Patch Up

by Stephanie Witter

  “To spend time with you … over coffee.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I’ve got a class just after this one.”

  “Me too. What about tomorrow at five?”

  I don’t even know why, but I nod. It’s just a coffee after all, it’s not like I have to confess all my dirty little secrets to this guy, especially since I still don’t know his name.

  “By the way, my name is Duke Ashdown,” he says over his shoulder as he’s walking to Dr. Dills’ desk with the other TAs already waiting.

  Duke Ashdown. Interesting name and interesting mixed ethnicities. He looks back at me, giving me one dazzling smile that leaves me dumbstruck on my chair. I don’t like that. I don’t want to connect with anybody, and I don’t want him poking his perfect straight nose in my stuff. It would put me in a weak spot and I’m not ready for this. I can’t open up, and this guy is far too dangerous for a broken girl like me. I won’t meet him for coffee. My mind is set.

  * * *

  “How is Dad?” I ask my mom as I’m folding my clean clothes and putting them in my dresser. My cell phone is on speaker on my bed.

  Calling my parents is not easy. I love them and we have a great relationship, but over the last three years things have changed. I can’t talk to them like I used to and I don’t want them to be worried about me. So it’s all about being overly happy over the phone, which is the same as lying.

  “You know him. He’s delighted to show the new soldiers how to pilot. Sometimes I wonder if he’s an adult when I hear him talk about the planes.”

  I laugh and it’s a genuine one. My father is an instructor for the U.S. Air Force. He used to be a pilot, sent to war all over the world, but when I was around five, he decided to accept a position as an instructor and spend more time with his family. He’s known as a badass in his field and it’s always funny to see him at home, so obedient to my mother and a real teddy bear with me. He’s the antithesis of what people have in mind when they think about a military man.

  “It’s Dad.” I put my last sweater in the dresser and sit on my bed, my eyes wandering to the opposite side of the room where Kate’s side is decorated in different shades of red. I don’t need to ask her what her favorite color is.

  “You sound tired, honey. Is everything okay? Did you speak with Sean?”

  My hands clench my green comforter. Sean, my ex. She never asks anything about him. I take a deep breath in silence and try to relax the tense muscles in my back. “I saw him at a party last weekend, but I didn’t talk to him.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  What is it with everybody these days? Kate, this Duke guy, and now my mother. It’s infuriating. “Why? It’s over, it’s been months and I’m over him.”

  “So you met someone?” Is it me, or does she sound hopeful? I make a face and lie down on my bed.

  Is it that weird to focus on my classes and not look for a replacement for Sean? Furtively, Duke’s face comes to my mind, but I push it away quickly. It’s not like he sent me any vibes that I interest him—after all, he is gorgeous and I’m ... not. And I don’t care about him even if I know he’s probably waiting for me right now. Somehow, I feel uneasy standing up this guy who seems genuinely worried about me, but I don’t want to risk being confronted by his never ending questions and to face the possibility that he wants to lure me to sleep with him. Because, let’s face it, this guy must be a player with his good looks and his self-assurance.

  “No, I didn’t, Mom. I’m busy,” I sigh in reply, unable to hide my annoyance.

  “Honey, maybe you should go out more. You know, you can take a break from time to time. College is also about having fun,” she says softly, like she’s trying to tame a wild animal.

  My throat closes up. Does she feel that worried about me? Does she really see through my shield? I thought I did a great job over Christmas break when I was at home. I laughed even if I wasn’t in the mood, I talked with them—mostly about my classes—and tried to behave as I had in previous years.

  “Sorry if I’m not that into having my shoes puked on by people I don’t know,” I mumble darkly into the cell phone.

  “Oh, honey ...” she begins before she’s interrupted by several loud knocks at the door. “Is someone at your door?”

  Is it weird to hear your own mother more excited at the prospect you have a visitor than you are? Because right now, I think it’s a pain in the ass to have to stand up and leave the horizontal position that my bed offers. I groan.

  “Apparently. It must be for Kate.” Some guy that is smitten by my roommate but who she won’t give the time of day any longer. Poor guy. “Wait a second.” I stand up, take my phone in my hand, and open the door, a frown on my face.

  In front of me, with a mischievous grin plastered on his face, is my very own pain in the ass. Duke. I shake my head and close my eyes briefly. Great. “What are you doing here? How did you find my room?”

  “You sure know how to greet someone, Skye,” he says with a stifled laugh that annoys me even more.

  “Honey? What’s going on?” My mother’s voice comes from the phone still in my hand.

  Duke’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, he seems determined to wait for me to say something. I look from his face to my phone and back to his face before I realize that not only is my mother virtually a witness to this, but also several people who are ogling our way. Sometimes I wonder if they have a life outside of gossiping and parties. Go study people!

  “Nothing, Mom. It’s just ... a friend,” I say with fake enthusiasm that sounds so sugary that it makes him frown. Luckily my mother buys it, like always.

  “Oh, good! Have a nice evening, honey. Dad will call you in a couple of days.”

  “Okay, Mom. Bye, and say hi to Dad for me.” I hang up before she adds anything more. It tugs at my heart to hear how happy she is to know that I have some kind of social life. I shouldn’t lie to my parents, but I don’t want to have to answer any questions, or to see my father going ballistic if he knew what really happened with Sean. Moreover, my parents like his parents. It would be a huge mess.

  I glare at Duke, but I soften when I see the coffees in his hands. Thoughtful and cute are the words that come to my mind, but my body’s reaction is something else entirely. The stiffness in my muscles screams danger. I swallow with difficulty and Duke’s dark eyes miss nothing.

  “I knew you wouldn’t come for coffee, so I’ve brought the coffee to you.” He holds one mug up and tries a sweet smile to ease my nerves. It’s not working. The only thing that would help me is if he left now.

  “You can’t come inside.”

  “Why? Because your roommate is here?”

  “Because she’s not here,” I reply, ready to close the door, but he’s faster than me. He puts one heavy black boot in the doorway and holds his ground. I sigh and try to ignore the fear overwhelming me as the last streak of control escapes me. I’m at his mercy. I’m helpless. My breath staggers.

  “It’s just a coffee, Skye. I want to talk a little with you. Let’s say, ten minutes. Just give me ten minutes and we can even keep the door open.” He holds up one coffee for me and I take it; my brain is in overdrive, or maybe it’s shutting down.

  Sometimes, most of the time, I become a spectator of what’s happening around me when it becomes too much. With Sean, I was often just an empty shell, waiting for these things to pass, waiting for things to settle down before I recovered and ignored what happened … and what will happen again.

  With the coffee in my hand, I go back to my bed and sit down. My back is straight, my hands clasped tightly around the mug, and my eyes are resolutely focused on the ground even if I don’t really see it. I’m just waiting for this moment to pass, waiting to have some control back.

  “Wow, Skye.” He kneels in front of me, ready to put one of his huge, strong hands on my knees. I recoil suddenly before I catch myself. Someone normal doesn’t react like that at the mere possibility of an innocent touch. “Okay, I’m going to
sit on your friend’s bed.” He does just that, his eyes locked with mine. I have the sense I’m trapped and I don’t like it. I don’t want to ever feel like that again.

  “You should go,” I say, my voice wavering and barely above a whisper.

  He takes a sip of his coffee absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving my face. I don’t drink mine. I don’t even feel the mug between my hands. I feel nothing besides the hammering of my heart in my chest. I’m having difficulty breathing, and my forehead and neck are sweaty under my hair.

  “Can I say something before I go?” he asks me in a voice calmer than he must feel if I take into account his clenched fist and the shaking of his hand holding the mug of coffee. I just nod, not sure I’m able to mutter a word through the lump in my throat. “I’m not the enemy. I’m not the kind of guy who would try to hurt you more when I know you’re already hurting, but I’m someone willing to hear you and understand you. I want to be able to help.”

  “I don’t need any help,” I snap, finally able to leave this weird state of catatonic fear. I prefer to be angry. It’s far easier to deal with everything and to appear normal. “I don’t want to see you or talk to you again.”

  “You can act all you want around your parents, who want to believe that their daughter is happy, but I’m not a member of your family or even a friend that finds it easier to think that you’re happy. I’m someone who was crushed enough that his family wasn’t even sure if their son and brother would ever see his twenty-first birthday. I’m a guy that knows what it’s like to feel out of control from everything, from your moods to your own personality. I’m the guy who knows how you can hurt so much that your insides feel like they’re cut and bleeding. To suffer so much it’s like you’re dying, and yet you don’t want the pain to vanish because that’s the only thing, with fear, you can still sense.”

  It’s impossible to look away from his face. His dark eyes are lost in his own thoughts, his mouth is set in a straight line, and his frown accentuates the intensity in his face. It’s amazing to see someone able to let lose his emotions and to just open up to someone he barely knows. I can’t even do that with my parents who I care deeply for, so with someone I know pretty much nothing about, it’s just impossible. It doesn’t mean that I’m not moved by this tall and intimidating guy, and that I’m not crazy curious. Curiosity is new for me. These past months, and maybe years, I never once felt some tiny teeny bit of curiosity toward someone else.

  “What happened to you?” I ask in a quiet voice, aware of the high-pitched voices of girls outside of my room and of the deep laughter of guys messing around in the room next door.

  His attention snaps back to the present, to me. His gaze is not soft like usual, it’s not distant either, like he puts walls all around himself to protect him like I do. His eyes are almost angry, the kind of angry you feel toward the whole world, the kind that comes from desperation. My heart beats louder, my eyes tingle a little. I’m not indifferent.

  “It’s in the past. I just wanted to show you that I’m not just a nosy Psychology TA.”

  I shake my head and smile ruefully. “And you want me to confide in you when you dodge the first question I ask you?”

  A small smile tugs at his well-defined lips, but it doesn’t exactly reach his eyes. “I see your point, but I’m not here to talk about myself.”

  “I don’t want to talk about myself either.” I cross my arms over my chest, dead set on saying nothing. Somewhere, deep inside me, a part of me wants to just get everything out because it hurts to have all this bottled up. However, ignoring this is the only thing I’m sure will help me to always go forward and not just crumble to the ground with tears falling from my eyes without an end looming over. I can’t dwell on the past.

  “Then what if we become friends and see if one day you want to talk about the thing gnawing you from the inside?” he says, putting his empty mug on Kate’s bedside table, his eyes barely leaving mine.

  “I’m not looking for a friend, Duke.” Saying his name aloud for the first time feels weird. It’s like one of my walls is already down, leaving me a little more vulnerable ... I’m not vulnerable.

  “What if I want to be your friend?”

  “Good luck with that.”

  He chuckles and runs a hand through his wavy black hair. Then, the same hand falls to his neck, playing with the silver necklace with the infinity symbol. My eyes follow the movement. His knuckles turn white around the necklace. He’s not as sure of himself as he wants me to believe, and somehow it eases my nerves slightly. I don’t feel as much pressure all of a sudden.

  “I can understand you don’t want to talk about what happened to you, but I don’t see why you’re refusing a new friendship.” He releases the hold of his necklace and entwines his fingers, placing his forearms on his knees.

  “I don’t need you as a friend, always lurking and trying to lure me to spill all of my secrets,” I retort, a headache taking residence fast.

  It’s quite comical when you think about it. This good-looking guy, more certainly brilliant, is in my room almost begging to be my friend. I know some people who’ve had to deal with painful things tend to think that they have to or need to save other depressed people, but I’m not someone needing to be saved. I’m fine. I function.

  “What if I promise you that I won’t try to make you talk about your problems, but only about normal stuff?”

  His probing eyes and little smirk tell everything. He’s got me here. I’m so dead set to tell him that I’m fine, that I shouldn’t drive away an opportunity for an easy friendship if that’s true. Someone who’s fine and who is not having some difficulties to just be around other people should be ready to start a new friendship.

  I don’t want to be close to Duke, I don’t want to feel his intense and all too seeing eyes on me, but if the glimpse of him is accurate, he’s not the kind of man to walk away at the first no. He’s the kind to try again and again until he gets what he wants.

  My fear is plaguing me. I didn’t know it would be so hard to just open up for a simple friendship and yet, here I am, struggling to just accept him in my boring life. My eyes water ever so slightly. I blink several times and nod once.

  “If you insist.”

  He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes this time, making them sparkle with a life tinted by dark shadows. He may be a better actor than I am, but one broken person can always recognize another one.

  A sound by the door breaks our staring contest. We both look up to see a flushed Kate, whose nose is cutely red from the cold outside. Even freezing this girl is beautiful.

  My roommate stops in the entryway, her green eyes travelling to and from me and Duke. I don’t like the amused smile on her face, like she implies something that will never happen for several reasons. I shake my head vehemently and stand up suddenly, making me almost dizzy.

  Both Duke and Kate look at me like I’ve got another head sprouting on my body. Not only are my emotions almost choking me to death, when I’ve had a tight hold on them for so long, but now I’m also making an ass of myself.

  “Duke was about to leave,” I say, my voice steadier than I’m really feeling. My stomach is doing flips in my belly and it’s not a good feeling. Not at all.

  “I was?” he asks in a disbelieving voice, and if I’m not mistaken I can also hear a hint of amusement.

  “You were indeed. I’ll see you in Dr. Dills’ class.” I move my hand in the direction of the door. The little room is too crowded; we don’t have enough space in here. My breathing accelerates, and I’m pretty sure my face is losing all of its color.

  His dark eyes take a good look at me and he nods. Nothing escapes him. It’s annoying! “I’ll see you tomorrow, Skye. Have a good evening, ladies.” He glances quickly at Kate to acknowledge her and leaves the room in two steps with his long, lean legs.

  I fall back on my bed, my breathing instantly slowing down to its normal rhythm. Kate sits next to me, her curvy hips touching my thin th
igh. A chill runs down my back, and I clear my throat to divert her attention from the reaction of my body.

  “Wasn’t he the guy from the party the other night?” Kate asks me in a soothing voice, like she’s trying to not break me or something. When I remember my outburst the other day—when I broke the lamp—I think maybe she’s more afraid of other potential violent outbursts. A hole appears in my belly.

  “Yes, he’s a TA in my Psychology class,” I mumble, my eyes on the bare wall. It’s sad to see how my side of the room is so bare, so impersonal. It’s even worse when you take a look at Kate’s side and how much it shows her personality. Well, maybe that’s the thing. I don’t have a personality because mine was ripped from me. Or maybe I never had one to begin with.