Something Real

by Jessica Roe

  It's a small place, probably a one bed though I won't be investigating, with a kitchen and living room crammed in to one. Two brown leather sofas face one another and to the side sits a huge television, computer games stacked haphazardly underneath. Low volume dance music is playing from somewhere, maybe somebody's iPod. About a dozen people have squashed themselves together¸ some on the sofas and the others between their legs on the stained, olive green carpet.

  “Reid!” a few of them chorus, holding up beer bottles to him in a salute.

  One guy, pasty and lanky and clearly strung out, jumps up from the middle of the sofa where he seems to be holding court to high five Reid. “Buddy, you're here! You haven't been to one of my shindigs in what, two years? Three?”

  “Try four, Gal.”

  “Exactly. What the fuck, man? Thought you weren't into this shit no more?”

  Reid glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

  I stare up at him in horror, my jaw dropping. If he wanted to freak me out then mission frakking accomplished.

  Gal looks me up and down, smiling in a pleased way that just icks me out. “And who's this juicy fruit?”

  For a moment I think Reid will say something, tell Gal not to look at me or speak about me like that, but he doesn't. “This is Jemma,” is all he says, raising his voice so the others can hear. “Jemma, everyone. Everyone, Jemma.”

  The others glance nosily over at me, taking me in with smirks on their faces. Suddenly I feel way, way out of place. Before we left I changed into a pair of black skinny jeans and an off the shoulder black and silver top (I learned the hard way not to wear a skirt on the bike) and though I don't actually look much different than the other few girls here, they have these looks on their faces like they just know I don't belong. Like they know I'm not a bad ass or a hardcore partier or whatever the frak it is they think they are.

  “Reid, baby,” calls a voice positively coated in seduction. A girl with gorgeous skin the color of toffee and enviable curves and come to bed eyes stands and beckons him over, flipping her waterfall of black hair over a shoulder in a way that even Dahlia could never pull off. “Come over here and have a shot with me. I got tequila.”

  “Sure, Fábia.”

  And then Reid just leaves me standing there like an epic noodle to go down his stupid shot with stupid Fábia. She smirks over her shoulder at me as they stand in the kitchen area, all I-got-the-man-whatcha-gonna-do-about-it-bitch?

  Nothing. I'm going to do nothing, because Fábia looks like she knows how to fight dirty and I don't want her to snap me in two like a little twig. I'm a big ole scaredy cat.

  Still, as I stand here pretending not to watch them while they laugh over a private joke and share a cigarette, I can't help but wonder if they've ever hooked up, and a fiery pit of jealousy threatens to swallow me whole. Are they going to hook up tonight?

  Why did he bring me here?

  “You want a drink, juicy Jemma?” Gal asks, far too close to my ear. I shake my head – no way am I letting my guard down here.

  He runs a hand through his stringy brown hair and shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He saunters away and squeezes himself back into the center of the sofa.

  “Too good to drink with us?” Fábia demands cattily as she and Reid rejoin the party. They sit down together on the floor with their backs to a coffee table stained with water marks, the bottle of tequila resting between Reid's legs. A smirk still jerks up one corner of Fábia's mouth, making her look sexy and mysterious and I hate her. I don't know her but I hate her. Petty? Maybe. Do I care? No.

  Normally I'd reply with something cutting and bitchy – I'm the queen of bitchy girls, after all – but there's more of them than there is of me and I'm not that stupid. “I just don't feel like drinking right now,” I reply instead, smiling politely.

  “Play nice, Fábia,” Reid chides playfully in a way that just makes her flutter her thick eyelashes in his direction. I glare fiercely at him.

  Most of Reid's friends seem to have forgotten about me, which would suit me just fine if I wasn't standing here feeling awkward. But then a blond guy, handsome and sweet looking with the muscular build of a jock, takes pity on me. He stands and smiles. It's a real smile, the only genuine one I've gotten since arriving here. “Hey, I'm Christen. Take my seat,” he offers, waving at the corner of the sofa he just vacated.

  “Thank you.” When I sit, my top slips down my shoulder. It only reveals a little more skin but the way Gal eyes me makes me feel dirty so I cover up, immediately feeling like a prude. I hear someone snort so I know I'm not the only one.

  Christen leaves me for the kitchen but returns a minute later holding a bottle out to me. “Water,” he explains, holding his own matching bottle. “I'm not drinking either. Gotta work in the morning.”

  I thank him again and take it, surreptitiously checking to make sure it's sealed. It is. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who would spike a girl, but looks can be deceiving – Blair has drummed that into my head enough to make it stick. I have to wonder why a guy as pleasant as Christen is even at a gross party (and I use the word party loosely) like this, but I don't dare ask. He looks like he belongs here about as much as I do, but he converses with the others like he's known them forever. After I've taken a drink he sits down by my feet and joins a conversation about cars with Gal and another dark haired guy.

  I'm mostly ignored for the next hour, but I'm glad. Christen turns to talk to me every now and then, though no one else does. I sit, wiping away drops of moisture from my water bottle with my thumb, trying not to notice Reid and Fábia's nonstop flirtation. He's already on his fourth shot of tequila and his third beer – not that I'm counting.

  “So Jemma,” the dark haired guy pipes up. There's a cold glint in his eyes when he looks my way, like he really, really doesn't like me. He's a handsome guy, but his coldness makes him look hard and unapproachable. He has three piercings in one eyebrow and an intricate tattoo of a snake curling all the way around his arm, from bicep to wrist. I remember Reid telling me about this particular tattoo – he did it himself and was super proud of it – so I know who I'm talking to. This guy is Walt, one of the guys who works at Digby's tattoo shop with Reid. “What do you do?”

  “I go to college.” My voice comes out hoarse from lack of use, so I clear my throat before continuing. “And I waitress at a bar.”

  “That so? Which bar?”

  “Kandy's. You know it?”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense. I can see you working there.”

  I frown. That didn't sound like a compliment. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “It's where all the snotty college kids go,” Fábia chimes in. I bristle, just about ready to get into serious catfight mode with this chick. I'm nearing the point where I don't even care if she could totally take me. “You know, the ones who are really up themselves? I can see how you'd fit in.”

  “You wouldn't say that if you met my sister,” I retort, though it really doesn't mean all that much since they don't know who she is and that she works with me. I wish Blair was here with me right now – she'd tell them exactly where they could stick their assumptions.

  “But we haven't met your sister,” Walt counters, cocking his head. “Have you met her sister, Reid? You haven't, have you? You haven't met anyone from Jemma's world.”

  Walt's animosity towards me becomes clear – he's simply protecting his friend. Reid must have been talking about me, and Walt doesn't like the sound of what he's had to say. I get that, I do, though he's still a jerk.

  “Enough, Walt,” Reid warns.

  We both ignore him, too busy staring daggers at one another. “Tonight is the first time I've met you guys,” I point out.

  “Yeah, but you met his mom.”

  Seriously, how much does Reid tell them about me?

  “She met your mom?” Gal laughs. “Dude, you getting all serious with this chick?”

  “Everyone just needs to
shut the hell up now.” Reid's voice is stony.

  “Yeah, weren't we talking about how Jemma's so up herself? Let's continue with that.” Where Walt's antagonistic attitude comes from protection, Fábia's clearly just comes from the fact that she's a raging bitch.

  “Whatever,” I retort, shaking my head.

  She sits up straighter, ready for a fight. “Got something to say, college kid?” she demands, like I was the one who started this.

  “Fábia, leave it alone.” Reid sounds weary now. Well screw him, he's the one who brought me here.

  “Yeah, let's all just chill the fuck out, dudes. And dudettes,” Gal adds cheerfully. “We're here to party, after all.” He reaches into his front shirt pocket and pulls out a tiny see-through baggie half filled with white powder.

  Dread fills my stomach. Weed is one thing, but cocaine? No way. I'm done with this sorry excuse for a party. If this is the life Reid wants for himself, fine. He can keep it.

  Trying to hide my disgust, I pick up my purse from the floor and stand, hoping to escape unnoticed but knowing it's pretty much impossible.

  “Going somewhere, college kid?” Fábia asks, looking far too pleased.

  “I'm not into this,” I say honestly, holding my hands up. “You guys do what you want, I'm just gonna go.”

  “It's just a little fun. Don't be such a party pooper.”

  I stop at the door and turn back, unable to help myself. “It's not though. Just a little fun, I mean. It can be dangerous. I'm not judging you, I'm just leaving.”

  Walt laughs out loud at me. “Looks like this one's a dud, Reid. Kitty don't wanna play.”

  “I said that's enough,” Reid snaps angrily. I don't chance a look at him. I'm not sure if he's pissed at me for embarrassing him or at his friends, but I'm not hanging around to find out.

  “Don't go, juicy Jemma,” Gal calls, shaking the baggie at me over his head. “It's harmless, I swear.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, harmless. I'm sure that's exactly what my sister's mom said before she overdosed and died.”

  I really do leave then, before anyone else can tell me why drugs are just so much fun. Assholes.

  It's dark out when I leave the apartment block, and I breathe in the cold, fresh air with relief. I hadn't realized how dizzy the constant, sweet smelling smoke had been making me. My relief doesn't last long, however, when I remember that I'm outside alone in an area that's not exactly safe. It's not a busy street, but two guys are sitting on the hood of a car twenty feet away and they're watching me through narrowed eyes. I swallow nervously and duck my head, turning to speed walk away.

  I barely get five steps before I hear him.

  “Jemma! For fuck's sake, Jemma! Where in the hell do you think you're going?” Reid's large hand takes a hold of my upper arm and he swings me around.

  “WHAT?” I snarl.

  “Are you crazy? Do you know how dangerous it is out here at night on your own? Jesus, Jem! You're tiny, how're you going to protect yourself if someone comes after you?”

  Cold Reid is gone, replaced by the guy I know so well. The one so full of emotion. “So now you care?”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Go back inside with Fábia.”

  He looks amused for just a second. “You're jealous? She's just a friend, Jem. Only ever a friend. Now what did you mean?”

  “You know! Ugh!” I rip my arm from his grasp and slap his chest as hard as I can. It doesn't even seem to faze him; maybe because of the tequila he's consumed, but probably because he's just much stronger than I am. “WHY DID YOU TAKE ME THERE?”

  His face grows dark, almost haunted. “That's what you wanted, right? To see me like that so you could tell yourself you were doing the right thing by rejecting me. That I'm just a good for nothing piece of shit who's no good for you. Because I'm not a doctor, right? Or a douche bag politician or whoever the hell it is you see yourself with!”

  Darn it. I knew telling him that had been a mistake. To be fair, he'd been the one to bring up the subject of our ideal partners one evening, on our third ever bike ride. We'd driven to Brooklyn Bridge and parked nearby and watched the lights flash by in the night. Even as I'd told him, I'd felt wrong, my words had felt wrong. When I'd asked him the same thing he'd just looked at me and grinned. I hadn't understood at the time. At least. . .I'd pretended not to.

  “This is how you want me,” he continues. “Admit it. I'm giving you what you want, Jemma. RIGHT?”

  There's been a fine line with Reid and I ever since we became friends, a fine line between our friendship and the possibility of something more. We've approached it, tiptoed around it, danced right next to it, but we've never, ever crossed it.

  Reid just obliterated that line, totally and completely. Took a hammer and smashed it to unfixable pieces and suddenly everything between us has become all too real. That thing – the giant elephant in the room, our feelings – has finally been acknowledged and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do because I have no experience with this, I've never felt like this before. What Reid makes me feel is raw and honest and true and terrifying. How am I supposed to deal with this when I Don't. Know. How?

  “No!” I shove his chest and take a step back, running my hands through my hair. It stinks of smoke and it makes me cringe. I'll have to double wash it tonight. I'll have to double wash and scour and scrub my whole body tonight for at least an hour. Not only because of the smell of smoke, but because I feel humiliated. Reid humiliated me tonight. He knew his friends would hate me and he took me there anyway. Worst of all, I know I'm wrong too. Because a part of me, a tiny, hateful part, knows that what he's saying is right. Maybe I have been looking for excuses not to take a chance on him. “That's not you, Reid. I know that guy in there tonight wasn't you so don't try and make me think it was. God, what was this? Payback for earlier because I pulled away?”

  “Maybe,” he admits angrily, though he doesn't seem sorry about it. “Why did you pull away, Jemma?”

  I blink like a deer caught in headlights, taken aback. After everything that's happened tonight I should have expected him to go there, but I hadn't. But this is my Reid, blunt and to the point.

  “You know why,” I plead quietly. All of my own anger seeps away. I just feel sad. Sad and scared and alone. Though he stands right in front of me, he's never felt so far away, which is crazy because this is actually the realest we've ever been with one another. “We're friends, Reid. Best friends. We can't ruin that when you know this would never work. We would never work. All tonight did was prove that.”

  “Bullshit,” he calls, shaking his head like he's disappointed in me. He steps closer, towering over me even in my stiletto ankle boots. “All tonight proved is that I'm an ass and you're scared. You're scared of what you feel for me.”

  I flinch. “You're right, you are an ass.”

  He steps even closer, backing me up against a parked car and caging me in with his arms, so close that all I can smell is him. His usual smell is overpowered with the stench of smoke and tequila. I hate it, but I feel addicted to it. Addicted to him.

  My heart thuds excitedly in my chest and I don't like it. I don't like the way my fingers tingle and my blood fizzes at his closeness. I don't like the heat in his eyes or the way his lips part when he stares down at me. I don't like how safe I feel with his arms on either side of me. I don't. I don't.

  “We're not best friends, Jemma. That's never been all there is, not for me. Deny it,” he dares, his voice low and seductive. “Deny how good we'd be together. How amazing we'd be. Deny that you want me just as much as I want you.”

  “It's not all about sex, Reid.”

  “It's not all about sex for me either. Not when it comes to you. Don't you get that by now?”

  “Stop it,” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. Why is he doing this? Why is he confronting this thing between us and ruining everything?

  “You're scared,” he repeats, and I'm unable to drag my eyes from h
is. “Scared of us, because you know we'd be epic.” He pulls away, his arms leaving my sides. Immediately I miss his warmth, crave it. “And you're scared because I don't fit in with this stupid version of a perfect guy in your head. But you know something? That guy don't exist, he just don't. You made up this faultless idea of a man in your head 'cause you think he won't hurt you like your dad hurt your mom.”

  “What's that go to do with anythin-”

  “I have the power to hurt you that way, and that's why you won't give us a chance. You feel for me just as deeply as I feel for you, and that gives me power, just like the power you have over me. You think I could hurt you, so unlike me, you aren't willing to risk it.”

  I hate how well he knows me. Hate it. “Stop,” I cry.

  He just shakes his head and continues. “I'm flawed, Jem, I know that. But so are you. You're missing out on us because you're shortsighted and stubborn. That's it.”

  Tears fill my eyes. I hug my arms to my chest, though it has nothing to do with the cold. “I'm not scared of anything,” I lie. “I just know it wouldn't work, so what's the point?”

  He lets out a frustrated puff of air and rubs a hand over his short hair, spinning in a circle before facing me again. “I can't do this any more,” he says, and a part of me dies. “I can't pretend we're just friends when we know there's more, when I want so much more with you. I just can't.”

  I swipe a hand under my eyes, catching my falling tears and probably smudging mascara all over my cheeks. “So what, we're just done?”

  His nostrils flare as he stares me down. He's angry, hurt and devastated all at once, holding himself together just barely. How have I brought this big, strong man to this? Why am I doing this? Why am I like this? So unable to just follow my heart and be with him like we both want?

  “I guess so.”

  Something irreparable shatters inside me at his words. I sniff, nodding my head. “Goodbye, Reid.”

  I turn to walk away but he stops me again. “You can't just go home alone.”

  Even after everything I'm putting him through, he still cares about my safety. I don't know why that makes me so angry. “Are you going to drive me?” I demand. “Oh right, you can't. You drank half a bottle of tequila.”