Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  “I know,” I mutter, hanging my head a little in shame.

  “The way you got that night … it scared me. I’m sorry I just disappeared on you, but you were … yeah, you just scared me. You got the same look my ex used to get before he’d put his hands on me. And then you did put your hands on me …”

  “I’m so, so sorry for that, Em. I really am. I’ve felt like absolute shit. I just—I lost myself for a second there. I blacked out. I was just so full of rage and just … instinct. I have no recollection of either beatin’ him as bad as I did, or pushin’ you away. But you gotta know, that ain’t me. That ain’t who I am, or what I represent as a man. Men who hit women are reprehensible to me. I-I’m just … God, I’m just so sorry. I hope you got all my texts, and I’m sorry for sendin’ so many. I was just infuriated with myself and needed to apologize. I needed you to know I was truly apologetic. I still do. I need you to know, Em.”

  “I believe you. I do. I just worry.”

  I can see her fighting back the tears by the way she clenches her jaw. A few tears escape anyway, a little mascara running along with them, and she hides her face.

  Forcing a laugh, she says, “I’m sorry. I’m being such a pussy.”

  Tossing my cigarette into the ashtray, I put a hand on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she looks at me, tears welling in her eyes, thin black streaks running from her eyes to her chin, and an adorable little whimper escapes her trembling lips.

  “Talk to me,” I whisper. “Please.”

  “I just really liked you, Bishop. A lot.” She hesitates, pointing toward my face. “I’m saying too much. I can see it in your expression,” she says.

  “No, no, no. If anything, you’re not sayin’ enough. I wanna know what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours.”

  She laughs, shaking her head with wide, suspicious eyes. “Highly doubtful. I believe you told me once, when we first started getting to know each other, that you have internal scarring … a lot of it. Well, so do I. More than I could ever admit to myself or anyone else.”

  “Is that why you disappeared? Why you ignored me?”

  “Absolutely. My high school boyfriend, the only guy I’ve ever really loved, near the end of our relationship, he got abusive, verbally, physically, emotionally …” Her voice trails off as she takes a thick gulp. “… sexually. And for a while, I blamed myself. I thought maybe if I could’ve done something different. If only I could’ve fought harder.”

  “It wasn’t you, it was him.”

  She puts a hand up, a tight smile on her face. “I know that now. That’s what I had to learn. I had to figure it out on my own. That if I didn’t have the strength to run, if I didn’t have the strength to at least tell someone else who actually loved me, well, then maybe next time, I wouldn’t survive.”

  “I’m sorry, Ember.”

  “I’m sorry too, Bishop. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I came to the party. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself at least, maybe redeem yourself. I wish I could explain how I felt at the time, but when I pulled you off him—or tried to, at least—the look you gave me before you pushed me away, it was the same look he gave me. It was a hungry look, like you wanted to see me in pain.”

  I shake my head, shame washing over me in anxiety tingling waves. “I really am ashamed of myself. I wish I remembered it. I wish I could defend my actions. But they’re indefensible. I got no right to put my hands on you, and I’ll forever regret that I did. You didn’t deserve it. And I know I don’t remember it, but I know me … I know what I represent and who I am. I don’t hit women. In that moment, I can only assume my mind was overwhelmed and concentrated on him, and anyone who got between us was just collateral damage.”

  As a look of offense creeps onto her face, I put a hand up in retreat. “I didn’t mean it how it came out. I just mean, when I black out like that, I see no one but my target.”

  Her features relax. “That’s dangerous.”

  I nod. “I know it is. And, honestly, regardless of what I had to drink that night, I’ve blacked out sober, too. It wasn’t an alcohol thing. It was a predatory thing. A survival instinct. I felt challenged. So, I attacked with unrelentin’ aggression. It’s not perfect. Nowhere near flawless, but it’s kept my ass alive, and up on both feet. I’ve never been knocked out, thank God. Never been caught off-guard either. There’s somethin’ to be said about that.”

  “Well, I don’t have that same aggression or ultra-vigilance, and I haven’t found myself in any fights or attacks, outside of the one.”

  “This is a three-part response, all of which you will hate. You ready?”

  She chuckles, nodding.

  “One. You’re lucky. All women, regardless of skin color, nationality, looks, size, location, et cetera, are at risk at all times.”

  She rears her head back, scoffing. “What? So, as a woman, I should have to always watch my back because I have a vagina? That’s ludicrous.”

  I go to speak, but hesitate, grinning instead, as I realize the fine line I’m treading. “So, let me finish listin’ my three parts first, and then I’ll answer questions. Deal?”

  I reach out my hand, and after a moment, she reluctantly takes it, shaking it before she crosses her arms. She tilts her head and arches an eyebrow.

  “Men are fuckin’ pigs,” I continue. “I’d be comfortable in sayin’ sixty-five percent of the men in this world are hedonistic, selfish, inhumane assholes. Of that sixty-five percent, I’d set the meter at ninety-seven percent of those sick fucks would rape a woman, if they knew for a fact they could get away with it.

  “Now, you take one of these assholes and you throw alcohol or drugs in the mix … maybe there’s a young drunk woman wanderin’ home alone at two in the mornin’, maybe a woman who parked her new Benz at the back of the lot durin’ an afternoon shoppin’ session so it didn’t get banged up, only to give the man who had been stalkin’ her for months an opportunity to pounce. Both of those things really happened, by the way.

  “Women ain’t the weaker sex. I ain’t sayin’ that. Not even close. I’m pretty confident in sayin’ y’all got us in the smarts department in spades. But when it comes to size and strength, there’s no argument. It’s biological. Are there exceptions? Of course. Just like with anything else. But, overall, a stronger man, with mental health issues, comin’ across the ‘right’ opportunity, has all the potential in the world to strike. It’s up to the woman to even the odds.”

  “And how do you suppose we go about doing that?”

  “Easy. A handgun, proper training, and the awareness to know when to use it.”

  She smirks, tilting her head with a look that says, “Boy, do I got a surprise for you.” Pulling out her wallet, she digs in, searching a bit and takes out a card. She hands it to me, and I discover it’s a concealed carry permit, her gorgeous mug in the bottom right corner.

  The next thing she pulls out of her purse is a small pistol, chrome, with pink grip plates.

  “You mean, like this?” she asks, holding the gun up, trigger finger in proper position along the bottom of the barrel.

  “Well, shit. Color me impressed.”

  “Uh-huh.” She smirks, returning her card and handgun to her clutch and settling it in her lap.

  “I’m glad to know you know what you’re doin’. I ain’t quite sure why I doubted you.”

  “I’m not either.” She smiles, shrugging. “Maybe next time you won’t.”

  She hesitates a moment, the only sounds between us those of a passing car here and there and the occasional drunken shout. She looks over at me with her innocent eyes, a tight smile on her face, and she asks, “How about we try being friends? Kind of start over? I don’t want you out of my life. I’ve missed you. But there’s just so much I need to figure out about myself before I get involved with anyone. And in the short time I’ve spent with you, I know I could fall for you.”

  “I knew it too,” I mutter.

  “And I don’t want to be hur
t. My heart is just too bruised right now to handle any more pain. I decided shortly after that stuff happened with you guys, that I was going to take some time for myself. No dating. No sex. Just me, my thoughts, and occasionally my vibrator.” She grins, shrugging, before she adds, “Or often as fuck. Whatever.”

  “I get that, totally.” I give her a small smile and pat her hand.

  “I should probably go get Holly and head home. We’ve got a big test on Monday to study for.”

  “No problem at all,” I say, standing. She stands too and I add, “It was so great seein’ you tonight and gettin’ to talk to you a little bit.”

  “It was great talking to you too, Bishop,” she says, hugging me. “Maybe we can have a study date in the library or something soon.”

  “Anytime. You got my number.” I crack a smile as she waves, flashing a smile of her own, then turning on her heel and walking away. I find myself wanting to chase after her but fighting the urge. I want to give her the time and space she needs, because the truth is, I could love that girl. I knew it from our first real date. And that feels like the last thing in the world I need right now.

  I smoke one more cigarette before heading back to the basement to make my rounds. My bed is calling and a good drunken jack-off session is now in order.

  “WELL, YOU LOOK FAR MORE rested than you did the last time we met,” Carleigh says, eyeing me as I position myself in the seat across from her.

  “Yeah, finally done with that pledgin’ crap.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Can’t tell you how good it feels not to have to clean up after a bunch of kids anymore.”

  “And more time for your studies?” She gives her brows a little wriggle and I chuckle.

  “Yeah, we’ll see. More sleep doesn’t make the classes any less boring, unfortunately.”

  “Do you like any of your classes?”

  “Not a single one.” I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s all those bullshit classes everyone has to take but nobody needs. I can’t be bothered.”

  She shrugs. “Some people do use them. And I think it’s beneficial to get a well-rounded education.”

  I nod, replying, “For sure, but I don’t need some bullshit college administrator to decide what’s important for me to learn. I’m never gonna use algebra again, or literature, or any of that shit. It’s a waste of time and taxpayer dollars. We’ve got the internet these days. Before that, encyclopedias and books. I’m a self-educator. I believe in satisfyin’ every curiosity. And I’ve learned a hell of a lot more on my own than I ever have in any classroom.”

  “Well, you’re smarter than many. I’m the same way. But what do you have, one more semester of these classes before you get to your major?”

  “Yeah, but what major?” I grin.

  “That’s your job to figure out.” She quirks an eyebrow, her chin against her balled fist, her elbow atop the desk. She’s gotten so much more relaxed with me in this space, her demeanor night and day from our first visit, though the sarcasm and repartee are still as strong as they’ve always been.

  I catch my eyes trailing her neck, down toward her button-down dress shirt, the buttons undone just enough to see the slightest bit of cleavage.

  Fuck, Bishop. Control yourself, man.

  “I saw that,” she says, giving her head a slight shake. “Keep your head in the game, Bishop. We’ve got a job to do in here.”

  I point back toward the door. “And what about out there?”

  She rolls her eyes. Ignoring me, she says, “So, have you thought anymore about your major? Maybe getting into BSU’s theatre program?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know if Crescent Falls, Pennsylvania is where I would wanna be gettin’ an acting degree from.”

  “So, you’ve thought about transferring then? Where to?”

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. More so since we’ve been goin’ on and on about it,” I say, smirking. “I guess you’re right about me havin’ an opportunity here, bein’ retired and all, to chase a dream. I had someone else mention the same thing to me…” My voice trails as my thoughts roam to Ember, and how badly I miss our conversations. It’s rare to find someone you can get so comfortably deep with in conversation. “I definitely can’t see myself doin’ a nine to five, not ever, and if I ever did find myself there, I don’t think I’d last very long.”

  “Wait, can we backtrack a little bit here?” she asks, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

  “Which part?”

  “The part about me being right.” She flashes me a wide smile.

  “Oh, we’ve got a boaster here.” I nod, arching an eyebrow. “I’ll remember that for the next time I’m right.”

  “Which would be when? Have you been yet?” She smiles again, a glimmer in her eye that makes me think she might be starting to dig me a little.

  “So, we’ve got jokes today, Doc?”

  “Oh, McKenzie, just call me Dave Chappelle.”

  “If you ever call me that again, I will straight up walk my happy ass outta here and straight to jail,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her but grinning too. “And did you really just reference Dave Chappelle? You like him?”

  “Why do you look so shocked? Of course I like him. I’m a living, breathing human being after all, and he’s a dang genius.”

  “You got that right. We oughta order some Chinese food sometime and watch Clayton Bigsby and Tyrone Biggums.”

  She shakes her head, a concerned look taking up her face. “Stop it,” she scolds.

  “Stop what?” I ask, acting innocently with two hands to my chest.

  “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Askin’ a beautiful woman out on a date? Yeah, I do.” I grin, unsure of where this is coming from, but enjoying watching her squirm in her seat.

  “I am old enough to be your mother. Give me a break.”

  “What does age have to do with anything? It sure doesn’t bother me.”

  She sits back in her chair, shaking her head, her face turning red as she seems to be fighting a smile.

  “Well now, back to the matter at hand, i.e. your counseling session.” The smile breaks free, her face fully flush now. She clears her throat. “Okay, Lord, you just love getting off track, don’t you?”

  “Nope. I just like gettin’ to know you. Hence, the date request.”

  “Listen, even though I know you’re just pulling my leg here, you can’t talk like that. I’m your doctor. The VA would not approve in the slightest. Even in a joking manner.”

  “I’m absolutely not pullin’ your leg, nor do I have any intention of lettin’ you get in trouble for anything. Just a harmless ‘get to know each other’ date.”

  “Bishop.” She shakes her head again, her face reading exasperation. I know I’m pushing my luck. “You’re ridiculous. I’m forty-seven, for God’s sake.”

  I shrug. “And?”

  “You’re twenty-five.”

  “Gonna be twenty-six soon,” I reply, smirking. “And?”

  “And, I’m your doctor. Now, stop getting us off track. We’re here to talk about you.”

  “And that’s why I wanna go out sometime. So I can start askin’ you questions.”

  She takes a deep breath, busying herself with some papers on the desk, then asks, “Bishop, how has the drinking been this week? Have you cut back as we talked about at our last session?”

  I don’t respond right away, a smirk still present on my face as I lean back in the chair and cross one leg over the other, resting my hands in my lap.

  “Not too bad. I won’t lie, I got shitfaced Friday night. That was our initiation into the fraternity. Other than that, I spent most of this week recoverin’,” I say, chuckling.

  “How much less would you say you’re drinking these days as compared to before?”

  “Significantly less. Before the fight, I was drinkin’ damn near every night. Now, maybe a couple times a week.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  “I smoke a lot more
cigarettes.” I laugh. “But, other than that, I think I’m doin’ okay. It was a little easier when I was so busy with the pledgin’ stuff. Now that I have all this free time, and I’m actually a brother, it gets a little harder to fight.”

  “And what about after this, when you aren’t being monitored? Do you think you’ll return to your previous consumption level?”

  I take a moment, my eyes to the ceiling, as I think over her question. I look back toward her and shake my head. “No, I really don’t think I will. Weed … yeah, I won’t lie about that either. I’m gonna be smokin’ again the moment I’m able to, but the alcohol, I don’t think so. I never really craved it before, not like I think an alcoholic would. It was more of a boredom thing. I think I just need to find more hobbies. Find more ways to busy myself. And probably hang out at the frat house less.”

  “You should probably focus a little more on that schoolwork too.”

  “Well, now you’re soundin’ like a mother.”

  She shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta do it. I don’t know what your grades look like, but if what you’ve shared in our sessions is any indication, you certainly need to be prioritizing a little bit better.”

  “Oh God, Carleigh. You’re turnin’ me on here.”

  She shoots me a glare, tilting her head and lifting her brows in that “Watch it!” kind of way, and she points her pen at me. “You want to pass this program, Mr. Bishop?”

  “I’d really like that, yeah.” I smirk.

  “Then behave yourself when you’re in that chair.”

  A smile spreads across my face. I motion toward the door again, giving my brows a little dance. “And out there?”

  I’m met with that death stare of hers, but her eyes read something different. In them, I can see intrigue brimming.

  IT WAS EARLIER THIS WEEK when I got the call from Jensen, now a Staff Sergeant in charge of his own squad down in Fort Campbell, as he was quick to inform me. I don’t blame him for being proud. I’m proud of him too, but he used to be my soldier. Now, he’s moving up the ranks quickly and that should’ve been me. Shit, I would’ve had my own platoon by now.