by Anna B. Doe
Her side of the room is a mess with clothes, shoes, and books scattered on every available surface. I’m not even sure where she’ll put all that stuff in this tiny room, but whatever. It’s her problem, not mine.
She’s dressed casually in a tank top and a pair of cut-off jean shorts that show off her mile-long legs.
Smooth and undamaged.
I swallow the lump that formed in my throat as I wait for her to say something. The silence in the room feels almost deafening. It isn’t actually quiet. We can still hear music and chatter from other people on our floor, thanks to ultra-thin walls separating the rooms, but the complete contrast between the two is what really intensifies it.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs finally, still concentrating on her work. “It’s not like I was any more welcoming.”
Great, she doesn’t even want to look at me now. Brilliant first impression, Callie. Just brilliant.
Absentmindedly, I rub against the side of my leg, the dull ache I usually feel hurts like a bitch today. Between several hours on a long flight, a bus ride to get here and dragging my suitcase around, I can see a very painful, sleepless night in front of me.
“Well, I started it.” Are we really fighting over who’s to blame? Sighing, I sit down, offering an explanation. “When I applied here, they assured me I can have a single. I was surprised. Still, that is no reason for me to be a bitch to you, and for that I’m sorry.”
She lets the shirt she’s been folding fall back down into the suitcase before she turns to face me.
“Sorry to cramp your style,” she says, but when she realizes it sounds snotty, she shakes her head. “Let’s start over?” she suggests. Moving closer, my roommate extends her hand. Red nail polish shines on the tips of her fingers. “I’m Yasmin, by the way.”
“Callie,” I say, pushing to my feet to shake her hand.
You see? You can do this.
Yasmin smiles, it’s small, but it’s something. “But it really is my fault, you know.”
“What?” Now I’m confused. Didn’t we just agree to move on?
“You getting stuck with a roommate.” She goes back to her bed, plopping down between all the clothes. “I’m a late transfer to BWU.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my brows. “We make a pair, don’t we?”
A part of me wants to ask more questions. Like why she transferred here late and where from, but I keep my mouth shut. If I ask her anything, I’ll give her the right to do the same and I’m not in the mood to spill my secrets.
Not now, not ever.
“I guess we do.”
Another silence falls over us. It’s awkward and filled with the tension of two people who don’t know each other but can’t really escape the situation they got stuck in.
“I guess I should…” I start at the same time Yasmin tips her chin in my direction. More precisely, the direction of my face. “That the reason you didn’t want a roommate?”
My mouth falls open in surprise. I wasn’t used to people blatantly asking me about my scars. Oh, don’t get me wrong. They talk about it behind my back when they think I won’t hear it. They point their fingers at me like I’m some kind of weirdo or circus freak or something, but nobody outright confronted me about what happened to me. They either know, or are afraid to ask.
“Because you don’t have to worry, I don’t care about your scars.”
Without thought, my fingers go to the side of my face. The tips tracing over the damaged skin that slices through my eyebrow and slides down my cheek until it reaches the jawline. And that’s just the surface damage that’s out in the open for everybody to see. More scars mar my body, but they’re hidden from curious eyes.
Although it’s been three years, the skin is still reddish, and there is no hiding the damage. Not that I would want to.
They’re a reminder and a penance.
And you deserve every second of it, the little voice reminds me. Because it’s your fault.
Not like I could ever forget.
“Callie?” Yasmine calls, perplexed. Her questioning tone indicating this isn’t the first time she’s called my name.
Shaking my head, I push the memories that try to come to the surface at bay.
“It’s a part of the reason,” I give in.
If we were going to survive this next year living together, she’ll find out eventually anyway. There is only so long you can keep secrets, eventually, one way or another, they find their way out in the open.
“What’s the other part?”
Irritated with the twenty questions, and not in the mood to answer them, I shoot back: “What’s the reason for your late transfer?”
Something flashes on her face, but it’s gone in a second. Yasmin nods once, her lips pressed in a tight line and then she turns around to get back to unpacking.
Message received.
After a few deep breaths, I do the same. We work on unpacking in quiet. The tension between us is palpable. There isn’t even music to act as a sort of a buffer between us, filling the quiet room. Just the sound of zippers opening, boxes being dragged here and there, an occasional thump when something falls on the floor.
The guilt is back, but I push it away. After all, it’s better this way.
I didn’t come to make friends. I’m not even sure I’m capable of it. I just want to get through these next few years, get my degree and be done with it.
But when I catch Yasmin’s eyes looking at me wearily, I can’t help myself but add. “The scars you can see aren’t even the ugliest part of me.”
Better she knows what she’s getting into before it’s too late.
Chapter Three
CALLIE
“Get up,” Yasmin declares as soon as she enters the room. The door closes behind her, suppressing—if only slightly—the excited noises of a bunch of freshman girls coming from the hallway.
The last three years I rarely left the house and I was used to peace and quiet. Here, the chatter is constant. There is either a door banging somewhere, or you can hear footsteps at all times of day and night out in the hallway. But I guess I should consider myself lucky if I don’t hear other types of in-the-dead-of-the-night-noises. It’s unnerving really, knowing there is a whole bunch of people out there that I don’t even know but share a space with.
“What’s up?” I look at her over the rim of my sketchpad, not even attempting to move.
Being around Yasmin has been… interesting. We both try. It’s painfully obvious that neither of us is happy with the situation, for completely different reasons, but we have a silent agreement to make it work somehow. This, however, doesn’t make us friends. Not even close.
“Get up,” she repeats, this time louder. “We’re going out.”
Looking at her closely, I notice that her curly hair is loose, falling down her back and she’s wearing a dress I don’t remember seeing her change into. She probably did it when I left to get something to eat because when I came back, she was gone.
“Ummm, no we’re not.” I give her a pointed look. She turned from a sweet girl next door into a hot chick ready to party it up with the best of them. I have to admit, she does look hot. “You, apparently, are. Which is great. Have fun.”
I wiggle my fingers at her, returning my attention to the sketchpad in my lap. A silhouette of a dancer mocking me from the page. Turning the page more forcefully than I probably should, my hand starts moving on its own, coal sliding over the blank sheet of paper.
“Try again.”
“There is nothing to try. I’m not here to party.”
“Not here to party. Not here to make friends.” She ends each statement with a finger lifted in the air. “What are you even doing here then?”
Slowly, I lift my eyes to glare at her.
“You’re annoying me.”
“And you’re acting like a bitch.” Yasmin crosses her arms over her chest. One perfectly shaped brow rises on her forehead, daring me to contradict her. Not that there is actual
ly anything to contradict to begin with. She’s right. I am acting like a bitch. Again. But apparently she’s not one to let it just slide.
“And you’re pushing. I think we established that if you push, I’m going to push right back.”
But instead of being fazed by my threat, she grins. She actually grins. “You can always try.” There is something taunting in that little curve of her lip. “Now, get your ass off the bed because you’re going too, and I’m not below making you do it.”
She goes to her side of the room, grabbing some lipstick out of the bag on her desk and starts applying it to her full lips.
I assess her, trying to figure out if she could actually do it. She’s bigger than me, but not by that much. Even if she’d try, I’d give her a run for her money.
Before I can say anything, she continues. “I don’t think I’ve seen you get out of this room except to meet with your advisor and go to eat. You didn’t go to any orientation week activities or freshman mixers, although I can’t blame you for the last one, it was kind of boring, but you will go with me to this party.”
“I don’t party, Yasmin,” I remind her, hoping she’ll give it up already.
And the big fat L for loser goes to… Yup, that would be me. Not that I mind, this kind of life was my choice to begin with.
She gives me a determined glare that tells me all I need to know—she’s not giving up on this anytime soon. A trace of her Latina temper is brewing just under the surface and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it blow up in my face. “Today you do.”
“No, I don’t.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m here to get my degree and go on with my life, not to go out and drink my weight in cheap beer.”
“Well, now, let’s not exaggerate. If you’re going to drink your weight in something, it should definitely be something better than beer. It’s just one night, what do you have to lose?”
Nothing. That one word comes to my mind instantly, but I don’t say it out loud. Because Yasmin being her annoying self will probably see the truth and start asking questions I don’t want to answer.
I have absolutely nothing to lose.
Not anymore.
Taking my non-answer as an agreement, Yasmin comes to me, her hands wrapping around my wrists and pulling me up. The sketchpad that was in my lap, falls on the bed next to me. “Live a little. Tomorrow you can go back to your moody self.”
A humorless chuckle escapes me at her choice of words. I did live, that was the problem, only Yasmin doesn’t know it.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“You can’t sulk, closed off in the tower all the time, Rapunzel. So get up and let’s get this party going. If you don’t like it, you can always leave. But for all that’s holy, get. Out.”
Pursing my lips, I cross my arms over my chest. “Where’s this party anyway?”
Yasmin tries to play it cool, but I see a victorious grin spread over her lips. “Moore’s. One of the guys I met at the mixer said it’s the hangout place here on campus. He also said we should come.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came to the freshman mixer just for that reason. Spread the news about the party and bring in some fresh blood.
“This really isn’t my scene, Yasmin,” I try once again, but she’s not listening. At all.
“It’ll be fun. I promise.”
Isn’t that how disasters usually start?
Moore’s isn’t what I expected it to be. Although I’m not sure what I expected to begin with. It’s not like I’ve been to a lot of college bars, or bars in general, in my life.
On the outside, the place looks average. Not something I’d peg as a bar, but then again, it’s within a walking distance from the college campus. The only requirement they have to fulfill is to have cheap drinks and half-decent food and the crowd will roll in.
The inside, however, is a completely different story. It looks like an old Irish pub with dark wood interior, a long bar with different alcohol bottles hanging above it. A few booths are squeezed across from the bar, while the rest of the space is filled in matching high top tables and chairs.
And just like the guys who invited Yasmin said, this is clearly a local student hangout because the place is already packed when we squeeze through the door inside a little after nine in the evening.
“Let’s grab drinks!” Chloe—our next-door neighbor that Yasmin befriended sometime this week—yells over her shoulder, and without waiting for a response, turns around and starts pushing toward the bar. Her dark chestnut locks with one rebellious pink strand that matches her tight dress bounce off her shoulders with every determined step she takes.
Yasmin hurries after Chloe so we don’t lose her in the crowd because apparently when it comes to drinking, the girl is on a mission.
To say I was surprised when I saw Chloe and her roommate Karen waiting for us in the hallway would be an understatement. If I knew they were coming, there would be no way Yasmin would have gotten me out of that room. I guess she knew it too, because she didn’t say anything until we were already in the hallway and she was introducing me to them.
After my life fell apart, I pushed everybody around me away—well, those who even bothered staying. I can tell you the exact date when I last hung out with people my age—May first, also known as the day my life fell apart. I haven’t socialized with anybody in what seems like forever and to say I’m rusty, well… it wasn’t my intention to become a hermit, it just kind of happened, and it would probably stay that way if it wasn’t for Yasmin who kept on pushing me.
With Yasmin’s fingers firmly wrapped around my wrist, I don’t have any other option but to follow behind them. I’m not sure if it’s so she doesn’t lose me in the crowd or maybe she’s scared I’ll make a run for it the first chance I get. Not that I can blame her. The thought might have crossed my mind once—or ten times—but who’s counting?
“Are we sure about this?” I ask, looking around the crowded room. Although the music is blasting, you can hear the chatter all around us. Friends are probably catching up after the summer and enjoying the last moments of freedom before the classes start and real life kicks in.
Loud cheering spreads through the room, making me jump in surprise, but then I see a group of guys in the corner, their eyes plastered on the screen as the recap of the play rolls on the screen.
It’s just a game, Callie, I shake my head. Chill.
I’m not sure if Yasmin heard my question or she felt my body stiffening, but she turned around, giving me a curious stare. “It’ll be fun,” she mouths her earlier words, but they do nothing to calm my nerves.
“Here,” this comes from Chloe as she pushes two shot glasses in our hands as soon as we get to the bar.
I cautiously look at the glass and then back at her. “I didn’t order anything.”
“I know.” She winks playfully. “It’s from the guys over there.”
Surprised, I look up, following the direction in which she tilted her head only to find Karen chatting with a group of guys. They’re all tall and good-looking, probably athletes or maybe frat boys? They do have a preppy look to them.
What? Just because I’m a hermit, doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.
Karen leans in, her boobs brushing against the bicep of the closest guy as she looks at him through her overly done lashes and laughs at whatever he said.
While I liked Chloe from the get-go, her roommate is a completely different story. She reminds me too much of the person I used to be. The person I’m trying my best not to become all over again. Karen gave me one long, judging glance—trust me, I’d know since I practically invented the look back in the day—not bothering even to introduce herself before she deemed me unworthy, and demanded that we go so we aren’t late.
How can you be late to the bar?
I wanted to ask her, just to get a rise out of her, but I managed to stay quiet.
See? Progress.
&nb
sp; Chloe gave me an apologetic look like it’s somehow her fault that her roomie is a bitch. I wanted to tell her it’s just karma getting back at me, but then I would have to explain what I meant by it and the last thing I wanted was to tell anybody about the girl I used to be. Talk about a way to make a first impression.
Nibbling at my lip, I let my eyes scan the crowd around the bar, but my head jerks back when my gaze clashes with a pair of light eyes. Blue or maybe gray? I’m not sure. An easy smile plays on his lips but is soon replaced by surprise and then disgust when the details of my face get into focus.
Figures.
They’re all interested in a pretty girl until they see the ugliness hidden inside. Only mine is plastered all over my face.
Tilting my head so that loosely tucked strands of my hair fall to cover the damaged side of my face, I look back at the glass in my hand.
Clear liquid calls to me.
I avoided alcohol after the accident like a plague. I couldn’t trust I wouldn’t become too dependent on it. The pain was too much and it would have been so easy to get lost for a while, to dull the pain and forget.
Only I couldn’t forget. I didn’t want to. Forgetting my pain would mean I’d forget them and I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t deserve it.
Not at all.
So instead I relived it. Over and over again. Not giving myself the right to get lost in the oblivion.
But standing right here, right now… one night can’t hurt, right?
Yasmin elbows me, drawing my attention. She carefully connects our glasses so that the liquid doesn’t spill over the rim.
“To new friendships.”
“To an awesome year,” Chloe chimes in.
To getting lost, if only for one night, I want to say but don’t. Instead, I clink my glass with theirs and murmur, “Bottoms up.”
Chapter Four
HAYDEN
When I finally get to Moore’s, the place is packed. People stop me every few steps, back slaps and handshakes are exchanged as we talk, mostly about the summer, training camp, and upcoming football season.
