Patch Up

by Stephanie Witter

  I clear my throat; it makes me uneasy to hear my roommate open up so much when I have divulged nothing at all about my own life. Somehow, it makes me feel like a fraud. “Don’t put all your hopes in me. I’m so not ready for a relationship.”

  She turns her head toward me and smiles softly with a little twinkle in her eyes that doesn’t bode well for me. “We’ll see!”

  I’m screwed if she’s determined to see me in a relationship. She’s going to push me into it and won’t leave me alone until I cave. But I’m not dumb; I know why I’m all flutters and shivers when I see Duke. I’m attracted to him because he’s a good looking guy who doesn’t take advantage of it. He’s also very sexy with his tattoos; something I never realized could be such a turn on. But it’s just physical. It’s not like I’m in love with him or secretly praying to have a relationship with him. Though, this attraction I feel for him is beyond foreign to me.

  Before Sean, I had never felt any sexual attraction, and since him … well, it’s the first time I’ve felt anything like it and I don’t know how to deal with it. The first thing that comes to mind is to ignore it. But is that a good idea? Not that I want to act on it, but maybe I should just talk with him to clear the air. I don’t really see myself going to him and saying, “You know what, Duke? I can barely take it when you touch me, but somehow I’m very sexually attracted by you.” I can just imagine the look on his face.

  * * *

  Duke’s room is so not how I pictured it. Not that I really imagined it, but I was unsure if it was such a good idea to come and study here when he asked me yesterday during coffee. However, now that I’m here, I’m glad. It feels normal to study with a friend in his dorm room. I open my mathematics textbook and begin to work on the assignment the teacher gave us yesterday. That man is a sadist when it comes to math.

  Unfortunately, I can’t focus on my work. I’m too distracted by Duke’s presence and the whisper of his pen over the paper as he’s working on his engineering class. I observe him in his own environment, in his little room. He’s sprawled on his unmade bed and he’s frowning and tugs frequently on his hair whenever something annoys him with his work. On the walls on his side, several posters of rock bands are glued and pictures of what I suppose are his family. He’s never in them, which probably means that he’s the one who took them. His desk is hidden under sheets of papers, his laptop, and what I think is a wrapper where a taco used to be. He is not at all an orderly person, and I’m a bit taken aback by this.

  “Are you sure your roommate is not going to come back?” I ask again, a little afraid to face some guy I don’t even know whose bed I am working on in his absence. Moreover, I don’t really want him imagining anything about Duke and me. It’d be awful. I’m already blushing just at the thought.

  He throws his pen on his bed and yawns. “I’m sure. He’s staying at his girlfriend’s place tonight. She lives downtown with her cousin who left for the weekend.”

  I nod and try again to work on my math problems, but I just can’t. Closing my textbook in anger, I throw it on the floor. It makes a loud noise that startles both of us. It’s so not like me to have such a tantrum, especially about school work.

  Duke’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing behind his hair that’s falling over his forehead. “Don’t tell me it’s annoying you to work on a Friday night,” he says with a smile that lets me know he’s teasing me.

  I sigh and shrug. It’s weird. We’re just back on speaking terms and this is the first time we’ve spent some time alone, and yet he’s already distracting me. Or maybe it’s the dance my heart has been having in my chest since he proposed we work in his room.

  “I’m not used to working with someone in the same room.” And that’s true. I roll up my sleeves and lean against the wall, my back screaming for release of the tension in my muscles.

  “What about Kate?”

  “It’s different. I live with her,” I say dismissively, waving my hand in the air.

  His eyes follow the movement and darken immediately. It’s amazing how his eyes, even though almost black, can darken and show the switch of his mood. I frown, taken aback by the sudden stiffness in his posture. I look down and see what caused this reaction; two dark purple bruises on my forearm, the same forearm I just put on display for him. I gulp and tug immediately on my sleeves. I can’t look up at him. Instead, I keep my eyes on the brown comforter where there’s a hole next my knee, a hole probably caused by a cigarette.

  I hear the bed protesting and then his footsteps. His legs, encased in old black jeans, appear in front of me, almost touching my own legs. “Don’t say a word, Duke,” I whisper slowly, barely able to stop the shaking of my body as the cold settles back in.

  “Look at me.” He puts a hand on my thigh and I jerk but look up, wryly smiling to apologize for my behavior.

  He’s not offended, he’s more sad than anything else. He’s not even angry. The heat from his hand is slowly warming my thigh, making it easier not to shake.

  “Can I sit next to you?” he asks me, his voice breaking slightly, just enough to let me know how shaken he really is to see the result of Sean’s assault. The pathetic thing is that it’s not even a surprising view for me. It’s almost normal, part of my life; even if I know this life is not really mine anymore.

  “Yes.”

  The bed dips with his weight. He leans against the wall with me, his shoulder brushing against mine, and his long leg presses against me, too. I don’t move even though my first instinct is to stand up and put some distance between us. My breathing is shallow but I manage to take some deep breaths and calm myself enough to ignore the loud beating of my heart, the heat along my leg where we touch, and the living contradiction that I want to both run away and lean against him even more.

  “Would you show me all your bruises if I asked you to?”

  I turn my head toward him like I see him for the first time. He smiles slightly at seeing my widened eyes.

  “Why?” I shake my head. “No, forget it. I can’t.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Now he’s playing the sympathy card. Sometimes I’d like to hit him with the heaviest textbook I own.

  “It’s not that, Duke,” I reply in a sigh. “I’d need to strip for you to see them all and I’m not sure me being in my underwear is such a good idea.”

  His Adam’s apple jumps in his throat. “There are so many?” His deep voice, usually so recognizable, is barely audible. Not realizing I’d need to strip to my underwear, he is stricken by the extent of my injuries.

  “They’re bruises. They’ll soon be gone,” I say evenly, trying to minimize the impact of all of this on him. Granted, it’s really only minor bruises, but I know what he’s picturing in his head and it makes me more self-conscious than I already was. I don’t want him to really see what a coward I am and continue to be. Knowing I’ve been beaten is one thing, seeing it is entirely something else and I’m not sure what he’d do after that. I don’t want to risk it.

  “Show me.”

  I scowl and put a little space between us. Doing so, I bump my elbow on the wall. I curse quietly, but it doesn’t change the stricken look on his face. “Are you serious?”

  He tugs on his hair again and shrugs. “Yes.” But it’s barely a whisper

  Mouth agape, I really look at him. I close my mouth and clear my throat. “You want to see me in my underwear?” My face is hot all of a sudden and seeing his eyes widen doesn’t help much.

  “No! I mean, yes. But no!” he stutters, his tanned complexion showing a red hue over his cheeks. He runs a hand over his goatee and chuckles nervously. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Skye. Don’t take it the wrong way.”

  That’s the thing, I don’t exactly know what the wrong way is. I’m about to answer him when I feel my cell phone vibrate in my pants pocket. Quickly, I fish it out and thank the caller for their timing. Duke is still blushing a little. I answer without checking the caller ID. Big mistake.

  “How’s my littl
e student?” my father’s voice booms through the phone and I barely have time to tighten my grip before it slips from my shaky fingers. It’s beyond weird to have my father on the phone when I’ve just been discussing stripping to my underwear with a guy in his room. For once, I’m pretty sure I’m living the real college experience.

  “I’m fine. And you, Dad?” I ask with a smile half embarrassed and half amused when Duke becomes pale.

  “It’s good over here and I’ve got great news!” Behind him I can hear my mother mumble something. Nostalgia hits me suddenly.

  Duke shakes his head and looks back at me, catching me gazing at him. He smiles at me but it doesn’t reach his eyes and it bothers me. Without a sound I ask him, “What?”

  "Nothing," he replies, but I don’t believe him. Something my father just said catches my attention.

  “You’re coming next weekend?” I ask in disbelief, astonished that my father is able to take some time off from his work and a little frightened at the thought of them here in Seattle.

  “We miss you, sweetheart,” my father answers ruefully. “We’d love to see your room and meet your roommate and friends.”

  I glance back at Duke and make a face. I’m not sure how well it would go for Duke and my father to meet. My father had a hard time to trust Sean, and as soon as Sean won my dad’s trust he began to beat me. Now that my father knows Sean’s dumped me, I’m pretty sure he’s going to hate every guy in my life, and Duke is the only one right now.

  “I don’t have that many friends you know. Just Kate and someone else,” I mumble, suddenly shy to talk in front of Duke. However, at the mention of someone else, he perks up a little and it almost makes me laugh.

  “And who is this someone else?” my father asks, suspicion pouring from his gentle voice.

  I grit my teeth, angry at myself for slipping like that. Now I can’t hope to distract him. He’s not military for nothing, when he’s focused on something, nothing will stop him. I sigh. “His name is Duke and he’s a TA in my Psychology class,” I answer fast, waiting for a reaction, but it’s not at all what I thought it would be.

  “Duke? A TA? You’ve got a new boyfriend?” At the word boyfriend, my mother’s squeal makes me cringe and I pull the phone away from my ear.

  “He’s not my boyfriend!” And just like that, Duke sells me out by laughing hysterically. I murder him with my glare, not seeing what is so funny. Not at all.

  “He’s with you?” Now my father is stern, not at all pleased at the idea, which I can understand. It’s a Friday night, it’s past ten p.m. and I’m alone with a guy. No father would like such information.

  “I’m with him, but he’s not my boyfriend. We were working, Dad. Not all students are out partying or doing who knows what!” I’m blushing furiously and craving a hole in which I could hide forever, avoiding Duke’s chuckle among other things.

  “But you’re alone in your room with him.”

  I sigh loudly in the phone and swat Duke’s shoulder. “I’m alone with him, but in his room. Not mine.” I don’t know why this detail is so important for me all of a sudden. I’m being ridiculous. I’m not a teenager anymore and I can do whatever I want after all.

  “We need to meet this boy, sweetheart,” my father says, not leaving me any room to say no.

  “Yeah, whatever you say, Dad.” Soon after this mortifying moment, I hang up and hide my head in my hands. “So, apparently you’re in for a meeting with my parents.”

  “God, it’s weird,” Duke says, his voice lighter than it was before this awful phone call. “They think we’re sleeping together, huh?”

  He fishes for his pack of cigarettes, takes one and lights it with dexterity, being careful to blow the smoke away from me.

  “My father is not very ... well, he’s going to be tough.”

  “He’s protective of his daughter, it’s a good thing.”

  “He’s also military.”

  He coughs and turns to me, something like fear in his eyes. Now it’s my turn to laugh. A big guy like him afraid of my father. Priceless.

  “I’m glad you think this is funny. You’re not the one who’s going to be threatened.” He grabs an overflowing ashtray from his roommate’s desk and flicks his cigarette over it. The ash falls easily. He puts the ashtray on his knee, careful to not let the ash and cigarette butts fall all over the bed.

  “He won’t do that, but he’s going to question you about me.” I shrug and take a deep breath. “He doesn’t know about Sean, so leave the reason for our friendship out of it.”

  “Imagine for one second, Skye, what he’d do to your asshole of an ex if he knew what he did to you.” He inhales the smoke deeply and exhales slowly, a small and pensive smile turning up those well-defined lips that I like to watch contracting around the cigarette each time he puts it in his mouth.

  “And you, imagine that my parents are friends with Sean’s. That they often have dinner together. Less often since the breakup, but they’re still good friends.”

  He abandons his finished cigarette in the ashtray and puts it back on the desk. “And? It’s not Sean’s parents’ fault if he’s a violent prick. That doesn’t mean you can’t tell your Mom or Dad.”

  If only. That’s the thing, really. I bring my legs in front of me and put my arms around them. “The problem is that it’s not Sean’s fault. Not entirely.”

  He stands up abruptly and begins to pace in front of me, his strong arms tapping a rhythm on his thighs he’s the only one to hear. “So now you’re finding excuses for him, for what he did to you? Fine.” The coldness in his voice takes me aback. I was expecting anger, disbelief, and maybe even sarcasm, but not so cold.

  I release my legs and begin to grab my papers where I have scribbled tons of equations over the last two hours. “It’s late,” I mutter as I grab my textbook from the ground and stand up, ready to throw everything in my bag and go back to my room in the building just next door.

  “No, wait,” he says, sounding more like himself. “I just can’t believe that you’re making excuses for him. I thought that you realized what a psycho this guy is.”

  “You’re a Psychology TA. You could at least use some of what you’ve been taught in class,” I reply with a little laugh that sounds way too weak to be convincing.

  He puts both hands on my shoulder but doesn’t squeeze, probably remembering that there are small bruises there, too. He grits his teeth and then sighs, calming down. “I’m not kidding. I don’t understand how you can make excuses for him.”

  I lick my lower lip and his dark eyes follow the tip of my tongue, making my stomach do cartwheels. A warning blaring in my head brings me back to earth and this unpleasant conversation. I’m not sure if we’ll ever be able to have a good time without talking about our problems.

  “Because his father hit him and his mother.” I take a step away from him, letting his arms fall against his body. “And you know like I do that often kids who were abused grow up to do the same thing once adults or teenagers. They reproduce what they know as their life, as their normal.”

  “It doesn’t mean that all abused kids grow up to be abusive, too, Skye. It’s a common pattern, but not a foregone conclusion or an excuse for Sean’s behavior,” he replies adamantly.

  However, he can’t understand what I witnessed. He never saw Sean with tears in his eyes after he saw his father beat his mother or after his father punched him in the stomach. He never saw that vulnerability disappear when he beat me more and more often. He can’t understand that it’s the memory of this vulnerability that made me suck it up and hope for the Sean I thought I knew back then.

  “I know, but it explains a part of it.”

  “Maybe, but tell me why he’s still after you? Why he hates to see you hanging out with another guy? It’s about having power over someone. Don’t let him have this power over you.”

  A tear falls on my cheek. Softly, despite his strong looking fingers, he brushes my cheek to dry my tear. His thumb traces a soothin
g circle on my skin before he pulls away. “How do I do that?” I ask, not caring that I sound desperate and lost because I am desperate and lost. He knows it and it’s useless to hide it right now.

  “By living, by not looking over your shoulder all the time to be sure he’s not there, by opening up like you’re doing with me. By just taking one step at a time.”

  “What if he comes back?” We both know it’s not a matter of if but of when. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stand up and continue in my life again because it’s too hard. It’s maybe harder now that I don’t even have a relationship with him, because now I don’t know why I’m still at the same place.

  “I’ll be there. You’ve got my number now and when you have to do laundry, I’ll go with you.”