Better With You: A Bragan University Novel

by Gabriela, Gianna

  I stand there feeling like an asshole. I know better than to be with someone who wants more, expects more from me, yet I did it anyway. I know better than to involve myself with women. I was taught better than that by life.

  The room is suddenly too full for my liking. I feel enclosed, caged, suffocated. So, I make my way to the backyard. I see Abby talking to some of her sorority sisters in the kitchen. I ignore her attempt to catch my attention again, and open the door to the backyard. I immediately feel relief. The breeze, and the stars are my haven. I sit down near the fire again. It’s empty out here, everyone preferring the noise of the party to the peaceful sound of the outdoors. I put my feet on top of a stool and take a deep breath.

  8

  I’m an idiot.

  And once again I’ve let a woman affect me. I let her manipulate my emotions, control them. It’s my fault. I need to grow up. I could have gone on with my night, but instead I let Abby piss me off, and I put myself in timeout.

  Like a child.

  I go back inside the house, noting that the party has not subsided. As I walk to the living room, I see a crowd gathered near the beer pong table. People are chanting loudly, cheering someone on. I move in closer to see what the commotion is all about, and that’s when I see a whole row of shots lined up. In front of them are Mia and Kiya. They down shot after shot, making their way along the row while everyone hollers and yells, “Shots! Shots! Shots!”

  After they are done, I see them sway on their feet, the alcohol washing too quickly through their systems. Instinctively, I want to go to Mia. I want to protect and care for her, but I also want to yell at her for being so reckless. But then I remember; she isn’t mine to keep.

  Like a shadow, I watch her from a distance. On shaky legs, she moves back to the dance floor, accompanied by Kiya, where they begin to dance. Their movements are sloppy, but no one is paying attention; they’re all drunk too. Kiya grabs Mia’s arm and spins her around in circles a couple of times. They laugh loudly, drunkenly, but also joyfully. For someone who is always so cautious, Mia’s guard is down for the second time tonight. Alcohol has removed her inhibitions.

  What I know for sure is that she will have no memory of this tomorrow. The only crude reminder will be a raging hangover.

  She leans in close to Kiya, asking her something. Kiya lifts her hand and points in the direction of the stairs. Mia begins to move that way while Kiya’s attention turns to Blake, who is calling out for her to dance. I keep my gaze on Mia as she makes her way up the stairs. That’s when I see one of the guys from the hockey team, Brandon, look in her direction then follow.

  I move without thinking, pushing through the massive crowd. I bump into some people on the way, but I don’t give a fuck. When I get to the top of the stairs, I see Brandon make his way into a room with a blonde that appears to have been waiting for him. I’m about to head back downstairs when I see Mia stumble out of the bathroom. She’s so drunk that she almost falls to the ground, but I get there fast enough to prevent her from doing a repeat of what happened in class.

  She glares at me. “So, I guess this is the part where I thank you for saving me,” she says mockingly, her words slurring. I don’t understand what she means. Maybe this is how she acts when she’s drunk.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” I respond, meaning every word.

  “I have manners,” she retorts, leaving me confused.

  Did she just imply that I have no manners?

  What the fuck? Why is she so angry, and why is it directed at me?

  “Alright, Ms. Manners, then I guess you should be thanking me. And contrary to what you may, for some unknown reason believe, I do have manners.”

  “Bullshit. You have no manners! You just run into people without caring about whether or not you hurt them,” she says.

  I flinch at her words. They are true to an extent, or at least, they had been for a while.

  I used to not give a fuck about anyone else. Whoever got in my way, deserved what they got as far as I was concerned. But the way she said it, it’s almost as if I’ve personally done something to her. That can’t be the case, though. I don’t remember her. I would remember her. She isn’t someone you can forget, even if you tried.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, running my hand through my hair.

  “You ran into me and didn’t bother to see if I was okay,” she continues.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind, I’ll just,” she pauses, lifting her hands to make air quotes as she adds, “get over it.”

  She has to let me in a little tonight, even if she won’t remember it tomorrow. “I don’t—” I start, frustrated.

  “You don’t remember, do you? Of course you don’t,” she continues, not allowing me to speak. “I wasn’t even a blip on your magnificent fucking radar!”

  “Remember what?” I ask, raising my voice. “Can you just spell it out for me?”

  “Never mind,” she responds as she begins to walk away. I immediately follow, taking her arm, forcing her to turn around. She looks at where I’m touching her, like she can feel the same connection to me that I feel with her—the same thing I felt the first time I touched her.

  “Please, tell me,” I insist softly.

  “It’s pointless, really. It was nothing.” She flushes. “I realize that now.”

  “Tell me anyway,” I press, because for some reason I need to know. My fingers itch to touch her again, and I give in. My hand cups her chin as I make an effort to get her to look at me. She stiffens the moment I touch her but then visibly relaxes, giving in and leaning in to me, like she too was aching to restore our connection.

  “I made a big deal out of nothing. I… just forget it,” she states.

  “Just tell me.”

  She huffs. “It was two weeks ago, before classes started. My roommate and I found your sister drunk at a club, kind of like I am right now, so we called you.”

  Before she even finishes telling the story, it all comes back to me.

  “I ran into you and told you to ‘get over it’, didn’t I?” I say.

  She nods and says, “It was pathetic. I shouldn’t have made a big deal out of it, but I fell and hurt my shoulder, the least you could have done was check to see that I was okay,” she says as a tear slides down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” I answer, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. I can’t believe I fucking hurt her. “I’d had a really bad night. It’s no excuse for my stupidity, and I’m really sorry,” I say, lightly massaging both of her shoulders like that’ll make it better.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to expl—”

  “I’d just picked up my brother from jail, and then I got the call about Kaitlyn,” I continue.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Of course she didn’t. “Yeah, it was a shitty night, and I was in an even shittier mood. I didn’t mean to run into you, and the decent thing would have been to help you up and make sure you were okay, but I had tunnel vision. I’m an asshole.”

  “Understandable. You don’t seem like an asshole right now.” She laughs heartily, the sound of it causing me to join her.

  “You say that now! And because I do actually have manners, you can call me Mr. Manners.” I wink before continuing. “I apologize for my behavior.” I bow, eliciting another laugh from her. I’ll be damned if I’m not going to try and make her laugh as much as I can. It’s music to my ears, and I want to put the sound on repeat.

  “I am an occasional asshole,” I add half-jokingly.

  “I see that,” she responds, sliding onto the floor with her back to the wall. “We didn’t do our homework.”

  “What homework?” I ask out loud, wondering how she can change the subject so quickly.

  “The questions we need to answer, and figuring out a problem. The thing we are supposed to do for Junior Seminar? You were going to text me to set up a time to meet, but you never did.”

  I join
her on the floor. “Fuck, I had a crazy day on Wednesday. Thursday wasn’t much better with classes and practice, and practice again on Friday morning. I kind of slept until late Saturday,” I say, internally beating myself up for forgetting to text her.

  “You slept all of Friday?”

  “Not all of it. I slept for like nineteen hours.”

  Her eyes widen. “Who the hell sleeps for that long?”

  “I was exhausted.” I feign a yawn, putting my hand over my mouth.

  An easy silence falls between us.

  “So, what do we do about the homework?” she asks shyly.

  “We can do it tomorrow,” I say quickly, excited at the thought of seeing her again.

  She closes her eyes and leans her head on my shoulder. “Okay.” We both stay like that for a while until I hear her breathing even out. I look down; she’s fallen asleep.

  MIA

  It feels like someone is playing the drums in my head. I slowly begin to open my eyes and realize the room is dark. I turn to my left in search of my alarm clock. It isn’t there. I try the other side, seeing a clock. It’s six in the morning. Way too early. I pull the covers back over my head. I am not ready to start the day, not yet.

  And then it hits me.

  These sheets do not smell like my sheets.

  These pillows are not my pillows.

  My alarm clock is always on the left.

  Shit.

  This is not my bed.

  Panic blooms and I zoom up from the bed. My heart is pounding just as loudly as my head. Disoriented, I try to get up but my feet get tangled in the sheets and I fall, face-first, on the floor.

  I rise from the floor slowly, trying to regain my balance. In the near darkness, I move towards where I think the door is. I feel around on the wall for a light switch. I need to stop the darkness from consuming me. I need clarity. I need to know where I am.

  I turn on the light, and look around. This is definitely not my room. I see a mirror and go to it. I want to look at myself, to make sure I’m okay. I look at my reflection, and aside from the makeup that covers my face, everything seems okay. Biting my lip, I look down to find I’m still wearing the clothes I had on the night before. Relief swamps me. I was not attacked, or at least there is no sign of it. Still, the lingering question is, where am I? And why am I sleeping in someone else’s room? I walk back towards the door, but stop dead in my tracks when it opens…

  And Colton walks in.

  Sweat is dripping from his forehead, running down his face and into the neck of his gray muscle shirt. Judging by his shoes, he’s just come back from a run, but who the hell runs at six in the morning? And then it hits me.

  I’m in his room.

  The pit in my stomach becomes a massive sinkhole and I want it to swallow me whole.

  “How the hell did I end up here?” I ask him, afraid of what the answer might be.

  “You don’t remember what happened last night?” he asks with a smirk.

  I remember pieces of it, like how we were playing beer pong, how I saw him kissing the blonde, how it had made me feel when he’d followed her. Something resembling jealousy had risen deep within my stomach, but knowing it wasn’t mine to feel, I pushed it down the only way I knew how—the only way my father knew—with alcohol.

  Salt. Tequila. Lime. Repeat.

  “I don’t…Why am I here? Is this your room?” Internally, I am in full panic mode. Externally, though, I’m keeping it together. I need all the missing pieces from last night. I need to know why I woke up in this room, in his room. Kiya and I were supposed to stick together. Where is she?

  “She stayed with Blake,” Colton says before I even formulate the question, like he can read my mind.

  Kiya likes Blake, I know that. I’m sure she’ll be safe with him, but I’m hurt that she left me. We had an agreement.

  “She’s still in the house. You were both too drunk to go home. So, Blake offered for you both to stay here. Blake took her in, and I took you in,” he says calmly. He moves from the door and leans on his desk, arms crossed, sweat still dripping. I fight the urge to lick my lips.

  “Why not just leave us in the same room? Why separate us? Don’t you think it’s a little weird to take a girl you don’t know into your room? Where did you sleep?”

  The questions come out too fast, my mind going a million miles per hour.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he responds.

  Asshole.

  “And where do you think I slept?” he asks.

  “I’m not in the mood to play games, Colton. Since you remember what happened last night, tell me.”

  He finally realizes I’m not joking. Sitting on the chair in front of his desk, he turns to me and says, “Okay. I was outside getting some fresh air. When I came back inside, you and Kiya were doing shots. Then you went upstairs to the bathroom, I think. I happened to be up there because I was going to talk to one of the guys. You came out of the bathroom, tripped and almost fell. I caught you and we sat on the floor for a bit. I stayed with you because I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  As he talks, things start coming back to me. I recall feeling like the rug had been pulled out from under me. I remember falling, and then someone holding me.

  “What happened after you caught me?” I ask, trying to get the full picture.

  “We talked about how much of an ass I was to you when we first met. I apologized and you, Ms. Manners, fell asleep on my shoulder.”

  Hearing him tell me what happened brings the rest of the memories back. I remember him sitting next to me on the floor while I leaned on his shoulder with my eyes closed.

  “Where did you sleep?”

  “I slept on the couch.” I follow his pointing finger toward the other end of the room. I see the messy sheets on top of the couch. Relief spreads through me once again. I didn’t sleep with anyone last night. I didn’t sleep with him. I just slept.

  “Oh, okay. Well, thank you for letting me stay the night,” I state, bouncing on my toes. Ready to go, yet somehow still standing in the same place.

  “Yeah, anytime.” He scratches his head. “And, hey, be careful when you’re drinking, okay? You know, this world is full of assholes willing to take advantage of anyone they can.” His sentiment seems honest and sincere. But he isn’t telling me anything I don’t know. I have encountered too many assholes in my lifetime already. Until recently, he was among them.

  “Wait, isn’t your girlfriend going to be pissed that you let another girl spend the night?” I ask the moment I remember the girl he had been making out with last night.

  “If this is your way of asking me if I’m single, the answer is yes,” he teases.

  “No, this is my way of asking if the girl you were making out with last night would mind,” I reply before I can censor myself. I feel the jealousy dripping from my words as the statement leaves my mouth. I hope he doesn’t notice.

  “She might, but it doesn’t matter. She and I are nothing,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Seemed like more than nothing last night,” I counter. Why the hell am I going down this rabbit hole? It’s none of my business. “Never mind; it’s none of my business,” I repeat out loud. Wanting him to know I couldn’t care less. “I’m going to go.” I walk towards the door, but spin on my heel when he takes hold of my arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” I say, “It’s not common practice for me to stay in a stranger’s room.”

  He frowns. “It’s six in the morning. You’re going to walk home at this time?” he asks.

  “Why not?”

  His eyes travel over my body. “Because you’ll look like you’re doing the walk of shame.”

  My eyes get as big as saucers. I didn’t think about what I would look like walking out of this room in the same clothes as last night.

  “If I leave later, it’ll be the same, plus the entire house will be up by then. The best option is to leave now when the least number of p
eople will notice.” I reach for the doorknob once again.

  “Just…wait.” He begins to look through his drawers. “Let me get you some clothes so you can change out of that outfit.” He pulls out a black hoodie and some sweatpants, and hands them to me.

  I stare at him, wondering if he wears anything other than sweats, hoodies, and muscle shirts.

  “Okay. Thanks.” I eye him intently. When he doesn’t get the clue, I raise my eyebrows and say, “Would you mind? I’m not about to give you a show by changing in front of you.”

  His eyes widen. “Shit! Yeah, I’ll… um… I’ll leave.” He trips on the chair as he begins walking towards a door. “Let me grab my towel and I’ll take a quick shower while you change. Then I can give you a ride home.”

  “You don’t have to. I can walk. It’s not that far.”

  “I want to,” he replies. “Plus, we’ve got homework to do, Ms. Manners”

  He remembered. “That nickname is already annoying.”

  “You can always call me Mr. Manners,” he says as he disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Within seconds, the shower turns on. Taking advantage of being alone, I peruse his room. My initial inspection shows that aside from the mess of sheets on the couch and the bed, the room is spotless.

  Still holding on to the clothes, I move toward the bookcase across from the couch. I move quickly through the book titles and my attention is captured when I find some of my favorites: Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, Zora Neal Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, and Octavia E. Butler’s Kindred. Feeling like I’ve snooped for far too long, I change into the clothes Colton gave me. While changing, I keep an eye on the bathroom door, afraid it’ll open, and I’ll be exposed. The sweatshirt he lends me is down to my thighs, and the sweatpants are way too big. I roll them up at the waist until I look semi-normal and they are no longer dragging on the floor. Then I hear the water shut off. Seconds later, the door opens. Colton comes out with a towel wrapped around his hips. Every muscle is visible. I lick my lips at the sight of his six pack and the V disappearing under the edge of his towel.