by Kata Čuić
Rosie cackles so loudly I have to hold my phone away from my ear. “I’m pretty sure he walked away without a scratch, but a couple of the Phi Kappas are nursing some nasty black eyes. The guys are pissed. Jason came into their house and embarrassed them in front of half the campus. They won’t let this go unanswered, and you know it.”
Shit. I do know it. If there’s one code frat brothers live by, it’s that of saving face. “Okay. How long ago did this happen? Did you see which way he took off?”
“Maybe an hour ago. All hell broke loose, then they kicked everyone out of the house. I stuck around long enough to make sure they didn’t have Jason chained up in the basement or anything. I checked a couple places around campus I thought he might have gone to hide out but didn’t find him. And he’s not answering my texts. When I try to call, it goes straight to voicemail, so he probably has his phone off.”
“Did you already check his apartment?” I slip on the first pair of pants I find on my floor while holding my phone between my cheek and shoulder.
“No, that’s why I’m calling. You live in the same building, so you can get there quicker than I can.”
Right. That makes sense. I breathe a sigh of relief. While jealousy hasn’t necessarily been a factor in my feelings for Rosie and Jason’s secret friendship, the fact she so obviously cares about him and his well-being eases the vice that’s been wrapped around my chest since I first found out about their relationship.
I slide on my slippers and put the phone on speaker, so I can pull a t-shirt over my head. “How did this all happen? What do I need to know when I find him?”
Because I will find him. Even if it takes me all night.
Rosie sighs. “I left the poker game to check on you, but you were already gone. You obviously needed some space after Kieran’s dick move, so I didn’t follow you.”
A twinge of regret settles in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t think anyone cared. I was wrong.
“Anyway, by the time I made it back upstairs, the game was over. The guys were all gone. Next thing I know, everyone is screaming and rushing to the basement. That’s where I found Jason and two of the Phi Kappas going at it. Honest to God, Emma, I’ve never seen anything like it in all my life.” Awe laces her voice. “Jason was throwing punches left and right like some kind of MMA fighter. He had two guys—two—on top of him, but they could barely keep up with how fast he was dishing out the hits. It was like watching a stranger. He looked like Jason, but I dunno.” She blows out a breath. “He was someone else. Someone scary. I’ve heard of people flying into psychotic rages, but I’ve never seen it with my own eyes before.”
I pause at my front door, my hand around the knob. A healthy dose of fear lodges in my throat. “Maybe he needs some space, too. Time to work out his anger?”
“I don’t think so,” she whispers. “People were talking all around me while watching the action. Someone said it all started because the guys were giving him shit about his face. Apparently, one of the brothers offered to dose a girl at the party as a welcome gift.” Rosie’s loud swallow carries clearly over the line. “Just so he wouldn’t have to die a virgin.”
A piece of my heart cracks and breaks off, surely never to return. Jason’s appearance can seem gruesome until you get used to it. There’s no doubt about that. Still. Knowing people can treat other humans so callously is a much harder pill to swallow than someone’s scary looks.
And to think, I was butt-hurt tonight over being treated like a piece of meat.
My priorities in life just received a much-needed wake up call.
“I’ll text you when I find him.”
Truth: Friendship and love are impossible without a mutual vulnerability
The door swings open while I’m still knocking.
“You want some more?” Jason’s glassy eyes focus on me, then he stumbles back, lowering his fist. “Oh. Emma. It’s just you.”
A quick once over reveals no visible injuries to his person. The most noticeable things are his bloodshot eyes and half-lidded gaze. A whiff of his breath confirms my suspicions.
He’s wasted.
I’ve never been around Jason when he’s drunk before, and a part of me is afraid of what might happen. Rosie’s description of his behavior during the fight still has me on edge. He’s obviously expecting the guys to come after him.
He doesn’t say a word as I pull my phone from my pocket, shooting Rosie a quick text to let her know I found him.
With that promise fulfilled, I crowd him away from the door, locking it behind me in case any of the Phi Kappa brothers show up. Jason sways a bit on his feet but makes no move to bar my entrance into his sanctuary.
He’s lived here for almost two years, choosing to move out of campus housing as soon as he got steady employment and paychecks enough to cover his rent. In fact, when my plans to live at the Sigma house fell through over the summer, he’s the one who gave me the heads up on the empty apartment above him. He also put in a good word for me with the landlord. It’s not easy to get affordable off-campus housing in this small town. Apartments are either handed down from sibling to sibling, or you have to personally know the owners.
Jason stumbles his way over to the couch, flopping down without a word.
I glance around at his sparse furnishings.
True to his solitary nature, I haven’t spent much time here since he moved in. Guests aren’t generally welcome in Jason’s world as far as I know, but maybe Rosie frequents this place. It hasn’t changed much in two years. It’s not necessarily a typical bachelor pad, with mismatched furniture, empty beer bottles everywhere, and posters of nearly naked women all over the walls. It’s not exactly homey, either.
No TV, no plants, no throw blankets or pillows. Sterile white blinds cover the windows without any curtains to brighten up the portals to the outside world. The only books scattered around the room are college texts, necessary for maintaining a decent GPA, but nothing for escaping to an alternate reality on a cold, snowy night. The open floor plan reveals a gleaming kitchen, not a speck of dirt or stray crumb anywhere. A darkened doorway leads to the bedroom, its contents mostly hidden from plain sight with the exception of the outline of a bed.
Jason watches me with a surprisingly steady gaze even as he takes another swig from the bottle.
I squint my eyes from across the room. He’s drinking straight vodka.
Though I rationally understand he’s as human as the rest of us, and tonight must have been a low blow for him, Jason wears an armor of pride stitched together with self-deprecation. I watched him take hit after hit in high school from people who could never get past his appearance. People who used his misfortune to make themselves feel better about their own perceived imperfections. He was an easy target, and there was no possible way for him to defend himself.
As much as his functionally mute personality annoys me, I get it. He’s guarded for a reason. I can’t jump in and ask him to tell me how he’s feeling. He won’t respond to that. If anything, I’m no better than everyone else. I’ve let him skate by on as much as he’s willing to give me over the years, and that hasn’t been all that much.
Maybe that’s my problem. I only take what people are willing to give me instead of demanding more.
I sit beside him on the couch so our shoulders brush, then hold out my hand for the vodka. If he’s going to use alcohol to numb his pain, then I might as well join him. We can wallow together tonight, then do something about it tomorrow.
He passes it over. “You’re not gonna try to make me talk?”
“Do you want me to make you talk?” I hand back the bottle.
“You’re not gonna ask me what happened?”
“I got the gist from Rosie. What she saw of it, anyway.”
He casts me a disbelieving frown. “So, you’re what? Just gonna sit here and get drunk with me and not say a word? You hate silence.”
“Apparently, not as much as I thought.” I shrug and glance down at my tightly woven
fingers. The pressure isn’t enough to distract me from the shame burning in my chest. “You said I’ve been showing up at your door in the middle of the night randomly for the past two years. I guess we didn’t talk then, either. But, if you want to talk, I’m willing to listen.”
He nods, staring down at the bottle wedged between his legs. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have done it. I managed to keep my nose clean for three years, and in a heartbeat, threw it all away. I knew better than to go to that stupid party.”
A ball of unshed tears wedges in my throat. It’s my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed… Then again, it might have been Rosie’s blackmail that put him in that house tonight. “I’m sorry. I only wanted you to have fun.”
“It almost was.” He leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes on a sigh. “I should’ve known it was a set up.”
Even I thought it was strange the brothers invited Jason to play poker with them. One potential part of that nags me more than the rest. I might have been blind for years to my own circumstances, but I’d hate to have been ignorant of the rest. “Did Kieran play any part in that?”
Jason’s eyes pop open. He rolls his head to gaze at me with a curious expression. “He’s the one who invited me to play, but he wasn’t in the basement during the…well, after. I thought he went to find you. Weren’t you with him?”
“No.” I pry the bottle from Jason and take another swallow. He must think the only reason I’m here is out of habit. That idea stings worse than anything so far tonight. “I was asleep in my own bed when Rosie called.”
“Huh.” Jason’s eyes roam over my face, lazy, but searching. “Finally decided you were done with his bullshit?”
“Yeah. I’m just tired.” That seems to be a running theme for my life, lately.
It must be for Jason, too. He takes the vodka from my grasp and places it on the coffee table, then lays his head in my lap.
Surprise and a twinge of panic overtakes me to the point I hold my hands in the air, unsure where to place them. Jason just obliterated the unwritten rules of our friendship. Ones I was only vaguely sure existed.
“I’m tired, too,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m ugly. I get it. It’s something I had to come to terms with a long time ago. I can handle the stares, the whispers, people blatantly being assholes and saying shit to me.” His eyes flick open, pinning me with a gaze so piercing, it takes my breath away. “They thought I’d be excited to rape a woman tonight, Emma. Only monsters do things like that. Why does everyone assume I’m the villain just because of the way I look?”
I have known this man for five years. In all that time, not once have I ever heard him speak so freely about what his life is like. About what’s truly in his heart. He might be drunk, slurring his speech, and not even aware whom he’s confessing to, but I will remember this night for as long as I live.
It’s not often someone gives you a glimpse into their soul.
I tuck his accidental gift somewhere deep, promising to protect, cherish, and nurture what he’s entrusted to me without any begging necessary.
His red eyes water as his gaze pleads with me. Like a lost little boy asking for someone, anyone, to make it all better. I’ve never had the experience of being reached for in this way, so I don’t know how to respond. There’s nothing I can do to change the way things are, no matter how much I might want to.
With a tentative touch one would use when petting a cornered animal, I run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t think you’re a villain. A little crusty on the outside, sure, but I’ve always suspected you have a warm gooey center.”
“Are you…hungry?” He narrows his eyes at me.
Is this his inebriated way of trying to show hospitality? Or, does he want me to make him something to eat to absorb all the alcohol in his system? “No. Why? Are you?”
He shakes his head, either not noticing or not caring the movement causes me to inadvertently pull his hair. “No, but you just described a pastry.”
“I do love your Danishes, it’s true.”
He snorts, which seems much more normal for his character. “Glad to know I’m good for something.”
Shit. My intention wasn’t to demean his importance. “You’re good for lots of things. Baking is only one of them.”
His expression shutters and his tone turns sarcastic. “Name one other thing. One thing besides baking I’m good for.”
I’m in the hot seat and not just because the most intimate part of my body cradles his head. “You haven’t shown me much of who you really are, so I can’t give you anything other than what you’ve revealed to me tonight.”
His shoulders tense against my thighs, and he breaks eye contact. “Sure. Because life is one big poker game. I guess I’m good at playing my cards close to the vest, then.”
This self-pity is so unlike the man I know. And it occurs to me that maybe he’s shown me more than either of us ever realized. I resume running my fingers through his hair, trying to see the past with a different perspective. “I don’t think you’re closed off intentionally. I think you’ve learned how to protect yourself. But, you still reveal the man you really are.”
He blinks up at me, an obvious look of confusion on his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Years of footage plays on the reel in my mind. “Remember that time in senior year history? We were assigned a group project on how the internet has changed the dissemination of information, thereby altering the course of history. I was supposed to bring the spreadsheets and everyone’s scripts for the presentation, but I got our assigned days mixed up. Everyone freaked out and was so pissed at me, sure we were going to fail. You got up in front of the whole class, did the presentation yourself, and nailed it. We all got As, and no one even bothered to thank you for what you did.”
His gaze turns glassy as he stares up at me. “So…I’m good at absorbing and recalling useless information?”
“No.” I shake my head, indulging in fantasies I’ve never let myself think of before. Or, maybe it’s just the way I choose to see things instead of the reality of the situations. Either way, my daydreams might finally help someone other than myself. “You went to bat for me. You could have just kept quiet and not lifted a finger. Instead, even though being the center of attention makes you uncomfortable, you took the spotlight off my screw-up and helped everyone in the group. It didn’t even seem to offend you when they didn’t show any gratitude.” I offer him a small smile. “You’re good at being a friend.”
Jason returns my smile with a frown. “We weren’t friends in high school. I didn’t even know your name. You had to introduce yourself to me freshman year of college. I did the presentation because I didn’t want an F.”
He’s trying so hard to hang onto his rough exterior, but cracks are showing in his impenetrable façade. He won’t maintain eye contact, his body feels like a live wire, and I’m seconds away from laughing as I crash the gates.
“Okay. When I pushed myself on you freshman year, you could have told me to get lost. You didn’t have to indulge my suggestions for study sessions or exchange phone numbers with me or put up with me sitting with you for lunch and dinner in the dining hall.”
He finally aims a direct glare my way. “You said it yourself. I didn’t have a choice. What was I supposed to do? Let you fail, sit alone all the time, and get into trouble?”
“You could have left me to my own devices, yes.” I can’t help it. My grin grows wider.
Jason doesn’t seem to notice my triumph. He studies me as if he doesn’t see my lips practically splitting with overuse. “Why weren’t we friends in high school? You didn’t give me no choice back then.”
Something about his question resonates within, causing me to dig deep for the truth I’m not sure he wants to hear. To soften the blow, I cup his jaw in my hand, then brush my touch under his eye. The skin feels different. Rough yet swollen. “You were scary back then, Jason.”
His finger
s wrap around my wrist with just the barest hint of painful pressure. “I’m scary now.”
“Not as much.” I cock my head, letting my eyes settle on the parts of his face I usually avoid. “How can I be scared of the guy who got me a pretty sweet apartment when he found out I didn’t get accepted to live in the Sigma house? Or the guy who spent hours putting together my furniture for said apartment with only beer and pizza as payment? I’m not afraid of the man who not only turned down raping a woman for an easy lay but beat the shit out of the guys who suggested such an atrocity.”
“That doesn’t make me your friend,” he chokes out. “I’m just not the monster everyone sees.”
I bite my lip and nod. The vodka is hitting my veins now, obliterating all reason. My senses are calm yet heightened, my faculties firing on all cylinders with a renewed sense of discernment. “I know. I see you, Jason Gould. I should’ve seen sooner. I’m sorry.”
Never one for pity, he doesn’t acknowledge my apology. “What do you see?”
I empathize wholeheartedly with his need for validation. Maybe it’s been simmering under the surface all the time, and I’ve never been aware enough before to give it to him. “I see a good man. One who takes hits and keeps coming back for more. One who has enough pride to value himself but enough humility to admit his faults. I see a person who understands the human condition in ways most of us can only dream of but uses that knowledge for good instead of evil. I see a friend, someone I know I can count on through thick and thin. Someone who will never turn me away, no matter what time of night, and who cares enough about me to drag me to the gym once a week instead of letting me balloon into a whale.”
He laughs a little. “That’s kinda my fault. You should add enabler to your list. Or, maybe supplier. If I didn’t give you free baked goods, you probably wouldn’t stand in line for an hour and spend money to get them.”
“I also see someone who notices the little things that make people happy. Like coffee in the morning, an early lunch to beat the rush…the need for more than something physical.” Those last words stick in my throat. It’s so unfair I’ve used Jason to supply what Kieran denied.
