by Sonya Jesus
Done with the teasing, I run the back of my wrist over my forehead. “We got to go.”
“Wait!” she says, again touching my upper arm like we didn’t just set up boundaries yesterday. I glue my eyes to the location of her hands and wait a minute before snatching my eyes to her. Wisely, she removes her fingers from my skin.
“Are we still on for The Reef tonight?”
My eyes pop up, and Ledger turns away to give us some privacy. “Catch up with me.” He glances at his watch. “We’re late.”
A quick nod later and Vanessa’s already changing the subject. “Did you have an accident?” She dips her fingers under the hem of my T-shirt, thumbing over the wet stain.
“Kind of.” I chuck the empty cup in the trash, using it as an excuse to add some distance between the two of us.
“So, The Reef? Are you going?”
“Probably.” I hang my hand on my neck and rub the stiffness out. “But not with you.”
Her head flies back. “That’s uncalled for.”
I grab my bag and hook the strap through my shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“Practice.” After locating my sunglasses, I use the dry part of my shirt to wipe them.
“Are you going to continue being a jerk?”
While I inspect the lenses for smudges, I ask, “We’re broken up. You know that, right?”
“Why would we be broken up?” She plays the innocent card, which really annoys the shit out of me. The only thing worse than what she did yesterday, and everything else, is pretending like nothing happened.
“For one, you went through my shit.” I walk in Ledger’s direction.
She follows me, much to my annoyance. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“K.” Let’s leave it at that.
I keep the anger in check as I move forward. If I stop and stare at her face, things will bubble to the surface. Without the limit of a relationship, there’s no reason for me to preserve a line of respect. In fact, I’m pretty sure the line of respect had been crossed the second she invaded my privacy.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously what?” My pace quickens to get away from her.
“You’re treating me like a stranger.” She speeds up and crosses my path, planting herself directly in front of me.
“What are you doing?”
Her hands fly through the air and slap down at her thighs. “I’m telling you I’m sorry and I was totally out of line going through your things and ripping up that bit—”
My narrow-eyed gaze cuts toward her instantly.
She corrects herself, “Sorry, that I ripped the picture.” Her words come out rushed, nullifying her apology, not that it was sincere in the first place. “I was jealous.”
Pretty sure she’d do it again or worse. “That was obvious.”
She sighs and tilts her head to the side, swiping her ponytail from one side to the other. “Are we good?”
“Vanessa, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re over, or that I’m late for practice.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder, trying to stop me from bypassing her. “Can you just wait a little bit? Who cares if you’re late?”
I shrug her fingers off and round her. “Leave it, Vanessa.”
“Kai!”
Nope.
“How do I just leave it?” Her whiney, high-pitched voice propels me into a stop.
Because she’s causing a scene, I turn around to face her. “We’ve been together for three years. I love you, and you want to throw it all away because of a bad summer and a torn picture? We deserve a chance.”
A step forward, to get in her face. “How many more chances do you need?”
“What are you talking about? The guy from the picture?” Fear flickers over her eyes, and she darts them away from me, admitting the shame before her lips move. Even though I know she cheated on me, I don’t have proof. So, I have let it go.
For months, I let myself believe she wasn’t that much of bitch. That her blaming me for cheating on her was a sign she loved me, not a sign of guilt.
Little things changed about her. She got needier, jealous, started insulting the things I like, and hated when I hung out with Ledger.
But she doesn’t get to pin this on me. Yeah, maybe I emotionally cheated on her every October when I mourned the loss of a girl who actually deserved to be loved, but I never dipped my stick in someone else’s sugar packet.
“You should have thought about that before you screwed the dude in the Bahamas.” This, I say loud enough for people to hear. If she wants a scene, I’m happy to oblige.
“I didn’t,” she peeps, lowering the tone and her attitude.
I stop and look the liar in the face. I hate being lied to. “Want to try again?”
“I … didn’t,” she stumbles on her words, swallowing between the two and lowering her chin to her chest. Under my scrutiny, she’s going to crumple and tell me the truth, even if I have to instigate it out of her.
I lower my voice and bring my lips to her ear. She shudders softly as my heated breaths land on her neck. Her head turns slightly at my presence, desperate to hear whatever I deem worthy of whispering. This time, it’s not going to be about how much I want to plunge into her. It’s evidence in the form of a misguided whisper. “We’ve been screwing for three years, Vani. You think I wouldn’t notice the differences?”
Vanessa stiffens at my words and the name I used. The vein on her neck pulses slightly, and her arm wraps around her stomach, as if shielding herself from me.
I straighten myself so I can see the truth, captured between gasps and rounded eyes. I knew it. Sometimes, the best lies are caught with embellishments.
She doesn’t deny it. “Maybe I wanted to try something new with you.”
More lies to cover it up. “You can’t even admit the truth, can you?”
Her chin trembles, and her eyes water, but she holds her head high.
“You weren’t a virgin, Vanessa.” We were just outside the Labyrinth Library, lots of people are coming in and out, so I keep our conversation low. “You’ve never been tight. Yet every time I slid inside, you tensed up.” I liked it, but I knew what it meant. “You were nervous of having me inside you again.”
“It had been months. We left things in a rocky spot.”
“Your moans are different, you were never as verbal, and you do this thing with your tongue that you never did before.”
“You like that thing,” she peeps up through her lashes, knowing there was no point of lying anymore.
“Not as much as the guy who taught it to you.”
“Three times.” Finally, a confession. “Because you ditched me, and—”
“You did it because you’re a slut.” My voice is no longer tame or hushed or worried about attracting an audience. Suspecting, even knowing is one thing, but confirmation… man, that’s something else entirely.
She glances around us, offended by the harshness. “It was just a summer fling. I thought you were doing the same thing. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Apparently, neither did we.”
She wraps her arms around me to keep me from going, but I shrug her arms off and hold her wrists between my hands, keeping her at a distance. Tears fill her eyes, but I don’t buy it. This is only because she got discovered.
“This is how it’s going to go: the last years didn’t happen. We weren’t together. We never talked, and this… never existed.”
“You can’t be serious, Kai. We’re over because of one mistake?”
It was way more than one mistake.
“No, we’re erased. I don’t know you … I never did.” I walk away from her and head to the pitch.
Ledger waits for me farther ahead, and he steps alongside me. Neither of us talk about the scene at the Labyrinth, and I don’t mention the girl from the coffee shop. I just need to get through the day and my coach.
“He’s going to give us shit if we don’t haul ass.” I tap Ledger
on the shoulder and jog ahead. We get there just as Coach rumbles out onto the field. He’s burly, British, and a tank.
“Warm up, boys!” Coach calls the fifteen of us and the supplements over on the pitch and points at the halfway line. He singles me out with his whistle. “You two owe me an extra hour this week.”
“Sorry, Coach,” we say in unison.
Ledger, the captain, chimes in to take responsibility, “We overslept.”
Coach waves his hand through the air and snaps his fingers. “Hurry up! Time is ticking, and it don’t give a lick of shits about how many times you had to hit the snooze button this morning.”
“What’s with him?” Ledger asks, as we take the lead and jog onto the center of the field. “Someone got his knickers in a twist.”
I am not in the mood for Ledger’s English humor, nor do I care what’s up the coach’s crack. Everyone knows Coach came over to the States when he was in college. Despite being here for twenty-plus years, he’s still sporting a British accent like no one’s business. The more flustered he gets, the less we understand him, which in turn makes it hell on the paddock for us.
Compartmentalize, I tell myself. Focus on playing, not on girls I need to stay away from.
“Dry spell?” Ledger jokes in a low voice and checks over his shoulder. The burly, English ballbuster, who lacks a humor bone, is safely at a distance. “Maybe that’s why he’s carrying around that sack of blue pills.”
Thanks to our across-the-ocean coach, most of us refer to the rugby balls as pills, and Ledger particularly enjoys the fact that our training balls are blue. “You know all about the side effects of blue balls, don’t you?”
Ledger pumps his brows and chuckles arrogantly. “Nothing blue about these balls.” He points to his sack, nestled tightly in his compression shorts, and rolls his hips around to show flexibility.
The coach tosses him a pill, nearly hitting him in the chest. “We aren’t winding up your willys for a night out with the freshies; we are practicing for the first game of the season. One we will lose if you don’t get your head out of your wankers and start thinking with your brain.”
“Sorry, Coach.” Ledger drops the ball on the line between us and kicks his leg up to stretch his calves.
Coach holds one of the egg-shaped balls up in the air and points it in my direction. “On my field, the only things that matter are the men standing on the line with you, me, and the pill.”
“The pill always matters.” Ledger chuckles again, earning him a scornful look from Coach.
“Boy, turn the switch off.” Coach snaps his fingers in the air and gestures toward Ledger's crotch. "Before I kick you and your nuggets off my field. I am not messing around." He addresses the whole team. "We have a championship to win. March may seem far away, but it's right around the corner, and we came in second last year… We've come in second for three years straight."
"Thanks for the reminder," one of the forwards grumbles. The whole pack chimes in with head nods and disappointed harrumphs.
We all feel it, even the new members. The university spins our failure and calls us finalists, but coming in second three consecutive times feels like shit. It's a constant "almost" good enough, but not quite good enough to beat the reigning champs.
This year is going to be different. We are taking first place.
"No positive spin on losing! Not this year. You're tired of playing second place, and I'm tired of coaching second place losers… who is ready to be winners?"
There’s way too much energy on this field for a hungover and pissed-off me.
The team drums their thighs at the elevated tone and hoots when Coach cups his ear with his hand. "I said, who is ready?"
Again, they holler and hoot, waiting for Ledger’s sound off before answering.
Ledger holds his hand to his ear, silencing the group. “On this field, we move and breathe as a unit. Fifteen minds become one, driven by the same goal.”
The guys slap their thighs, urging him to continue.
“We live in the Rugger Loft. We eat together, train together, work together, and party together. There's nothing better than walking out on the greens, knowing fourteen people have your back, on and off the field. This is more than a marriage; this is a brotherhood. We are family.”
Coach smirks and looks me in the eye. A proud glint flickers in his gaze as he grabs another ball from the bag and points it at Ledger. "You ready to lead us to the championship, son?"
"First or nothing."
Coach blows his whistle and stops our chanting. It takes a few seconds for the excitement to die down, but when it does, he distributes the balls between the rest of the line. "This is what I like to hear. Looking forward to knocking those shits off their pedestal with you boys."
We all chuckle because his ‘shit’ sounds like 'shite'.
He rolls his eyes and nearly busts a gasket blowing all his frustration out into the whistle. “Stretch and get into tackling position. Remember, unless you want to spend a spell in the sin-bin, keep it below the shoulders, boys. Any of you high tackle, and I’m going to shove my foot high up your rears.”
Our grueling two-hour practice ends at ten, just in time for my ten-thirty class. After showering in the locker room and changing, I stop at The Lofts to switch out my gym bag for my backpack and head over to the coffee shop. I’m starving, and since my coffee got spilled this morning, I’m in desperate need of some.
Descending the steps would be easier if I wasn’t hungover and didn't just spend two hours learning new tackling techniques and making sure we mastered them without breaking game rules. Coach definitely had something twisted up his bum hole this morning because his favorite word was ‘again.’ He kept repeating it over and over like a drill sergeant. I am not looking forward to the extra hour of practice this afternoon. My body, mind, and heart are exhausted.
Ledger, on the other hand, enjoyed the learning process while my body took one too many tackles to the ground. My back muscles locked up so bad, I'll need a massage to work the kinks out, and I’m pretty sure there’s a permanent bruise on my right hip. On the bright side, the scalding hot coffee marks don’t hurt at all.
Tugging open the main door of The Lofts building open, I step foot in the sunlight. I hoist my glasses on my nose and find a few scattered people hurrying to class, but overall the paths are pretty empty.
Then again, the only people awake on campus are the athletes and the early bird class takers. Convention requires me to both, but I practically sleepwalk to practice, and I only take classes in the morning to get them out of the way. Lately, the less I think, the more information I retain. My brain has way too many thoughts inside.
My brain’s architecture doesn’t support the complex task of multitasking. Talking, processing, caring, and carrying on an acceptable conversation, all before lunch, is a bit much for me. Thus, I leave humanizing to the p.m. hours.
Since the sun is still up, I’d rather the road to Jumping Joe’s be devoid of females who will piss me off. Though I’ve expended some energy at practice and am not as tightly wound, I rather not see Vanessa or the Thorn look-alike. Vanessa clearly doesn’t understand what a breakup means, and life doesn’t want me to move on.
Timing sucks.
Which is probably why I blew up this morning. Time pointed out all the differences. It’s obvious she wasn’t Thorn, but she looked like Thorn, and that was enough to rile me and put a stupid thought in my head: maybe my heart could settle for a version of my childhood fantasy.
Or maybe it was time to open up the garden to more flowers, other than a rose and an ice queen.
I slip out my phone and send Ledger a message about The Reef tonight. Thirsty Thursday sounds like the best way to start this new leaf.
6
Window of Sorrow
Thorn
The theater crowd includes me in their discussion, and we all eat lunch together. If they think I’m weird, no one tells me anything, but it all feels awkward. I never
have more than two sentences to say, and nothing witty floats in my mind—at least not anything I have the guts to say aloud. I’m an outsider on the inside, which sounds weird in my head but makes perfect sense in my heart. I finally fit in somewhere, but I don’t belong.
I’ve only ever belonged with Kai.
The reason why lies in a switch of a preposition.
I’ve only ever belonged to Kai.
No one has ever really claimed me, not my real parents, not any foster parent, not even a friend—only him. Even my adoptive parents were due to an obligation.
Kai snatched my heart the first time he snuck out of his house and scared the living crap out of me at the rose garden. He stole his mom’s cigarettes and was standing in the rose garden at the end of the backyard, trying to light one of them from the firepit. Of course, I saw the floating flame before the curses. It was pitch dark; he wore black like a thief. Even then, he was bulky from playing sports.
Every Wednesday night, I’d sneak out through the back door, and we’d sit together talking about life. For one night every week, I got to be somebody to someone who didn’t have to love me. I was never too skinny, or too weird, or too smart to be his friend. Then again, I was always too me to be anything more than that.
He kissed me, but we never got the chance to date.
I guess scarred and beautiful wasn’t his thing anymore, just ice queen fashionistas matter now.
My heart pangs at the sound of Kai’s voice in my head. The recollection so clear it feels as if he’s standing beside me in the rose garden, whispering his sweet words in my ear. How different they were than the hateful ones from this morning.
I sigh heavily as I rest my head against the sidewall of the theater, glaring at the props the group have been working on for a play this upcoming winter. The setting looks just like the poster from Jumping Joe’s, except for some scattered tools, a mirror, and the newly printed scripts that Corbin wrote.
We had come here to talk about the play, but it was a closed set. No outsiders allowed in. I should have left with everyone, and grabbed some dinner, but I prefer to avoid common areas until I figure out how to wade through the mess I caused this morning. Getting into his room if he hates me will be really hard, and I’m not skilled enough in boys to get Ledger to let me in.
