Falling for Seven

by T. A Richards Neville

  The same could not be said for Marilyn, and I was left surprised when all she done was raise her eyebrow at me like she already knew what my problem was. I propped myself up on my elbows when Mia slid herself under her twin bed. She dusted herself off and slammed a bottle of Jack Daniels onto our desk. She unscrewed the cap and spun around, thrusting the bottle under my nose. “Drink this… now.”

  I sat up, drawing my legs towards me, criss-cross. I looked at Mia and she raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to take the bottle. I took it, and a mouthful of cool, burnished liquid scorched my throat. I handed it back to Mia and she took a swig like she partook in this shit for fun. It slid down her throat with ease, no crease of pain distorting her features. Maybe I had this girl all wrong. She passed it to Marilyn who took a deep swig.

  “I heard about the apartment,” she said, passing the bottle back to me. “Your dad has stooped to new lows. You could have told me yourself.” Marilyn wasn’t accusing me of anything, her tone was one only of support.

  “It was the way he did it,” I said, before sucking back another dink. “He was planning it all along. I can’t forgive him this time.”

  “No, of course you can’t,” Marilyn said, her voice getting louder. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

  “I feel like he coaxed me out here and then left her for the lions.”

  “Is your dad a prick?” Mia asked with her infamous lack of emotion.

  “Yep,” Marilyn and I said at the same time, looking at each other.

  We all took turns guzzling the Jack until I thought I might vomit if I consumed one more drop. “Now we’re going out,” Mia declared, already struggling to her feet. God knows how we were supposed to make it outside of these four walls. I stayed where I was: flat on my back on my bed.

  “We are?” I asked drunkenly, the Jack sending the ceiling in and out of focus.

  “Yes. We are,” said Marilyn, dragging her ass to a standing position.

  “Where?” The bizarreness of this scenario seemed less strange through the relaxing haze of alcohol. I didn’t think Mia went out. And definitely not drunk.

  “A bar or something.” Mia was only a few more drinks away from slurring her words. “You must know somewhere, you’re always out with those football players.”

  “You know a lot about me for someone who’s never actually spoken to me.”

  Marilyn held up her hand, hiccupping. “Guilty,” she said, unapologetically.

  Mia worked her feet into a pair of boots. “People talk. And people like me listen. And, you know, you brought him into our room.”

  “No,” I corrected her, “he brought himself here. There was no invite or asking, or bringing of any sort.”

  Mia zipped up a pair of jeans and buttoned up a plain white shirt. You couldn’t see much of her face because her glasses were so big, but when she took them off her eyes sloped down like cute puppy dogs, her lashes long and black. There was a spattering of pale freckles across her nose and the top of her cheeks.

  “Wow, Mia,” I said, relying on my compromised vision here, “You’re really pretty.”

  She flat out ignored my compliment. “Are you ready to go?” she asked, turning to me. Her dark hair was in a thick ponytail, halfway loose down her back with strands escaping left, right and center. She looked more drunk than she probably was. She looked a little erratic.

  Marilyn shook out her long, high-lighted hair and slapped on some lip-gloss. She didn’t need to change, she somehow always seemed to be dressed for a party. And tonight was no exception, her ass cheeks legally covered by about a centimeter, and a cute strappy-top seamless enough to show all intended she was stepping out sans bra.

  I sat up, eliciting a sudden head rush. “I just want to make you both aware that I have no intentions of changing my clothes.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mia stuck her hand on her hip, ogling me like I was crazy. “If I wasn’t in my pj’s I wouldn’t have changed either.”

  We downed more whiskey before we left, and stumbled through the doors of Players like we had been out on an all-nighter. The dingy room was heaving with college bodies. Red lights beamed down over the counter of the bar and an NFL game was showing on the big screen. I gasped in a drunken, dramatic fashion at the song that was playing. It was too crowded to move freely but I grabbed both Mia and Marilyn’s hand and managed to find a space big enough for the three of us to attempt to dance to a song from Dirty Dancing.

  My two roommates might as well not have been there for all I cared. Dancing came natural to me. I needed to be able to dance to figure skate, it was all part of the package. I turned my back to them, slipping away with the beat of the music, my limbs moving free and loose. There were people closing in on me, but I’d make do with the scrap of room that I had, my hips gyrating to the rhythm.

  Big hands gripped my waist and my eyes flew open.

  Julian.

  My hips stilled and a scowl wrinkled my forehead, but Julian didn’t look any more pleased at seeing me. So why the fuck was he touching me?

  “I need to talk to you.” he said, loud enough so that I could hear and wouldn’t be forced to lip-read.

  “I hate you,” I responded over the music.

  A barely-there smirk enticed the corner of his mouth, but he was strong and refused to give into his amusement. “I don’t believe that.”

  “I don’t care.” Yep, I was shouting and I was damn well entitled. “I could not give a flying fuck what you believe.” I stabbed him in the chest for extra emphasis, the pull of his grin strengthening. “I could give,” I said, nowhere near finished my rant, “zero fucks about you.”

  Blinded by too much building rage, I did not see this next part coming.

  “Whoa, Angel’s got wings!”

  “Wha—”

  Too late.

  I was ripped off my feet and flung into the air while arms of steel spun me around until the whole bar was a sickening blur. I was dropped onto unsteady legs, landing smack-dab in Julian’s arms while they held me upright. And now he was laughing. Like really laughing, and so was Nicky. “You are such a dick,” I yelled, knocking Julian’s arms off me. I made room between me and Julian and gave Nicky the stink-eye for nearly flinging me to my death and making me look like an asshole in front of everyone. Oh, no one could move out of my way to let me pass by or to dance, but they fucking spread like the plague to see me airborne.

  Idiots.

  I squeezed my way across the bar, hunting down my drinking partners, putting space between me and the two musketeers. Mia and Marilyn were sitting in a booth with two guys who I was told were in the same dormitory as us. “How can you sit there and say you don’t like the Spice Girls?” Mia asked Marilyn, slamming a hand down on the table.

  “Uh, because I have ears… and they work.” Marilyn’s face read like she was being serious. Didn’t look much like she cared for the girl band.

  However, Mia remained unconvinced. “Everyone likes the Spice Girls. You are a closet fan, clearly.”

  “Nobody admits they like the Spice Girls,” I joined in, pulling off my jacket. “But most people listen to them, I guarantee you.”

  Mia shook her head with a venom that made me snicker. “Uh-huh, not me. I hate the Spice Girls. They are everything that is wrong with music. Really, every time I hear them it hit’s me right in the cringe. Kinda like Britney Spears. ”

  “She’s much more of a Slipknot kinda gal,” Marilyn informed me with not even a whisper of a smile.

  My eyebrows crinkled. “Then why are you defending them?”

  “I was raising awareness,” said Mia. One of the guys at the table groaned, folding his arms over his chest. I eased him a side glance. “You see,” Mia carried on, “Brady here was listening to—” She planted her elbows on the table, reaching her body across the wood to ask the question directly in his face. “—what was it, Brady?”

  He muttered something indecipherable under his breath.

  “What?” she sa
id, cupping a hand around her ear.

  “Two Become One,” he said louder, close to shouting.

  “That’s it.” Mia nodded her head with an air of satisfaction. “You see, I shouldn’t know this, because he was wearing earbuds. But he had them turned so loud, the whole floor could hear his dirty little secret.” Mia smiled and Marilyn’s face contorted with laughter. “We heard every word of that shit, and now the poor bastard can’t live it down.”

  “He’s got the album,” the guy sitting next to Brady threw in. His expression looked more like the information had fell out of his mouth rather than any intention to embarrass his friend any further.

  Brady turned sideways, glowering. “What the fuck, Kevin?”

  “Sorry, man. Don’t know why I said that.”

  “You guys want a drink?” I asked, when the piss-taking was finally over and Brady and Kevin left to sit with people a little less friendly-aggressive.

  “I didn’t pick up my fake ID,” Marilyn groaned. At least she had one to forget.

  “Me either,” huffed Mia.

  “Soda’s all round, then.” I grabbed my purse and shifted through the stifling bar, squashed on every side, surprised a bar could get so crowded on a Monday. After a tedious wait, I finally found a space up-front where I could actually get served this side of tonight.

  “What do you want?” An all too familiar voice slid down my ear. I dipped my head into the hollow of my neck, trying to eliminate the resonating shiver from his breath that was too close.

  I didn’t bother to look at Julian, and replied with a severe harshness, “I have no ID, and I think I got three cokes covered. Thanks, though.”

  His reply was irritatingly calm. “I can get served, what do you want?”

  “I’m fine,” I reiterated. I wanted nothing more than for him to piss off. “Really, I’m fine.” I looked up at him, far from surprised to see his growing grin at my expense. “You can go back to your royal court now,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “I’m not being like anything.”

  He nodded once, thoughtfulness masking his former grin. “Holds grudges.”

  I squinted at him. It was from my drunkenness as well as the confusion. “What?”

  “You hold a grudge. Mental note for our assignment.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He motioned something to the barman and then ran his finger along the line of my bottom lip, his eyes joining in the lazy trail. “Maybe one day, Angel.” And then he disappeared into the crowd, but not before sliding three bottles of Coors Light in front of me.

  I had to fight the urge to look behind me to see where he’d gone.

  Marilyn sidled up against my side, her eyes fixed over her shoulder towards the exit. “Trouble just walked out the door,” she said with a discreet look on her face that said she thought she knew more than what she was willing to say.

  Yes he did, I silently agreed.

  9: Angel

  I DONE UP THE BUTTON on my jean shorts and stretched a khaki sweater over my head that hung about two sizes too big, threatening to swallow up the hem on my shorts. A tumble of curls hung over my shoulders and to my elbow. I took a few minutes to swipe on some lip-gloss and a lick of mascara. None of my shoes were suitable, so I slid my feet into a pair of Nikes.

  Mia looked up when I came out of the bathroom, but before I could speak she had already glued her eyes to the screen of her laptop, her fingers aggressively tapping on the keys.

  Things were like they always were. Our night out together hadn’t resulted in a long term friendship, but it was no skin off my nose. She had my back deep down. She was there when I needed someone and I wasn’t the type of person to forget that so easily.

  Outside, the air was warm and the sky burnished. It wasn’t quite dark, it was that elusive time of day when orange meets purple and the skyline turns a blushing pink. I didn’t need a jacket to walk to Kit’s, my overly-large sweater doubled as both. The door was open, people scattered on the lawn and the street. Kit was inside, shouting into her cell, her other hand blocking her ear from the noise. She did a double take when she saw me, a bright smile replacing her brief frown. She probably thought I wouldn’t show tonight. It felt too generous labelling Kit and I as friends, but we were getting pretty close.

  A wolf whistle pierced my ear and Nicky breezed past, standing in front of me. A joint was held to his lips and I honestly doubted I would be able to recognize him if he ever lost that thing.

  “Let me guess.” His strangled words came out in a cloud of smoke that he blew narrowly into my face, and looked down at my sweater. I swatted away at the creamy cloud hanging mid-air. “You’re here drowning your sorrows after the military let you go… because… your shorts reach your ass?”

  I wasn’t rising to the bait, not tonight. The regret and shame of kissing him in this very house would haunt me for the rest of my life. I would stay for a while because kit profusely invited me, and I really was starting to like her more and more. But then I was outta here.

  I had it all planned out. I would get a little drunk here to prepare myself, and then Jordan would come pick me up. It was all kinds of fucked-up that I was prepping myself with vodka before seeing him, but my nerves were too weak to hold up on their own. I could feel my anxiety all the way in the ends of my fingers, it was that strong. There might as well have been a bomb ticking down to detonation in my stomach. The pulses of negativity were strengthening and I had no idea why. But I did know that tonight felt different.

  Something was different.

  I promptly masked my change of mood and left Nicky standing in a haze of his own dope fumes. In the kitchen Kit bundled my curls into her hands. “You changed your hair,” she said, marveling at my wild tresses. After practicing with Calvin for three solid hours, I was in no mood or state to waste energy taming my hair for the rest of the night.

  “Not really,” I said, already pouring vodka and diet-coke into a cup. “Just didn’t bother to comb it.”

  “I think it looks nice. Pity you didn’t dress up, though.” Kit frowned at what I was wearing. wtf was wrong with my clothes? Last I checked, this wasn’t the Ritz. “I was just starting to think we really were friends. Actually…” Kit tugged on my arm, reeling me in and whispered into my ear, “I’ve got a little something of my own I need to go and slip into. Jules will be here any minute and I’ve decided I’m sick off all this bullshit about not pinning down a player.”

  I leaned back, a stricken look on my face. I was surprised to hear her say that. I’m either surprised or I’m having a hard time understanding why she would want a relationship with someone like Julian who no matter what, I would imagine always found time to put himself and his needs first. Taj as the minor exception.

  “I’ve been friends with Julian since the first day we started university. I’m as close to him as any of those guys he hangs with, only he doesn’t sleep with them. But he sleeps with me and I think I deserve more than that. He wouldn’t keep coming back to me if he didn’t care about me, right?”

  Kit looked up at me with a hopeful yet urgent look in her eye. There wasn’t really an option for me to say no here. Yes was the only answer she was interested in, whether it was sincere or not.

  “I think you and Julian would be great together,” I said honestly.

  It wasn’t a lie. They would look amazing. A jock and his camera-ready cheerleader. I didn’t even know if Kit was a cheerleader but she was definitely team Julian. It was kinda sweet, actually. The whole world could hate him but he’d still have Kit. They would be beautiful side by side—they already were. Other than outside appearances, how well they would gel together as a couple was anyone’s guess. I knew neither one of them enough to make such personal assumptions.

  “I’m so nervous,” she said, helping herself to a mouthful of my drink. “Would you mind helping me change?”

  Kit flipped on the lights and we were in a bedroom decorated in
pastel-purple and white. There was a huge bed dominating the room and soft furnishings that were kit down to a T. her room was as chic as she was. That level of girlieness was never in me, as much as I’d wanted it to be. She opened up her wardrobe and took out a piece of silk on a hanger. I sat down on the edge of the bed as she shed her clothes. There wasn’t any other place to look than at her. No the wonder Julian always found his way into her bed; her body was phenomenal. Her boobs were full and round, her tiny waist tapering into curvy hips and long, smooth legs. She must be irresistible to the opposite sex, and no one was more hot-blooded than Julian, any fool could see that.

  Oblivious to my eye-drooling, Kit slipped herself into the pearlesque, silvery dress. The length skimmed just below her butt cheeks and the back was cut out, the material meeting at the very bottom of her spine in a V-shape. She turned around and my eyes almost popped out of my head. The front of the dress was pretty much identical to the back, the deep-V plunging to the crease of her stomach and the curve of each breast on full flaunt. She bit off two pieces of tape and secured them inside the dress to her skin. “Double sided,” she said. “Don’t want to pop out now.” She giggled.

  Too late, I thought. You already are. But, damn, you do it so well.

  “What did you want my help with?” I asked. She’d made herself look this good all on her own. I was starting to think I had been brought up here exclusively for the view.

  “Would you do my hair for me? Something like yours. A sexy little curl?”

  “I’m no good at this kind of thing. My hair falls like this on its own.”

  Kit sat down at her vanity and pulled open her drawer. “I have a curling iron.”