by Margot Wood
I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
I step over him to get to the bed where I dig through the pile of coats until I find mine. I hear the door open and assume Kenton has fled, but when I turn around, Rose is standing in the doorway. It’s dark, but the lamplight from the alley illuminates her face enough for me to witness the moment her eyes flick back and forth between Kenton and me and she puts it together. Rose presses her lips together in a tight line.
“What happened?” she asks slowly.
“She assaulted me!” Kenton shouts from the floor.
“I’m not talking to you,” Rose spits down at him. “What happened?” She directs her question to me with an intensity in her eyes I have not seen before.
“Can we talk about it later? I just want to go home,” I beg her. I can’t do this right now. I’m too drunk and too shaky to deal with my RA interrogating me.
“Fine. I’ll find you when I get back, but I need to speak with Kenton for a moment.” Her jaw clenches as she stares down at him. Every fiber of my being is screaming to stay and inflict more pain on Kenton, but right now I’m more afraid of Rose. She is practically vibrating with rage. Without another word I grab my coat from the bed and leave.
When I step outside the bedroom, I am hit with the reality that the party continued, as if I hadn’t been getting groped by my roommate’s boyfriend five feet away. I push my way through the hot, muggy hellhole of an apartment. Someone bumps into me and spills beer all over my pants and it takes every ounce of energy I have left not to scream. I want to crawl out of my own skin. It’s too fucking hot, the music is too loud, people keep shouting at one another, there are too many fucking bodies in here. I need to get out. Sasha calls to me from the kitchen, but I don’t hear what she says. I run into Monica who asks where Rose is but I don’t answer her. I’m just about to get to the door when Micah blocks my way.
“Ohmygod, how drunk are you? And are my eyes deceiving me or did I just witness you come out of the same bedroom that Kenton went into a while ago?”
“Not now, Micah. I need to get out of here.” I try to sidestep him but he blocks me again. I can feel a cube of anxiety get stuck directly in the middle of my throat. “Can you please let me go?” I choke out. I am dangerously close to losing it.
Micah crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Not until you spill the tea and tell me what’s going on.” He thinks there’s gossip to share here. He thinks this is fun, something he can use in his Third-Floor Report. I start to panic and hyperventilate and the desperate wail that’s been building inside me makes my head burst at the seams. I squeeze my eyes shut, open my mouth, and spew hot lava all over Micah.
“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY, MICAH!” I scream. My voice booms over the music, over the voices, and people all around stop what they’re doing and watch us. Micah looks hurt and that only makes me feel worse, but I don’t apologize.
He doesn’t say a word. No one does. He steps to the side and lets me leave. Someone shuts the door behind me and the party resumes. I know I left my sweatshirt somewhere in the living room along with my purse containing my wallet and student ID but I don’t go back. I need to get as far away from here as possible. I push my way out of the building and stumble on the snow-covered lawn. I run to the end of the block and immediately throw up on the sidewalk.
Think of the biggest fuckup you’ve ever made in your life. Remember that hot, tingly feeling of shame and guilt in the pit of your stomach? Now imagine that—plus vomiting. That’s how I feel right now. I am not one of those people who vomits gracefully. You know those people, the Puke and Rally types—the ones who can quietly upend the entire contents of their stomach and then go on as if nothing happened. No, I am the opposite. My upchucks are violent affairs—I am loud and I cry, my entire body sweats, and I have no control over the projection of my bodily fluids.
So here I am, snuggling a toilet in a shared college bathroom, purging all of this semester’s mistakes in a sweaty, tearful, pathetic display of human indecency. And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part of it is hearing the people I’ve lived with for the last four months come and go, do their business and pretend like they don’t hear me dying in the last stall.
When my body finally stops dry heaving, it’s three in the morning. No one has come in the bathroom in a while, so I peel myself off the toilet and crawl across the moldy tiled floor until I reach one of the shower stalls. I try to stand but my legs are shaking and I slip and fall so I just reach up and turn the nozzle on. Water jets out in hard, icy cold bursts that stab my body. I don’t bother taking my clothes off—there’s puke and beer on them, and I never ever want to wear these clothes again. I tuck my knees in and squeeze my eyes shut as the memory of Kenton’s disgusting penis flashes before me. I start to cry again and it quickly turns into uncontrollable sobbing. I can’t believe how much I’ve fucked up this semester. Everything that had worked for me before isn’t working now. After the way things ended in high school, this was my chance to build new friendships, ones that would last a lifetime, and now I don’t know where I stand with Micah and I led Lucy straight into the arms of a complete piece of shit. And I spent so much time sleeping around with people I don’t even care about and for what? I never found what I was looking for, and it did absolutely nothing to help my essay. My parents are going to kill me when they find out my grades—they might pull me out of school. They should pull me out of school. I don’t fucking deserve to be here. I haven’t earned any of this. I cry and cry and cry until the water turns hot, until my clothes are heavy and cling to my skin. I lean my head against the shower wall and close my eyes. I’ve almost fallen asleep when I hear a voice.
“Elliot? Are you in here?”
I have to spit water out of my mouth. “I’m here,” I say. My throat is sore from crying, my jaw is tight from clenching my teeth. “I’m here,” I say again, a little louder.
I hear footsteps approach and the shower curtain slides open. Rose stands over me, a glimmer of that same fury still in her eyes. Fuck. She’s going to yell at me. I know it. I immediately start crying again. “Rose, I’m so sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry.”
But she doesn’t yell or get mad or lecture me. Instead, she steps into the water, squats down and wraps her strong arms around me. “Shh, it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize,” she says. “Kenton told me everything.”
I squeeze her forearms tight, rest my weary head on her shoulder and cry harder than I ever have before.
And we stay like that, in each other’s arms until I let it all out and the hot water runs cold again.
* * *
1 Have I told you, dear reader, how much I love you lately? I do. It’s super cool that you’ve made it this far into the story and I just love you, a lot. Five stars on Goodreads, please.
INTERMISSION
Well, shit.
That was intense, wasn’t it?
Why don’t we all just take a quick pee break, put on an aloe sheet mask, hug a puppy, and drink a pamplemousse LaCroix.
CHAPTER 10
Less than thirty-six hours after the party, Kenton drops out of Emerson and I land in Cincinnati. I opted to let the school handle the situation instead of reporting the incident to the police, but now that he’s dropped out, there’s nothing left to do but move on.1 As soon I land, I take my phone off airplane mode and it lights up with a slew of texts from Rose.
Rose: Hope you have a safe flight. Wanted you to know that your Title IX complaint has been updated to reflect that the student (aka Kenton) withdrew—and it includes the notation “pending disciplinary.”
Rose: I don’t know what pending disciplinary means but I’ll try to find out. Either way, there will be no investigation, your privacy will be protected.
Rose: None of this needs to change how you feel about him or the situation, just thought you should know.
Rose: If you need to talk over winter break, I’m here. If not, I hope you get some rest an
d family time. Be kind to yourself, Elliot. See you in the new year.
So, I guess that settles that.
I get off the plane, pick up my suitcase at baggage claim, and when my Lyft pulls up at the arrivals curb, I send the Lyft link to my dad so he’ll know my ETA. Somewhere along the drive on the barren highway between northern Kentucky and downtown Cincinnati, my mind starts to wander, and it dawns on me that I have been forgetting one massive, huge, enormous piece of this whole unfortunate mess. Lucy. I forgot to tell Lucy. She doesn’t know.
I look out the window at the gray sky and start to panic at the thought of telling my best friend that not only did her boyfriend try to cheat on her, he tried to do it with me—without my consent—and now he’s dropping out and she’ll probably never see him again. My heart leaks acid into my stomach. I have to tell her. Right now, before I get home. This isn’t the kind of conversation I want to have in front of a random Lyft driver but both my sisters are home and my mom will be in full holiday-panic mode, so I can’t do it there either, my house is too chaotic. I take my phone out of my pocket, change the destination in the app and the driver is pinged. He taps the blinker and veers onto the next exit ramp as he takes me toward Alms Park.
I don’t know why a park was the first place I thought of to talk to Lucy. It’s cold as shit and the sky looks dark and angry, as if it’s about to take a massive snowy dump on my face, but it doesn’t matter. I’m here. It’s now or never.
I find a place to sit, on a bench that overlooks the muddy Ohio River and call Lucy. It rings four times before she picks up. “Hi, Elliot,” she says. Weird. Normally she greets me with a Hello, my love. Something’s not right.
“Uh, hey.” I clear my throat and try again. “Hey, Luce! Did you make the drive home okay?”
“It’s only a ten-minute drive.” Silence. Something is definitely off. “What do you want, Elliot?” Snow starts to fall and the temperature drops. I pace to keep warm—and to calm my nerves. Shit, I shouldn’t have called her until I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I take a deep breath and clear my throat. Here goes nothing.
“So, um, I need to tell you something about Kenton. I don’t know how to—”
“Save your breath,” she says, cutting me off. “I already know.” Her voice is cold and brittle.
“Already know what?”
“I know about you and Kenton, Elliot.”
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“What? How?” I start to panic. “How did you find out?”
“Micah’s blog,” she hisses into the phone. “Micah posted all about how you and Kenton were all over each other at the party and then you went into a bedroom together.”
“That—that’s not what happened,” I say quietly. I can’t catch my breath.
“And I got a text from Kenton this morning telling me he’s dumping me AND moving back to New York.”
“That’s not what happened,” I say again but she’s not hearing me.
“God, you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself, don’t you?” Her words are corrosive. I have never heard her talk like this before; I have never even heard her swear. “I’ve done nothing but go above and beyond for you and this is how you show your gratitude? I bring you food and coffee and help you study and give you my full attention as I am forced to listen to every single one of your hook-up stories. Meanwhile you have never, not even once, gone above and beyond for me.”
I know I shouldn’t get defensive right now; she’s only reacting to what she believes is the truth, but I can’t stop my mouth. “How could I? If you weren’t with Kenton, you were at class or working at the Emerson Fund or running or going home to one of those family dinners you never invited me to. I barely had a roommate all semester!”
“Of course you would make my needing to take care of my family and study and work about you. You never spent any time or effort doing any of those things! And you know what kills me? You don’t even care that you’re at Emerson! College is just an afterthought to you.”
“That is not true—”
“Some student didn’t get a spot in this school because you took it.”
“I earned my spot at Emerson, just like you did, Lucy.”
“That may be true, but you take it for granted. Some of us don’t have rich parents who can afford the tuition, Elliot. Some of us have to take out loans and then work for decades to pay them off. Some of us don’t have the luxury of doing nothing all semester but partying and sleeping around. College isn’t the world’s most expensive sleepover camp, for me it’s the greatest opportunity I will ever have, and you act like it’s a chore. Some of us want to learn, Elliot. But apparently, you don’t. So why are you even there?”
My face grows hot and my throat swells. It’s hard to swallow. My heart hurts so much. It’s so cold, my tears are starting to frost on my lashes. There’s a long pause before Lucy speaks again.
“I have to go, Elliot,” she says, and I can feel her drifting further and further away from me.
“Wait!” I say. “Please don’t hang up. You are right—about everything, but—”
“I don’t want to hear anything else from you, Elliot,” she says as she seethes.
I start to panic. I am about to lose my best friend. I can’t believe this is fucking happening—again.
“There is something I need to tell you!” I cry out.
“I’m hanging up now—”
“Please,” I get out in between sobs. I take a chance. “You don’t need to talk to me, but please talk to Rose. She knows the truth.” Lucy doesn’t say anything and for a moment I think she’s going to stay on the line and give me a chance to explain, but she doesn’t.
She hangs up.
I don’t call her back.
Instead of calling my dad or another Lyft to pick me up, I decide to stash my suitcase under the bench and take a walk to clear my head. The snow is falling in heavy clumps and the ground has already turned white. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if I freeze to death out here. I know I should go inside and not get caught outside in a snowstorm, but I feel out of control and reckless and agitated and sick and desperate to do something, to feel anything other than this hot, blistering shame.
I don’t know what hurts more: the fact that my best friend hates me because of a rumor my other best friend spread, the fact that I bombed my classes, or the fact that I couldn’t see for myself who Kenton really was. Logically, I know that what happened wasn’t my fault, but logic and reason provide no comfort when I feel completely stupid. And angry and humiliated and frustrated.
And sad.
And alone.
And hurt.
I cut into the woods, taking a snowy path I like to hike with Remy and my dad, until I come to this old, abandoned stone lookout I used to love playing on when I was a kid. But now it seems no one has tended this part of the park for years, and the view is obstructed by overgrown shrubs and trees. I brush snow and fallen branches off one of the stones and take a seat, pulling my jacket around me tighter. A cold gust of wind slaps me in the face. Hot tears sting as they trickle down my frozen cheeks. And just as I get settled in for a good long cry, I hear the unmistakable sound of crunching footsteps behind me. I spin around and there’s my dad, waiting for me in the snow with a red thermos in one hand and a round, purple sled in the other.
“Dad?!?”
“Daughter?”
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re going sledding!” He grins and tosses me the sled.
“Nope. Nuh uh. There is no way I am sledding down this, it’s way too steep.”
Dad and I are standing at the top of a hill on the other side of the park, surveying the precipitous slope below us. He hands me the thermos and I take a sip. Hot apple cider slides down my throat and warms my insides. I hand the thermos back to him and he takes a sip.
“Come on, it’ll be great!” he says.
“How are you gonna sled? This saucer only fits one
person.”
“Oh, I’m not going down that,” he says casually, as if I should have predicted this. “Do you see how sharp that drop is there at the bottom?”
“What the hell?!” I retort. “Why do I have to do it then?”
He drops a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. “Because sometimes in life you have to do things that are scary. Or because I said so. Take your pick.”
“What if I get hurt?” I can’t help but notice that the hill ends at a very rocky creek.
“Psh, you’ll be fine. I’ll see you at the bottom.” He doesn’t wait for me to argue; he takes off at a trot and hops down the hill at an angle. When he gets to the bottom he waves both of his arms over his head and god-fucking-dammit, I can’t believe I’m about to sled down this hill in a saucer.2 I set it down on the ground, climb on, and look down to the spot sure to be known in the future as the location where Elliot McHugh perished. Ahh, fuck it. I close my eyes and push off.
“I can’t believe you bailed at the end. You are such a wuss.” Dad shakes his head at me as we warm up in his car in the parking lot.
“Are you serious?!? I would have flown straight into the creek if I hadn’t!”
“Psh! You would have been fine.” He waves me off. “You do, however, get ten extra points for the dismount. You were quite graceful when you launched off that mound and did a flip in the air.”