by Kata Čuić
“There is nothing wrong with getting physical,” he scoffs. Trying to play the horny card. Only now do I see it for the ruse it is.
“No,” I admit. “There’s nothing wrong with it as long as that’s what both parties want. If the Phi Kappas had given you a willing woman to warm your bed tonight, I’m sure there wouldn’t have been a fight.”
“Just so we’re clear,” he mutters, his eyes closing again. “I might not be a monster, but I’m not a saint, either.”
“I never said you were either.” I stroke his battered ego.
Without his eyes boring into me, my confidence surges once more. The pads of my fingers itch to explore territory that’s always been off-limits. I ghost my fingertips over his eyelids, mapping the never-before-felt contours of the darkest regions of his face. I trace the border of where perfect skin and imperfection collide. It’s a stark contrast, but Jason allowing my exploration shocks me far more than his appearance.
“It’s called a port wine stain,” he says, his voice sounding robotic. “Caused by a freak genetic mutation. The blood vessels in my skin are assholes, basically. And since it’s around my eyes, I’ll probably go blind at some point. I’m lucky that way, I guess.”
“I know,” I murmur, lost in my new discovery.
He blinks sleepy, unguarded brown eyes at me. “You know?”
I hum my agreement as I smooth my hand across his forehead. “When you showed up junior year, I’d never seen anything like it. I learned a lot about various genetic mutations after reading all there was to know about neveus flammeus. It was like opening Pandora’s box. I couldn’t get enough. I knew you probably didn’t have Sturge-Weber syndrome or Klippel–Trénaunay syndrome. You obviously don’t have impaired cognitive function or bony tissue malformation. I could understand why you were so closed off and seemed angry all the time, but I wanted to know more.”
“You could have asked me.”
“I’m sure that would have gone well.” I imagined that scenario many times. Most of the different ways I formulated to start a conversation with high-school Jason resulted in me being ground to a pulp, both literally and figuratively.
I never once considered he might have been open to being approached and eager to answer my questions. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be understood and accepted. He seemed perfectly content to stay aloof, an outlier on the edges of society. Always watching, but never engaging.
He’s certainly engaging now. More than I ever dreamed. A lopsided smirk cracks the otherwise peacefulness of his face. “My mom says I have very handsome bone structure, actually. Definitely no malformations there.”
I can see it. A strong jaw, straight nose, full lips. No protruding caveman brow bone, otherwise perfect tan skin. When his eyes are open, they’re a dark, intriguing shade of brown. His thick hair slides through my fingers with ease. In another life, Jason and Kieran could be brothers.
“With bone structure like yours, I don’t understand why you drag me to the gym every Saturday. You don’t need to get ripped to attract the ladies.”
He yawns, then rolls onto his side, effectively nuzzling my stomach with his face. Part of me wants to tease him about his unusual affections, but that would likely mean the end of his sharing, and I’m not ready to be done yet.
A soft snore signals the end of my desire. Jason’s out cold. With his arm wrapped around my waist and his face in my crotch, I’m trapped. As exhausted as I was when I left the party, I’m wide awake now. I get as comfortable as I can, then resume sifting through his soft hair. The sensation lulls me into a twilight state. Instead of succumbing to sleep, I let myself drift in dreams I abandoned years ago.
Truth: Trust is like a vase… once it’s broken, you can fix it, but the vase will never be the same again.
The house buzzes with activity as we wait for Hayleigh to call the meeting to order. Everywhere I turn, excitement shines in my sisters’ eyes. Gossip about last weekend’s party has been the talk of every tongue on campus. Tonight’s no exception. There’s a shift in the air at Wellbridge University, especially among the Greek community.
Nothing more exciting than an underage drinking raid has happened at a party in ages, and no one knows what to make of it. We attend a small but wealthy college, nestled in the mountains of New Hampshire. There’s no crime, no chaos, and nothing out of the ordinary. It’s always been this way, as far as I know.
“Look at them,” Rosie sneers. “They don’t even know what happened or who was involved. They’re like sharks smelling chum in the water, working themselves into a frenzy, not caring they’re swimming straight into a cage.”
I tear my gaze away from a group of sophomores near us to stare at my friend. “Isn’t it a good thing they don’t know who he is? I’m grateful the Phi Kappas are keeping their mouths shut, even if it’s only to save face.”
She pats my cheek. “Aww. Poor, naïve, little Emma. They’re not staying quiet to save face. Phi Kappa could ruin Jason with a snap of their spoiled little fingers. They’re simply waiting for the best time to retaliate.”
I slap Rosie’s cheek a little harder than she did mine. “Aww. Poor, pessimistic, little Rosie. They’re not going to say anything. If they do, Jason could rat them out for attempted rape and possession of illegal drugs.”
“What proof does he have? It’s his word against theirs. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave actual evidence in the house. And no one is going to believe a single person over a unified fraternity with forty brothers all telling the same story.”
Crap. She makes a valid point.
“Jason can’t play hooky from class forever. His professors bought his sick excuse this week, but he can’t hide in his apartment until the Phi Kappas decide to make their move.” I rub my forehead in frustration.
He’s been laying low, only sneaking out of our apartment building to go to work in the early hours of the morning. I wasn’t a fan of him stepping foot outside, but he assured me no frat brother was going to give up sleep to exact their revenge. When that wasn’t enough to convince me, he reminded me no one knows he’s the head baker at The Beanery because “his ugly mug” isn’t out front. He makes magic happen in the back where no one can see him.
Before the night of the fight, I would’ve brushed off his self-deprecation as typical Jason. Now, I can’t help but look at everything he says, the way he moves, even what creeps into his silence in a new light. Of course, it makes sense Jason doesn’t want to interact with the general public in a customer service position. The reasons why aren’t exactly rocket science. I never appreciated before how much landing that job was a coup for him, though. He’s doing something he honestly enjoys while still protecting himself. His lack of complaints about the odd hours make so much more sense.
Rosie’s expression turns a little sad. “How’s he handling it? Staying aloof by choice is one thing but being forced into exile is a whole other matter.”
Her question surprises me. “Haven’t you talked to him?”
“He’s not answering my texts or calls. I think he’s mad at me for blackmailing him into going to the party. If it wasn’t for my interference, none of this would have happened.”
That explains why she hasn’t jumped all over me for waking up in his bed, alone, the morning after the fight. With no memory of how I’d gotten there and only the ghost of Jason’s cologne by morning’s light, I didn’t know what to make of any of it, so I haven’t breathed a word to Rosie. I’ve been racking my brain for a suitable explanation. Did I stumble my way in there when he left for work? Did he put me in his bed to leave me to sleep? He definitely didn’t drag me to the gym that morning, but he also never said a word about the previous night.
Apparently, I’m not the only one he isn’t speaking to about the events of last weekend.
Still, Rosie shouldn’t shoulder the blame alone. I pushed, too.
“He seems okay with it. I think he misses going to the gym the most.”
“M
akes sense,” Rosie hums in agreement. “He needs more of an outlet for his aggression than ever, and he can’t have it.”
That statement causes my inner toddler to throw herself down on my mental playground, kicking and screaming. Clearly, Jason has given Rosie very different excuses for his gym addiction than he gave me. Has he asked her to tell him what he’s good for, too?
“What we need is a distraction. Something to take everyone’s minds off the fight.” Rosie taps her finger to her lips, seeming deep in thought. “Unfortunately, Wellbridge isn’t all that exciting.”
“Which is exactly why this isn’t dying down quickly,” I agree, eager for an escape from my selfish thoughts. “I like the idea of a distraction, but you forgot one important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You told me the Phi Kappas are waiting for the perfect time to strike back. A distraction might get the rest of campus onto another hot topic, but it will also be a good smokescreen for any potential retaliation to fly under the radar.”
“Shit. You’re right. It would have to be something really big to make them forget their revenge.” She closes her eyes and chews on her lip, something she’s never done before in all the years I’ve known her. Rosie always seems so self-assured. Her hesitance now only exacerbates my worry over this whole crazy situation.
If she’s ruining her perfect lipstick before our weekly meeting, this thing runs way deeper than I thought.
Rosie’s eyes pop open, fixed with a sort of steely determination usually only reserved for finals week. “This is my fault, so I have to fix it. If I do something tonight, do you promise not to think any differently of me?”
“You’re scaring me.” Rosie doesn’t need validation the way Jason does. Especially not from me. If anything, she took me under her wing when I was still coming out of my cocoon freshman year.
She grabs my shoulders in a death grip. “Promise me. I can’t do this without your support. You’re one of the only true friends I have and one of the very few people I trust.”
All the misgivings I’ve had recently about her secret relationship with Jason fall away with the sincerity in her eyes. “I promise.”
Our private meeting ends with the slap of Hayleigh’s gavel against the table situated in the front of the room. The ferocity of her assault doesn’t escape my notice. “This meeting of the Sigma Sigma Theta, Xi Chapter is officially called to order.”
The chatter dies down instantly, all the sisters aware of Hayleigh’s unusual acidic tone. Where before she exuded calm, cool, and collected in the face of anything, her demeanor today is decidedly frazzled. Her eyes dart around the room, almost daring anyone to even breathe now that she’s in control of the action.
“In light of the events last weekend at the Wellbridge Fall Opener party, we’ll begin with a proclamation from our Vice President of Member Education about proper conduct at all campus social gatherings.”
The longer the address goes on, the more anxious I get. Catch phrases like “SST sisters do not condone nor engage in acts of violence, not even as witnesses; we will sever ties with any fraternity or sorority which does not uphold the high standards of Greek life on campus; our goal at all times must be to not only strive for but be living examples of tradition, honor, and excellence” frustrate me to no end. Blanket statements about conduct are being made while skirting around the real meat of the issue.
For as much as everyone’s been talking about last week’s fight, no one seems to want to speak of it openly. It’s like there’s some taboo surrounding last weekend’s events to the point of criminal suspicion. Whispering about it? That’s okay. Having an actual discussion about how our sorority could make a difference for good in situations like this? Forget it.
I can’t help but wonder if the fight had included anyone other than Jason if the reaction would be the same. It’s much easier to speak of someone who’s a living, breathing social stigma than to discuss the atrocity that happened to another human. He isn’t a person to them. Just the evil villain who ruined the first party of the year.
As the Panhellenic delegate of Sigma House, it’s my job to convey our stance to the rest of the Sororities on campus at the next meeting, so I make a note to ask for copies of all the official statements, even as I seethe about the way this is being brushed under the rug without any real leadership.
Rosie’s uncharacteristic behavior only makes matters worse. She never once takes her laser focus off the proceedings she usually has a running snarky commentary about.
All that changes when Hayleigh clears her throat. “Do we have any new business to discuss?”
Rosie draws a deep breath, rolls her shoulders and lifts her chin, then raises her hand in the air. And for once waits to be recognized.
My senses go on red-alert. I have no way of knowing what’s about to come out of her mouth in an effort to distract our sorority from the bigger picture, much less how it will send ripples through the campus enough to take the Phi Kappas’ eyes off the prize. Without that knowledge, the only thing I can do to prepare for the fallout is…wait like everyone else.
There’s a moment of charged electricity in the air as Hayleigh and Rosie stare each other down. I can’t shake the sense Hayleigh knows what Rosie’s about to do. The rest of the sisterhood picks up on it, too, as the tension goes on a beat too long for propriety.
Finally, our VP of Finance clears her throat and recognizes Rosie, causing a gasp of shock to go up from the sisters over the breach of conduct. “Please state your business.”
I swear a split-second of satisfaction passes across Rosie’s face. She definitely raises her eyebrows in a knowing way toward Hayleigh. “Thank you, Priya. I also want to take a moment to thank you all for your sisterly love and support over the past three years. My time at Wellbridge has been filled with fun, laughter, and friendship, thanks to my being a member of Sigma House.”
Murmurs of appreciation and similar sentiments pass through the gathering, especially from Rosie’s little and grand-little, who beam ear-to-ear as the rest of the sisterhood beholds their big in all her radiant glory.
“In the spirit of sisterhood and true, life-long friendship, I have an announcement to make that I wouldn’t dream of sharing with anyone else first. I’ve given this a lot of thought; spent many nights of careful introspection on my path to discovery and growth, not just as a sister of Sigma Sigma Theta, but a woman in the pursuit of tradition, honor, and excellence.”
A quick glance around the room reveals every set of eyes trained on my gorgeous friend, their mouths hanging open and practically dripping with saliva. Her intentional dramatic pause receives due attention. Even from Hayleigh, though her expression looks far more apprehensive than awe-inspired.
Rosie casts me a furtive glance, with almost an air of apology, before re-training her gaze solely on our president. “I’m a lesbian.”
That’s it. That’s all she says before calmly reclaiming her seat at my side.
A split second of silence precedes a flurry of pandemonium. While my pulse rushes in my ears, I watch as the woman I thought was my friend delivers an evil smile toward the front of the room.
“You said you would support me, no matter what.”
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” Downing another shot of Goldschläger doesn’t ease the pressure in my chest. It’s the first time we’ve spoken to each other in two rounds of drinks. I blink at the bar in front of me, still trying to process all these new suspicions piling up in my brain. I know I’m being a selfish bitch, but I can’t ignore my gut.
“You promised, Emma,” Rosie whispers, tears choking her voice.
“And you said I was one of the few people you trust,” I throw back.
Her knee knocks against my thigh as she turns to face me though I can’t look at her. “You are!”
“Why did I have to find out along with the entire sisterhood? If I’m one of your closest friends, someone you trust so damn much, then why have you been keeping
secrets from me all along?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that’s what bothers me about this. All these secrets are what have me on the edge of completely losing my shit.
First, Kieran’s dead girlfriend, who I’ll never replace in his heart.
Then, Rosie and Jason’s secret friendship and texting about my sham of a relationship behind my back.
Jason’s worldview and finding out he really does feel things beneath his seemingly impenetrable armor.
And now this.
I can’t take anymore.
“That’s what’s bothering you?” Rosie throws her arms around my shoulders, but I’m stiff as a board. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was losing another friend.”
“Another friend? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” How many people already know about Rosie’s sexual preferences?
The answer punches me in the face. Oh my God. “Jason knows, doesn’t he? You already told him.”
Rosie pulls back, sniffling and suddenly unwilling to make eye contact. “Yeah. He knows.”
“How long?” I manage to grit out as I grind my molars into dust.
“Huh?”
“How long has Jason known?”
She swipes her forearm across her nose in an uncharacteristic display of grossness. “Um, he’s known all along.”
I replay her words in my head several times, trying to decipher their meaning. “You mean, he has impeccable gaydar and figured it out for himself right off the bat?”
In hindsight, there are obvious signs that had been staring me in the face all along. I can’t deny it. She’s never been on more than a casual date with a member of the opposite sex. At first, I assumed she takes relationships seriously and isn’t into stringing guys she has no spark with along. I’ve never seen her kiss a guy. After a few years, I realized she never even flirted. Either didn’t seem to care or notice when a hot frat boy obviously wanted her. I’ve had my suspicions, but that’s not the kind of thing you want to assume about someone unless you have more than anecdotal evidence.