Luck of Love

by Aleman, Tiffany

  Calling 9-1-1, she told me everything that happened. How she was waiting for me, like she said she would. How she had only been there ten minutes tops, when two guys from the soccer team, came up and started talking to her. How they were having a normal conversation, until one of them, out of nowhere, punched her in the face. She said she could feel them carrying her down a flight of stairs, and how they were taking her behind the bleachers when she came to. Curling up on my lap, she cried on my shoulder as she relived the horrific rape she went through. She said every time that she tried to fight back, they would only hit her again.

  Her body shuddered against mine when she was finished. My bare chest was soaked in her shed tears. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around her body holding her to me. I told her that I wasn’t going to let anyone ever hurt her again, at least on my watch. Anger, rage, and loathing raced through my veins, as we waited for the EMS to arrive. I could hear the sirens in the distance growing louder and louder by the minute.

  After the paramedics and police arrived, I called Jamie’s parents’, and told them they needed to get to the school. They wanted to know what happened, but I declined to say anything, seeing how it wasn’t my place. Jamie and I both gave our statements to the police just as her parents’ car came speeding into the school parking lot screeching to a halt. I will never forget the look on her mom’s face as she opened the passenger door. Anger, sorrow, and fear maimed her beautiful features, but the biggest emotion of all that splayed across her face was helplessness. I knew what that emotion looked like, because it was exactly how I felt, along with a tremendous amount of guilt. Guilt, for making Jamie wait on me. Guilt, for not being able to protect her. It was beginning to weigh me down. It was beginning to consume me, to suffocate me.

  That night, after I left the school and Jamie, I went home to wash the day away—to wash what happened to Jamie away. She wouldn’t tell me who exactly raped her, but I had a feeling I knew who they were. I left shortly after I got out of the shower, and got rip roaring drunk that night. At some point, I actually blacked out. The next day, I made a vow, that if I was able to prevent someone from being harmed the way Jamie was, I would, no matter what it cost me. The look of horror on Jamie’s face, when she saw me through the bleachers that day, still haunts me.

  That’s why I lost it on Ryan. Blake had that same look. That’s why I’m leaving now; I can’t handle seeing the scared look on Blake’s face.

  Pulling me out of my thoughts, I answer seeing Kyle’s name displayed on the caller ID.

  “Hey man. You out front?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “All right. I’m on my way.”

  Disconnecting the call, I push up off the stairs making my way to Kyle’s car. Climbing in, I shut the door just as he pulls into traffic. Buckling my seat belt, I look over to him with wary eyes, hoping he won’t probe too much, and say, “Thanks for picking me up man.”

  “It’s cool. I had just gotten to the party anyway. I haven’t even had a drink yet,” he says, pulling onto the interstate.

  “Where’s the party at?”

  “It’s on campus, at the Delta Sigma Phi house. You want to go?” he asks.

  Nodding, I answer, “Yeah, I was headed to that one later anyhow.”

  Reaching over to the knob on the radio, he hesitates, looking at me he asks, “Is everything all right?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it though. I just want to get fucked up,” I reply with a sigh.

  Pulling up on campus row, Kyle parks the car a block down from the Delta Sigma Phi house. Getting out, Kyle and I start our trek up to the house. Various parties are going on up and down the block. Different genres of music blare all around us. Girls stagger down the sidewalks giggling, while their boyfriends or random flings for the night, grip them around the elbows helping them walk. As we come up to the front of the house, people gather around on the front porch laughing obnoxiously, drinking whatever alcoholic concoction they came up with from their red solo cups.

  Pushing our way through the front door, loud music pierces my ears, and the smell of marijuana invades my senses. It’s so packed, that we have to fight our way through the crowd just to get to the kitchen. People crowd around the island, playing flip cup. They holler, cheering each other on, and talk shit back and forth to the opposing teams. A cut out in the wall, in front of the sink, gives me the view of people dancing…no wait, basically having sex in the middle of the living room. All the furniture has been pushed up against the walls, opening the floor up to people. Turning back around, I watch Kyle as he opens the fridge, pulling out a couple of beers and tossing me one. Catching it, I pop the tab and chug it back in one long pull. Deciding I need something stronger, I set the can down and reach for the bottle of Crown Royal. Clapping me on the shoulder, I hear Kyle say, as I pour my shot, “Damn dude, you weren’t joking about wanting to get fucked up.”

  Looking at him over the rim of my shot glass, I toss it back, not blinking, letting the smoothness of the liquid glide effortlessly down my throat. Pouring another one, I raise the glass to him asking, “Want one?” I don’t even wait for him to finish as I throw this one back with the same amount of ease as the first.

  His eyes widen for a brief moment, then he lets out a boisterous laugh and pumps his fist in the air. “Fuck Dean, I’ve never seen this side of you before. Hell yeah I want one!” he yells over the music. Taking the bottle from me, he pours us both a shot. We clink our glasses, and toss them back.

  Just as I start to feel the buzz, a gorgeous blue-eyed blond wraps her arm around mine. Looking up at me, she sticks out her chest and flutters her eyelashes. I know what she wants, but she won’t be getting it from me.

  “Hey Dean,” she purrs, running her manicured finger down the front of my shirt.

  “Do I know you?” I ask, confused that she knows me.

  Giggling, she says, “We have Art History together. I’m Kennedy.”

  I roll my eyes and inwardly cringe at the fact that she just giggled. I know it works for some, but not for me. “Well, Kennedy, it was nice to see you.” I try extracting my arm from her grasp, but she tightens her hold. Groaning, I roll my neck trying to relieve some of the tension and say, “Would you please let go? I’d like to get another drink.”

  “Look, here’s the deal. I came here tonight with some of my friends. I broke up with my boyfriend two months ago, and I haven’t been dealing with it very well. The first night I come out, who shows up at the same party that I happen to be attending? He does. Please, just play along,” she pleads quietly.

  “Okay. Fine, I’ll play along, but could you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, anything,” she says cheerfully.

  “Please don’t ever giggle again,” I say through a smile.

  “Okay,” she says, trying to contain her laugh.

  “Let’s get a drink,” I say, pulling out of her grasp, grabbing us each a beer.

  “Why are we drinking from the cans instead of the red cups?”

  “It’s a lot harder for someone to spike your drink when you drink from a can.”

  “Huh…I never thought of it like that before,” she says, cocking her head to the side studying the can. Taking a sip, she looks back up at me and adds, “Thanks by the way. You know, for the beer, and for watching out for me.”

  “You’re welcome,” I reply nodding. “You want to dance?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the living room.

  “Sure,” she says, smiling up at me.

  Clutching her hand around my elbow, we make our way through throngs of people finally reaching the living room. “Your Body” by Christina Aguilera booms through the speakers as Kennedy and I start dancing. Holding my beer above us, I grab her hips, pulling her body flush against mine. Grinding against her, she takes my hint and starts doing the same. Slowly, seductively, she shimmies down my front looking up at me through her lashes. One hand skims down my thigh, while the other holds her beer. Biting my l
ip, I can’t help but think how fucking sexy she is in that short blue dress and fuck-me-heels. I’m drunker than I thought! Flipping her hair to the side, she slowly glides up my front making sure her tits are flush against my body. I watch her tongue dart out, skimming her bottom lip. Just as her face reaches mine, I spin her around, so that her back is pressed tightly against my front, like a second skin, as I take control of the dancing.

  We drink and dance the rest of the night away. I can see a light layer of sweat built up along the back of her neck. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “Do you want to get some fresh air? It’s hot as hell in here.”

  Peeking at me over her shoulder, she stops dancing and nods. Lacing her fingers with mine, I lead her out the front door, into the cool air. The parties up and down the street are still going strong. Taking a deep breath, I take a long pull of my beer and look over at Kennedy fanning her face. “Woo! I’m hot. Thanks for suggesting that we come outside,” she says, looking at me sheepishly.

  “Well, dancing will do that to you. It doesn’t help that there’s a shit load of people in there too.”

  “You dance really well you know,” she says, looking at me through half lidded eyes.

  “You too,” I say, through a smile.

  Just as I’m about to speak, her lips crush mine, her hands cupping my face. I don’t hesitate or resist her advances. My tongue skims against her top lip seeking entrance, and I’m not denied. Just as her soft tongue flicks against mine, I lose it. I nip at her bottom lip, dragging it between my teeth, just before I plunge my tongue back in her mouth. There’s a hunger in our kiss. I grip her hips pulling her into me. Her hands slide from my face, to my neck, holding me to her. A low moan escapes her as I pull back panting, trying to see clearly through my drunken fog.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, kissing her way along my jaw.

  Clenching my eyes tightly shut, I groan, stepping away from her, “We can’t do this Kennedy.”

  “Yes we can. You want this. I want this. So, what’s the problem?”

  God, how I want this. Taking a deep breath, I answer, “We’re drunk, that’s the problem. I do want this, but not drunk. I’m not that guy.”

  “Oh, I see,” she whispers, crossing her arms over her chest looking down at the ground.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this when we’re both drunk. We don’t even know each other,” I say, lifting her chin to meet my gaze. “Why don’t you give me your number? That way, we can get to know each other.”

  “Okay,” she says with a grin.

  “All right, now let’s go and finish this party,” I say, smiling and pulling her back inside.

  Quickly unlocking the door and swinging it open I say, “Dean.” It comes out more of a statement than a question. I don’t even have to ask what’s wrong with him, I know. He’s drunk as fuck. Mixtures of emotions swell within me as he sways from side to side, stumbling into the apartment. With a tear stained face, his eyes are blood shot from crying and the alcohol.

  Slamming the door behind him and spinning around I say, “Where the fu—” My rant is cut short as I’m slammed to his chest.

  My arms hang loose at my sides as I try to figure out what has happened to him. With his face buried in my hair, his body shudders as silent tears tear through him. Pools of tears land on my shoulder, soaking my shirt. Wrapping my arms around his middle I quietly ask, “What happened? Why are you crying?”

  Clinging to me as if I’m about to disappear, he says in a raspy voice, thick with emotion, “Blake, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  Stroking his back in a calming manner I say, “What are you talking about?”

  “I couldn’t stop hitting him. When I finally looked over to you and saw you slam your head into his nose, I lost it,” he says in between hiccups.

  Not knowing what to say to this admission, I say the only thing I can, “Dean, I’m not mad at you. To be honest, I’ve never seen you that pissed off before. I was worried about you.”

  Finally, lifting his head from my shoulder, he looks at me with tears still flowing freely down his face. His body is no longer shuddering as he says, “When I saw your face last night, I didn’t know what to do, so I just stormed off. I know you’ve never seen that side of me before. I hated the look in your eyes.”

  “What look are you talking about?” I ask with my eyebrows dipped in and my head tilted with confusion.

  “The look of pure horror etched all over your face,” he says with disgust laced in his tone while his head hangs shaking.

  Placing my finger under his chin and tilting his head up, I force him to look at me. “Dean, I was terrified with everything that happened, but I was worried about you more than anything else. When Derrick and I looked, and you weren’t here; and then you didn’t answer my text or call me back, I didn’t know what to think. Derrick and I slept on the couch waiting for you to come home last night.”

  Flabbergasted by my account of last night’s events, he raises an eyebrow and says, “Derrick slept here?”

  “Yes he did. And no, we didn’t do anything. We fell asleep waiting for you, asshole.” Rolling my eyes I continue, “Besides, don’t try to turn this around on me. The next time you decide you want to stay out all night and get wasted, at least text me and let me know you’re okay.”

  Sighing, he pulls me into another hug, squeezing me tightly he whispers in my ear, “I promise I won’t ever do that again.”

  Chuckling, trying to lighten his melancholy, I push him back and say, “Now, go take a shower. You smell like a brewery.”

  Lifting his shirt up over his nose, he takes a whiff of himself and says as he drops his shirt back in place, “Yeah, you’re right I stink, after that I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay, well you do that and I’ll see you later then,” I say.

  “Wait a minute, what do you mean ‘you’ll see me later’?” He asks incredulously.

  “I’m going to meet Derrick for lunch in a little bit,” I reply shrugging my shoulders as a smile and blush spreads across my face.

  “What happened to baby steps, Blake?” He asks.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve met him a few times already, and after what happened last night with Ryan at the bar, something just changed between us,” I answer.

  “So, nothing happened between the two of you last night?” He asks dubiously.

  “Well, something did happen, but not what you’re thinking. He kissed me this morning, and I didn’t stop it,” I reply turning my head away from him and to the side sheepishly.

  “All right, well, on that note, I’m going to head for the shower,” he says gradually backing away, like hearing this news makes him uncomfortable.

  Listening for the sound of Dean’s door clicking shut, I rush to my room digging through my closest looking for the perfect outfit.

  I pick out a pair of dark denim skinny jeans, a cream-colored camisole and a light brown loose fitting cashmere sweater that hangs slightly off my right shoulder. Before walking out of my room, I walk over to my nightstand and check my phone for a text from Derrick. Damn. I forgot to turn it on before I heard Dean pounding on the door. Holding down the power button, my phone comes to life with a message from Derrick.

  Derrick: Hey beautiful, I should be done around twelve thirty this afternoon. I was thinking about meeting up at the Divine Café on the corner of Pier Street and Eighth Avenue; down on the boardwalk.

  Me: All right, meet you there. Does one o’clock sound okay?

  Tossing my phone onto my pillow, I head off for the shower.

  My head’s inclined back under the spray of the shower as the hot water beats down on me. I massage my scalp as I rinse out the suds from the shampoo and a smidgen of fear runs through me. I hope I know what I’m doing with Derrick. I have a feeling he’s going to be the one person who can help put me back together, or be the one person who might just crush what’s left of me. Stepping out of the shower and drying off, I wrap my hair in another
towel and go to my room to finish getting ready.

  Dressed and standing in front of my dresser mirror, I carefully apply what little make-up I do wear. With light strokes, I brush different shades of browns onto my eyelids helping bring the green out in my eyes. Using my black liquid eyeliner pen, I paint on a thin line and cover my already dark thick eyelashes with a small amount of mascara, making my eyes pop.

  Unwrapping the towel from around my hair, I grab my brush and work the tangles free. While brushing my hair, I walk over to my phone that lies on my pillow. Picking it up, I see there’s a message from Derrick.

  Derrick: One o’clock sounds great, see you then.

  Walking back over to my dresser, I section off my hair to speed up the blow-drying process. Plugging in my flat iron, letting it heat up, I know I’ll have to run it over my hair a few times to achieve the pin straight look I’m going for.

  Twenty minutes later, I dig through my closet finding a pair of dark brown leather boots that have a three-inch heel on them. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pull on my boots and reach over to my pillow, unplugging my phone. Walking out of my room and shutting the door, I walk down the hallway, through the living room, and stop by the front door, picking my purse up off the floor. I drape the strap of my purse over my shoulder, drop my phone inside and retrieve my keys.