfortable. I looked up at him and noticed a distant look in his eyes. My heart began to pick up the pace, and I felt hot.
Come on now, Lydia, I told myself, we’re going home. That’s all this is.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give him my address the way he was looking at me. His eyes followed my legs up, resting on my lap for too long, then they rose up to my breasts. Was my shirt too tight? Cleavage too much? I pulled the neckline up, frowning.
“What’s your address?” Oliver repeated.
Why had I gotten into his truck again? I could have walked home. I figured I could just get him to drop me off somewhere close and walk the rest of the way. He didn’t have to know my exact unit.
“Briarwood Lane,” I said softly.
Oliver raised an eyebrow and flicked on his turn signal, merging into the next lane. His hands were firm on the steering wheel, and that look had left his eyes.
I let the air escape my mouth slowly, remembering to breathe. If I held my breath for too long, I would pass out. I tended to do that when I was stressed out. I had nearly done it a few times during my exams, but I had learned to control my breathing better since then. Oliver was bringing back old habits, though, and I didn’t like it.
The truck rumbled to a crawl as we reached Briarwood Lane. Oliver turned to me again. “Which unit are you?”
“Here is fine,” I said.
Oliver didn’t stop. “Which unit?”
I sighed. “213,” I said quickly, making up a number. I prayed that 213 actually existed.
Oliver nodded, scanning the building for my unit. “Right here,” he said, stopping the truck in front of a group of units across the parking lot from mine.
“Thanks,” I said quickly, opening the door and hopping out.
