by Cassie Beebe
The other girl nearly spit out her drink at that, and Amber tugged on Jacob’s arm, drawing his attention back to her.
“Where were you this morning?” she whined, tracing his sternum through his t-shirt and peeking up at him with puppy eyes. “I had to dissect that disgusting rat all by myself, and I ended up knocking over the stupid tray. Got freaking rat juice all over my new skirt,” she gagged at the memory.
Jacob thought back to Callie’s peppy mood that morning, telling him he missed a great class, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He cleared his throat and wiped the smirk from his face. “Sorry. I was feeling a bit… under the weather.”
“Aww,” she pouted, leaning further into his chest, and if it weren’t for the fact that he had previously thought it only happened in cartoons, he would have sworn that she actually batted her eyelashes at him. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she smiled, biting her bottom lip.
“Yeah,” Jacob nodded, wondering if ignoring his feelings could really be considered “feeling better,” but he decided it wasn’t worth the correction. “Me, too,” he said with as convincing of a smile as he could muster.
Amber didn’t seem to notice. She just giggled and bit down harder on her lip. After a moment, she went back to tracing the muscles of his chest.
“So… how was the rest of your day?” he asked.
She grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Boring. So many pointless required classes. I mean, who even needs to know who started a war with who hundreds of years ago?”
Jacob opened his mouth to answer her question, but she just shook her head.
“I don’t wanna talk about school,” she said.
He waited for her to offer up another topic of conversation, but she just studied the tiny jewels on her manicured nails, her other fingers still absently running along the hair on his arm.
He looked around the circle again, most of the girls tapping away at their phones, some gazing, uninterested, around the room and sipping at their drinks. He wondered why they even bothered coming to a party just to stand in a circle and do nothing. Surely, they could stand in a circle somewhere less humid and loud.
“Do you wanna dance?” Amber asked suddenly, though with the way she was already tugging his shirt toward the small cluster of people grinding in the corner of the room, it didn’t seem like much of a request.
“Oh, I really don’t dance,” Jacob shook his head, gently prying her fingers from his shirt. He rarely had any bouts of haphephobic anxiety these days, but he didn’t feel like pushing his luck in that mosh pit of sweaty bodies.
She frowned at him again, but the look on his face must have conveyed his severity, because she didn’t protest. Instead, a spark lit her eye, and she replaced her pout with a mischievous grin, pulling herself up to his ear by his shirt. “Maybe we could go somewhere a little more quiet to talk?” she suggested in a gentle whisper that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.
He couldn’t imagine what they could possibly have to talk about, if school was apparently off the table, but quiet sounded nice, so he nodded. She smiled and took his hand, pulling him through the lobby. He started to veer toward the front door, but she tugged him further into the room, toward the stairwell. It wasn’t until they reached the second floor of the dorm hall that he realized she might have a much different “quiet place” in mind than he did, and he stopped short.
She paused when he did, looking back with feigned innocence at his conflicted expression.
“Um…,” he began, completely unsure of where the rest of that sentence was going. He had never been even close to a position like this, and he was so far out of his comfort zone at this point, it was merely a tiny flicker of light at the end of a long tunnel full of warm beer, loud music, and dancing 20-somethings. “I’m sorry. I, uh… I think I should be going, actually,” he said.
Amber pulled away like his words slapped her in the face, and her perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up beneath her blonde bangs.
“Sorry,” he said, taking advantage of the distraction of her shock to reclaim ownership of his hand and step back into the stairwell. “I’ll see you in class,” he added over his shoulder while she stood frozen in the middle of the lobby, as if she had never experienced rejection in her life and hadn’t the faintest clue how to respond to it.
Taking the stairs two at a time before Amber had the chance to wake up from her stupor and come after him, he glanced at the clock on his cell phone. It was long past the time he was used to taking his pills, and he was beginning to feel the need for the calming agent. Whether it was the result of the bass pounding through his nerves, the extensive and unwelcome touch of his classmate, or simply the late hour sneaking up on him, he was anxious to get back to his room.
Sorry, Mags. Living will have to wait for the morning.
As he pushed open the door from the stairs on the first floor, it stopped short, hitting a small woman in a short, sparkling dress.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, squeezing his way through the available space in the doorway, looking up in mild irritation when she didn’t make any effort to move out of his way.
She was standing behind the doorway, staring at the pictures posted on the wall from the building’s tenants, and she didn’t appear to notice the force of the door shoving her aside. After a brief glance, Jacob realized with a jolt of some emotion he couldn’t quite place that it was the same girl he had shared a dinner with the previous evening. He thought back over that night, searching his memories for a name.
“Hey, Jenna, right?” he asked as he finished squeezing into the room and closed the door behind him.
She turned her glazed eyes to him when he said her name, and a bright smile broke across her face. “Hey!” she exclaimed with more volume than necessary, pointing a finger in his face. “It’s... sad... kitchen boy,” she decided.
He chuckled, appraising her inebriated state. “Well, most people call me Jacob,” he shrugged, “but I suppose that works, too.”
She laughed too exuberantly at his small joke and stumbled on her high heels, falling into him a bit before straightening herself out.
“Whoa, there,” he muttered, steadying her by her shoulders and trying to meet her distracted gaze. “You alright?”
“Mhmm,” she mumbled with a sleepy smile.
“Alright,” he chuckled, unsure of whether or not to be convinced by her incoherent mumble. “Maybe we should get you back to your room,” he suggested, remembering that she lived on the floor above him. “Does that sound good?”
She nodded with a small groan. “Yes, please,” she said, clutching her purse and her jacket to her chest as she followed closely beside him.
As they turned toward the door, a stocky man with thick, black hair gelled into an immovable state came around the corner with two drinks in hand.
“Hey, babe, sorry it took so long,” he said, walking up to Jenna and handing her one of the cups. Eying Jacob with a suspicious gaze, he asked, “Who’s this guy?”
Jenna mumbled something unintelligible as she sipped her new drink, so Jacob interjected.
“Oh, uh, I’m Jacob,” he said, taking a small step away from Jenna. “Sorry, I didn’t realize she was... with someone.”
“Yeah, she is,” the man snipped, slipping a possessive arm around her and pulling her toward him by a hand on her hip.
“Sorry,” Jacob repeated with a blush. “I was just gonna take her home,” he explained.
“Yeah, well I can do that, thanks,” he retorted. “C’mon, babe,” he said to Jenna, giving her a quick kiss on the top of the head as he turned them around, toward the stairs. Confused by the change in direction, Jacob stepped forward again.
“Wait, hang on,” he said. The man huffed out a sigh and turned back to Jacob with an impatient eyebrow raise, keeping his arm around her waist. “Doesn’t Jenna live in Morgan?” he asked, wondering if he may have misheard her when she told him what dorm she was in the other night.
“Uh...,
” the man paused, shaking his head as he thought of an answer. “No,” he decided.
Jacob thought back to the night they met, clearly remembering her saying she lived upstairs. “I’m pretty sure she does,” he stated a bit more firmly.
The guy rolled his dark eyes, letting go of Jenna’s waist to step a little closer to Jacob. In a slightly hushed tone, he said, “Look, dude, I’ve been laying ground work with this chick all night,” he nodded over his shoulder at Jenna as she swayed sleepily to the music and sipped her drink.
Jacob appraised her for a moment, then turned back to the man, who raised his eyebrows suggestively. With sudden understanding, Jacob’s gut gave a sickening twist.
He let out a disbelieving sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and the man just stared at him impatiently. “You can’t be serious.” He shook his head. “She can barely stand up,” he gestured back to the girl, and she punctuated his point by stumbling on her shoes again and clutching onto a nearby chair for balance.
The man gave him a wry smirk. “That’s alright. She won’t be doing much of that.”
His gleaming white teeth were starting to look like perfect little targets.
Jacob’s pulse rose, the heat in his chest no longer attributed to the other bodies around him, but to something else, something deeper. It writhed in his stomach and the burn of it radiated out of his gut, tingling out into his arms and causing his right hand to clench into an involuntary fist.
He ground his teeth down and took in a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, letting it out and trying to calm the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
“I think I should take Jenna home,” he spoke each word calmly and firmly, trying to convey with his eyes that this was not a request.
The guy’s smirk grew wider and he broadened his stance and crossed his arms. “And if I say no?” he asked playfully, stupidly thinking this was a game he could win.
Jacob’s lips twitched up in spite of himself, and he ground his teeth back down, taking in another deep breath before any other body parts decided to act on their own accord. With firm control, he spoke with careful articulation, “I would advise against that.”
The man chuckled again. He looked Jacob over, possibly appraising his physique to weigh his chances of winning this battle. He seemed to like his odds, but when his eyes traveled back up to Jacob’s face and their gaze met, his confident smirk wavered. He quickly cleared his throat and replaced it with a new, fake grin, all the playfulness gone from his eyes.
He shook his head. “Look, dude, if she means that much to you, she’s all yours,” he raised his hands in surrender. “Sloppy bitch ain’t worth the trouble anyway,” he added for good measure, and it took another deep breath and miraculous burst of superhuman self-control for Jacob to simply step around him and offer Jenna an arm.
“Shall we?” he asked her with a forced smile through clenched teeth.
She looked up at him through hazy eyes and took his arm with a snort. “Why, yes we shall, good sir,” she replied in her own inebriated interpretation of a British accent, making herself laugh.
With her lips momentarily away from her drink, Jacob took the opportunity to slip the cup out of her hand and set it down on a nearby coffee table. On their way to the door, he glanced back at the man they left behind, but he had slithered away into the crowd. Probably already prowling for his next conquest. The thought made Jacob’s jaw clench tight again.
The whole walk back to the Morgan-Sharpe residency hall, he had to fight the incessant urge to stride back into that party, grab that low-life by his stupid, greased-up hair and bash his head into the wall until the force of the blows would wipe that smug grin off his face. Halfway to their building, he could still feel the rapid pounding of his heart racing in his chest, and he knew the feeling was close to overtaking him. It had been a long time since he felt this familiar rush, and if he never felt it again, it would be too soon.
His breath was coming in short spurts, and when his vision began to darken into narrow tunnels, he stopped short in the doorway of their building, grabbing onto the doorframe for balance. Jenna – who had previously been trudging along willingly beside him, allowing him to shoulder a majority of her weight as she dragged her sluggish feet – perked up and squinted her eyes at him in an attempt to clear her own vision enough to read his face.
“Er, y’okay?” she slurred.
Jacob took in a deep, steadying breath, in for four seconds, holding for four, and letting out for four – an old trick from Doctor Yang.
“Yeah,” he answered, standing up straight once his vision cleared and his heartrate began to slow a bit.
He looked back at the girl, her tired eyes struggling to stay open, and willed himself to get it together and get her back to her room safely before doing anything reckless.
“What’s your room number?” he asked, pushing through the door and heading for the stairs. He remembered she said she was above him, but he didn’t know if that meant the second or third floor.
“Erm, I… that’s… I don’t…,” she mumbled, leaning a bit more of her weight into Jacob as her head bobbed back.
“Jenna?” he said loudly, but her eyes just fluttered a bit and she winced at the sound.
Jacob let out an aggravated sigh, and the irritation of the chore ahead of him, coupled with the increasing thoughts of whatever misogynistic terrors that douche bag might be inflicting on some other girl provoked his irritation again. Reacting to yet another drastic spike in his heartrate that night, he made a snap decision and ducked into his dorm room by the stairwell.
He closed the door and let the girl fall onto the bed, the anxiety in his chest too strong now to care about whether or not she made it there or slinked onto the floor in a heap. He headed for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him. He huffed out a few breaths, grasping firmly to the counter as he breathed deeply and with purpose, clearing the darkness from his eyes. Once he was confident he could move without passing out, he opened the medicine cabinet, quickly located his nighttime pill box and downed its contents, washing it down with water from the tap. He splashed some of the cool liquid on his face, too, and grabbed onto the counter again, closing his eyes and clearing his mind as he focused only on the sound of his breath rising and falling.
It took several minutes, but eventually the calm began to fall over him. Whether it was the pills taking effect or merely a placebo, he didn’t care, so long as he could think clearly again. He stood up straight, popped one more sedative, just in case, and headed back to the bedroom.
“Alright,” he shuffled over to the bed where the girl was sprawled out on her stomach, her jacket and purse dropped onto the floor beneath her. “What’s your room number?” he asked again.
No response.
“Come on, Jenna,” he said, his voice weary with impatience as he kicked at the bed, shaking her in the process.
She didn’t move.
He let out something between a sigh and a groan, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. If he knew her room number, he could probably carry her. But the idea of carrying a near-stranger, passed-out drunk in his arms, aimlessly wandering the upper floors of the building, searching for a name plate on a door that said “Jenna” and hoping it was the right one, did not sound like an appealing task.
The sleeping pills were kicking in, now, not that he really needed them. Now that his anxiety had relaxed, he was met with the strong force of his utter exhaustion. After everything he had been through that day, emotionally and otherwise, all he wanted to do was sleep, and he realized that he didn’t much care where, either.
He gave Jenna one last firm shake, to no avail, before resigning himself to the floor. Without a blanket or pillow, however – both pinned securely beneath the zonked-out girl on his bed – it became clear pretty quickly that sleeping on the near-concrete floor, covered by the thinnest carpet he had ever felt, wasn’t going to happen. It might have been possible to fall aslee
p there, in his current state, but he was sure his back would regret that decision in the morning.
So, with another impatient exhalation, he pulled himself up from the floor and appraised the amount of space left on the bed. It wasn’t a large bed to begin with, and the girl took up most of it with her arms and legs carelessly sprawled out. Aside from the outstretched limbs, however, her small frame was fairly contained to one half of the mattress, so he pushed her arm and leg aside and lay down beside her, not bothering to fight for space for his head on the pillow.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why do people do this?” he muttered to himself.
“Because they’re sad,” Jenna murmured softly in response. “Or lonely.”
Oh, now you decide to talk, Jacob rolled his eyes. But then her words hit him, and he turned to look at her. She hadn’t moved an inch, and in the silence that followed her whispered admission it was almost as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
“Which one are you?” he asked, but it was too late. She was already snoring softly by his side.
“ALRIGHT,” DOCTOR SUMMERS SAID, picking up her cup of tea and leaning back more casually in her chair. “Anything new?”
It was her usual question, the way all of their sessions started. He never had a significant answer for this question, and he always felt bad for leaving her to prod him with follow-up inquiries, but this time was different.
“Um… well, actually, I think I kind of had a break-through or whatever,” he said with implied quotation marks.
Doctor Summer’s expression perked up as she took a sip of her drink. “Mm, tell me more!”
His mind drifted back to the beginning of the week, moping in his room as he read through Maggie’s journal and tried to keep his mind off of running into Sarah at the market. So much had happened since their last meeting, he didn’t know where to start. So, taking in some air, he decided to start at the beginning.
“Well, first of all… I ran into Sarah on Sunday,” he announced.
“The Sarah?” she asked with wide eyes, looking like a teenage girl drinking up the gossip of the century. “How did that happen?”