by Elena Monroe
He pointed to his own ears, and I knew he wanted to speak in a way I heard, without the headphones. I preferred he try speaking to me with my music blaring and my headphones playing la da di da, like a child. I slammed my book shut and pushed my headphones off my ears. I didn’t bother speaking; he requested my attention, not my words.
“So, does Layla know you’re using?”
I had perfected not reacting to wild accusations. I got them enough times to realize whatever lie you told had to match your expression and that took practice.
His words still could have blown me over.
He spoke again, “I’m not an idiot, bro. I’m not Layla; I’ve been around the block a few times.”
I leaned forward, literally biting my tongue, because if I didn’t this would end with blows and not in the alleyway, but right here this time.
He leaned forward too, letting his elbow grind into himself right above the knee, staring at me harder, looking for weakness. I leaned forward further, the same way, debating letting my tongue free.
“Is that really your plan? Make up accusations and hope she believes you?” I felt smug before he quickly stole all my pride.
He laughed, before he even responded, “Okay, denial, I can work with that…” He stood up, grabbing his bag and coffee from the table, leaning down into me with his hand on my shoulder as he walked by. I could feel his breath touch my ear, as he said, “All addicts fuck up eventually. Didn’t they teach you acceptance is the first step?”
I could feel the blood in my veins turn thick and start to boil just at him touching me, never mind his sharp words. I couldn’t decide if reacting or not reacting would confirm his accusation. I stayed so tense that I thought I was willing my organs and blood pumping to cease. He walked past me, not waiting for a reaction anymore. I turned around quickly to watch him walk out. He hummed some tune and drank his coffee unaffected completely.
How did he know? If he could tell, then why couldn’t anyone else?
I did stop… well, except for this morning, when I took one more bump, just for extra strength. Talking to Aspen always ended up in him crying or devastating you with a look that you can’t take away. I was freshly sober, and I knew that alone would break me all over again. That pain would assault every nerve in my body, my subconscious would beg, and I would cave in. It doesn’t sound like self-sacrifice but it was.
I’ll hurt for them.
My accounting class was making my brain hurt, even when I wasn’t paying attention. All I heard was balance sheet, income statement, and a jargon of words that all tied back to revenue. Maybe Oliver was right; I wasn’t cut out for math classes. That was another thing on my mental checklist: pick a major, talk to Oliver, convince Hunter to not make drama… All things easier said than actually done.
I had my work cut out for me.
Oliver texted me a few times in class, but I didn’t have enough motivation to get through this long class and argue with him at the same time.
The girl next to me turned almost all the way around to face me, when I realized I must have missed something. I looked around in a panic before I sighed loudly. Whatever I missed, the attention was spread equally. I hadn’t been called on.
I turned to face her. I was not oblivious to the room partnering up, but I was as to why in a more specific sense. I finally really looked at her. Her skin was a creamy mocha and her green eyes sparkled. She was beautiful and not in a for our age kind of way. Her features were sharp at her jaw, cheekbones, and chin, while the rest of her smooth skin looked poreless. I was a little intimidated by her beauty.
She smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “I’m Maddison. Do you wanna do the balance sheet or income statement?”
Still stunned, I shook my head silently, before I realized I was reverting back to the old version of myself—the version intimidated by everything around me, in a way that stopped me from being myself. I sat up straighter, smiled back, and said, “Layla…” while offering my hand—a small habit I still hadn’t broken.
We both small-talked our way through any awkwardness, covering college life and our vastly different childhoods briefly. She was almost regal in her posture, and she used correct grammar, without one slang word.
She leaned in, like it was a secret: “I’m not very good at math,” before she laughed.
It was a good thing I was - not in this moment, not with Oliver and Hunter at each other’s throats, and I was forced to play referee.
I didn’t expect to hit it off with anyone else here. I was sucked in by Oliver’s friends already, and B was my carryon from home—one more wouldn’t hurt, right? I had never heard anyone ever say the words “I have too many friends”.
Another check mark on my mental list: check on B. She normally texts me more.
Once class was dismissed we walked out together continuing our small talk, juggling our phones and books to exchange numbers outside. I was going to text Oliver back afterwards, but he was hard to miss, leaning against his car, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
I pushed my head his way, “My ride is here. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow? Gotta let my brain recover before our next class.”
We both laughed, until she looked in the direction I motioned to, and I saw her carefree demeanor change into something else.
I watched the color fade fast, and her body seemed rigid, like she hit a wall and saw a ghost at the same time. I stopped myself from walking backwards; I wanted to study her face longer. She held the answers that I wanted about her reaction, but really I already made assumptions.
I was doomed to only make friends with girls Oliver broke the hearts of. Was that fate or some kind of prediction I might join their club?
She adjusted her eyes down, after realizing that I had noticed and agreed to see me during our next class—a lot less easily than all her prior words. Just like Elizabeth—smart, polished, and destroyed by the man I was currently under the spell of.
I walked over to Oliver’s car, already deciding I was angry with him for whatever he did to Maddison to make her react that way. I breezed by him, getting into the car without waiting—the way I typically did for him. He took an extra-long drag of his cigarette, pausing before he flicked the end of it in the bushes outlining the sidewalks.
I knew he was pausing on purpose, giving me space to be angry before he inquired about what. He got into the car with a huge huff, like he needed to exhale and couldn’t until now.
I stared at him intently. How could someone so gorgeous hurt so many women? Gorgeous men should be created for others to worship the way I did, not the kind of heartbreak that created malfunctions. That’s exactly what happened: Maddison malfunctioned. The only reason Elizabeth didn’t was because they were still having sex—a slow burn until her heart became ashes.
He snipped, “What, Layla? Just say it.”
“What did you do to her?” I had debated not asking, but the words came up like vomit, after gagging too many times.
“Maddison? I didn’t do anything, Layla.”
There was that level voice, casual tone.
I faced him as best as I could in the toy car, no longer just my mind that was angry but my whole body shook. He was always casual. Even with Elizabeth, he made it seem less serious than it actually was.
Could he really be this unaware of how someone else felt for him? So unaccepting?
I gave him my meanest mug. My eyebrows low and creating a headache merely with the tension they held. My shoulders stiff and mouth tight.
”Then why did she look at you, and all the color drained from her face, Oliver?”
He dug his cigarette pack out of his center console, flipping the top open, and pulling out another cigarette with his lips, while he rolled the window down at the same time. He glanced at me without having to turn his whole face as he lit the end.
“That’s what you think? That I broke every girl’s heart when fucking my way through the campus? That I like knowing I hurt people? That
it gets me off?”
He hadn’t even started the car yet, and this was already a very long car ride, debating his past and finding the source of Maddison’s melted happiness.
“You’ve been with a lot of girls. Why else would she look like that?”
He wanted me to feel stupid for my judgment, but there wasn’t any other explanation.
“I never fucked her, Layla. I’m not the one who broke her heart.”
I looked at him confused, as he turned the key over, making the car purr as the engine started. He sighed heavily, clearly annoyed with my interrogation, as he sat back.
“Aspen. That’s Aspen’s Maddison, Layla.”
He deflated me with one name: Aspen. This whole time no one else even crossed my mind. I blamed Oliver instantly without a doubt. I felt something worse than terrible. I didn’t even know what to call it; none of the words sounded right. Awful? Embarrassed? Horrendous? It was worse than any word could label. I gave in to the exact stereotypes we all were forced to wear.
And I knew better.
I slid back in my seat, staring out the front window, praying he wouldn’t look at me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted his smirk, wide and enjoying me being wrong.
“You gonna apologize?”
I folded my arms against my chest, praying his celebration would be fleeting. I shook my head no. “My boyfriend taught me to never apologize for anything.”
I felt his hand on my thigh, gently squeezing. “Damn straight, baby.”
I couldn’t stay mad at him, ever; I learned that quickly. Now my head was spinning from different revelations. I just met Maddison, the girl Aspen loved and got into a car wreck with—the Maddison. She’s was exactly what I hoped for in a girl for him.
I quickly thought, Does he know she’s back?
I was antsy with nerves, from the anger finally fading and the embarrassment of assuming. My mom always told me that when you assume, you make an ass of you and me. It was easy to forget on a college campus when that was all people my age did: assume and judge, based on one glance.
Oliver was calm, like normal—always calm, always level. “We have to make a stop at the Frat before home. Yes, he knows. She was at the party you brought Hunter to.”
His statement started off soft, then proceeded to get sharper the closer his words got to Hunter’s name.
I didn’t respond.
“Speaking of Hunter… Why is he suddenly on my campus, Layla?”
I shrugged the best I could, knowing I had no answers to offer.
“What really happened on break?”
His question was pointed and sharp, and I felt it draw blood.
How would I explain I didn’t forgive him, but somehow we became friends?
How would I explain we made out for hours in the hopes to turn our minds off from our troubles?
How would I explain that things almost went too far too many times?
So, I didn’t. “I told you nothing happened, Oliver.”
He was giving me the side eye, not believing a word I said. I was a horrible liar, even B told me I had to work on that now being a college girl. In her mind, college meant having to lie more.
I didn’t want to find out about what happened on his break.
He kept his eyes off me while he spoke, “Well, something you did has made him wanna change schools, Layla. How far did those hickies go?”
I shifted against the leather, not wanting to have this conversation here before pulling up to the Frat house. He was forcing me to explain.
Hunter, Maddison… both surprises he didn’t prepare for, and he didn’t want to get caught off guard again.
“Just the kissing, the marks. That’s all. I didn’t have sex with him.”
It felt like a lie even though it wasn’t. I didn’t have sex with Hunter. It went far enough to make this conversation with my boyfriend uncomfortable without sex.
Did he want me to hurt him? Or did he want to be informed because Hunter is unpredictable?
He looked at me with angry eyes again. They could have lit me on fire if he looked long enough.
“How far did the kissing go, Layla? Cut the bullshit. No clothes? Touching? What?”
Not any softer, each question drew blood. I didn’t understand how jealousy worked as a weapon when all I felt was uncomfortable and shame.
“Sometimes. I guess.”
All the calm turned quickly, his whole-body tensing as he drove. “What the fuck is ‘sometimes’, and ‘I guess’? You sometimes had your clothes off, and you guess he touched you? I’m not your fucking mom. Stop dancing around it.”
I swallowed hard, trying to lubricate my mouth at the same time, so the words slipped out easier. “Yes. What do you want from me, Oliver? This is awful to talk about. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He pulled out another cigarette, while driving and mumbling with it pinched between his lips. “I deserve to know, especially because I don’t know… he changed fucking schools to be near you. I can handle some details. Stop being a child.”
He was making me angry. It wasn’t a matter of being childish or inexperienced. It was having to hurt him in the process. Something I didn’t willingly want to do.
On the other hand, my anger was being stirred with his silver tongue, and I didn’t care if it hurt.
“We’d made out, Oliver, but apparently you can’t just imagine what that entails, so you’re making me hurt you by telling you in detail. Can’t you just assume the worst, like any other guy would?” I paused, waiting for him to change his mind, but he waved his hand in the air instead, motioning me to proceed. “I always kept my panties on, and he kept his boxers on. It would get really heavy… different than you and I. He’d whisper to let him do things, but it never went farther than that. That’s enough, seriously.”
He muttered a simple, “Great, Layla. You teased him to death, and now he’s on our campus.”
He didn’t push for anymore when he pulled up alongside the curb in front of the Frat. The air in the car felt heavy and disappointing, the cracked window not helping. I could see his mind working to create a picture to go along with my words. I could see how he controlled the anger and pain by remaining level.
I reached for his leg, only my fingertips brushed against his jeans as he got out. I got out after a deep breath and snagging my phone, leaving everything else behind, even my confession.
I closed the door, turning around to Oliver almost right against me. He pushed me backwards into his car and his palms pressed against the frame behind me. I could feel his keys hanging from his jeans pressed against my leg. I was assaulted with his scent and his dark eyes. I watched his face dip down into my neck before I felt his lips place a soft kiss. He kissed his way to my ear before he whispered, “I’m going to destroy him, so there better not be anything there.”
I swallowed hard again hoping it didn’t mean anything other than what it truly meant. I was intimidated by his anger and worried for Hunter…
Layla might have been brave now, but she certainly had some ways to go on the confidence.
She was uncomfortable even telling me what happened between her and Hunter. I knew we weren’t together over break; I wasn’t about to cry and scream cheater. I needed to know, because he wasn’t going to play fair, not for her, not if he changed schools.
I didn’t want to be caught off guard again.
I had an envelope in my back pocket for Aspen I had to drop off so he could stop texting me reminders. If he didn’t skip class, he probably would have seen her on campus without needing to know her class schedule.
Caden already gave me the full run down on Aspen’s day off. He skipped classes and was making his way through a twenty-four pack of Bud Light—piss water of the masses. It would still get the job done, just slower—more controlled than hard liquor.
Caden skipped classes too, and now he was passing the torch of babysitting to me. I had night duty. I had to stop here anyways to give him Maddison’s schedule
, which I basically acquired illegally when logging in as my prof. The things I did for my friends—this group.
That was all games compared to my need to decompress the fact that Hunter knew something no one else did.
I wasn’t sober anymore.
I stopped using, but I quickly picked my bad habits out of the trash the minute Layla wasn’t in the coffee shop waiting for me after I got cornered by the Amherst Sinners. Ironic. Sinners cornering a fellow sinner.
I truly hadn’t gone sober like I told my friends, that would have been obvious to everyone around me. I took sober days here and there, but nothing resembling commitment.
Detoxing even from a two-month bender would have been brutally obvious. The fact that no one noticed wasn’t surprising, considering I went away for rehab, with all the detoxing concealed in a white building with bullies for nurses.
I walked in, knowing what I was about to see: the other side of Aspen—the one we all knew best, our friend, the real him, instead of the guilt ridden version we tolerated since the crash.
He jumped off the couch, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his chest for some kind of hug. I couldn’t relax until I heard him whisper against me, “Miss me, motherfucker?”
I never knew how to be around the broken version of him. Caden was unbelievable at knowing how to handle everyone, constantly making his personality fit into whatever box they needed checked. I was the opposite. I was brash, quietly rude, and stand offish in the worst ways. I tightened my arm around him. I did miss him.
His hand was still on my shoulder, even when we pulled away. I reached for my back pocket, displaying an envelope between us. I didn’t even know if this version still desired this information, but I presented it anyways.
“Good looks, bro!”
He ripped it open, not caring how shredded the envelope got as long as her class schedule went untouched.