Too Late

by C. Hoover

  I open my eyes just as Sloan is pulling her panties back on. “Fucking whore,” I mutter. Then I scream. “You fucking whore! Just kill me!”

  Sloan presses her lips to Luke one more time, and then she stands up straight and walks toward me. She bends down in front of me. I would reach out and strangle her, but I’m fairly certain I’ve lost too much blood to even lift my arms now.

  “No one is going to kill you, Asa. For the rest of your life, every time you close your eyes in that prison cell, I want you to see me. With Luke. Making love to Luke. Marrying Luke. Having Luke’s babies.”

  She leans in closer until I can smell the sex on her. She’s whispering when she looks me dead in the eyes and says, “And every year on April twentieth, my beautiful family will be celebrating your birthday with a big, huge, delicious coconut cake, you sorry fucking bastard.”

  Luke unlocks the door, seconds before it’s shoved open.

  Guns are drawn.

  Pointed at me.

  But all I see is Sloan.

  The whore is fucking smiling, and it’s all I see.

  It’s been two weeks since Stephen began receiving funding for his group home. It couldn’t have come at a better time—right when my first semester of college started.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about him living apart from me, but it’s way more of a relief knowing he’s there than at home with my mother. My ultimate goal, of course, is to move him in with me eventually, but it’s hard to do that when I don’t even have an official place to stay.

  My whole life, I’ve been Stephen’s caretaker. So, growing up, I didn’t even think college was going to be an option for me. It wasn’t until a month before I graduated high school that I found out from the school counselor about financial aid and that I could get financial assistance from the government for Stephen. Apparently it was always available for my mother to apply for, but why would she need to when that required effort on her part? Besides, she had me to take care of him.

  I just assumed since my mother was his legal guardian and he was only sixteen that he’d be stuck living with her until he was old enough for some sort of assistance as an adult.

  But now, here we are. I discovered financial aid and am now an official college freshman. My only issue was that I didn’t get enough aid to cover the cost of living in the dorms, so I’m still at home for the time being.

  Sort of.

  I stay with friends (okay, more like acquaintances) sometimes because my house is an hour away from campus. I usually take the bus to school, but that’s only when I have the money to do so. But on the days I have two class days back to back, I just try to find somewhere to crash. That’s been happening more and more often, because every time I’m in the same room with my mother, it turns into a fight. I’ve been avoiding her as much as I can, and now that Stephen no longer lives there, it’s so hard being there.

  It’s kind of stressful when I think about my life too much. The fact that I’m not living in the dorms, I don’t have enough aid left to rent an apartment, I’m crashing on people’s couches in hopes I can rotate those places enough that they don’t realize I’m living out of my backpack just to avoid going home to my mother.

  But I feel like karma has to lean on my side eventually. And maybe it’s starting to. I don’t have to worry about Stephen as much as I used to, now that he’s in the group home. Which means...I might actually have time for a life now. Every day has been the same routine growing up. Wake up, get dressed, get Stephen dressed, take the bus and drop him off at his school, go to my school, pick him back up at his school, ride the bus home, start dinner, help him eat dinner, give him his meds, bathe him, get him ready for bed, do my homework, sleep, repeat.

  But now...I feel somewhat free. Not that Stephen ever felt like a burden to me. I love him and would do anything for him, but it’s nice to finally have some time for myself. I just wish I knew what to do with it. I feel lost after class and spend most of my time in the library. I’ve applied for student-work positions on campus and am on a waiting list for two of them. I also applied to work at the McDonald’s down the street from the college, but apparently every other poor college kid wants to work there, too.

  In the meantime, until I can get one of those jobs and start saving up for a place for Stephen and me, I’ll just continue trying to get by. And continue to hope that Stephen’s new care facility is something he grows to love. The ultimate dream would be that the funding he receives never gets cut, and that he grows to love it there and they take good care of him. Because there’s no way I could provide him with what he needs if he lived with me while I was trying to go to college and find a job.

  All in all, my life isn’t ideal right now, but it’s getting better. Slowly but surely.

  And sitting near this guy who occasionally shows up to history class is one of the few pleasures I get out of life right now.

  I’m always really self-conscious when he does show up for class, hoping he never looks in my direction. I’ve never really had the money to buy nice clothes or get my hair or nails done. I’m nothing like the girls who flirt with him in class. My hair is dark and straight and since I can never afford to get it cut and styled, I just let it grow as long as I can until it’s easy for me to trim the edges myself.

  I sometimes feel like I stick out at this college, and not in a good way. I’d much rather just blend in. Disappear into the crowd.

  I want to be the exact opposite of this guy. Asa, I think is his name. He’s probably one of the best-looking guys I’ve ever seen in real life. And it’s not even entirely because of his looks—it’s because of his confidence. I’ve never seen anything like it. He walks in the classroom with such confidence, holding his massive shoulders back, his head lifted up, his eyes scanning the room like he’s daring someone to say anything about how he rarely shows up once a week. Even the teacher fails to reprimand him and seems sort of nervous to do so.

  When every other student walks into the classroom, their heads are down, eyes to the floor, scurrying to their desks so they don’t notice everyone staring at them. But Asa almost seems like he wants everyone to stare at him. Like he’d be upset if he didn’t have the attention of every person in the classroom.

  As far as I can tell, he has nothing to worry about. He gets that attention and then some.

  I’m staring at him while the teacher drones on and on about the Civil War. Asa has really great hair. I can’t help but imagine what it looks like wet. What it would look like with my hands in it. What it would look like if he were facing me—staring at me like he wanted to touch my hair, too.

  I’m not sure he’s ever even laid eyes on me, but I like to imagine he does sometimes. I imagine what it’d be like to be anyone’s focus, really. I’ve never had time for guys due to taking care of Stephen. I mean, it’s like a babysitting job that never ends—not even on weekends or holidays. Guys would ask me out in high school a lot, but I was never able to find a way to get Stephen covered. I wanted to date, though. I wanted all the things normal high school girls wanted. A boyfriend, their first kiss, and everything that comes with that.

  Once, I was so desperate to hopefully get that first kiss, that when the guy I had a crush on finally asked me out, I suggested we go to my place instead. That way I could get to know the guy and keep an eye on Stephen at the same time. My mother wasn’t home that night, so before the guy showed up, I put a lot into getting ready for him. But right before he rang the doorbell, Stephen started having a meltdown at the dinner table. It took all I had to finally restrain him, but by the time I had, we were both a mess. Food all over us, my hair covered in sweet potatoes, my shirt ripped at the sleeve.

  I opened the door like that—panting from exhaustion. The guy took one look at me and one look at Stephen and the mess he’d made in the kitchen and he backed right out of the house. “Maybe another time,” he suggested.

  But he never asked me out again. And I’m pretty sure he told every guy in school w
hat had happened, because no one ever asked me out again after that.

  Guys can be real fuckers sometimes.

  I look away from Asa and glance toward the board, catching up on all the lecture I just missed while I was lost in thought. I’m scribbling away at my notebook when my pen runs out of ink.

  I shake it and try to write again, but it doesn’t work.

  I didn’t bring my purse to class, so I don’t have an extra. I continue to try to make it work, only noticing that I’m making noise with the pen scratching at the paper when I feel Asa’s stare.

  I don’t even have to look up. I can feel his eyes on me as he takes in my shitty clothes, my shitty nails, my shitty hair, my lack of makeup. I want to crawl under the desk and hide from his scrutiny, but it’s too late.

  “Here.”

  Shit.

  I don’t want to look at him, but he’s reaching out with a pen in his hand, trying to give it to me. I immediately feel warmth spreading over me—from the surface of my skin, deep down to the pit of my stomach.

  When I look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time, I gasp. His face is perfection. A strong jaw, two plump lips that are wet and inviting. When he smiles at me, dimples form just at the corners of his mouth, giving the harshness of his strong features just the right touch of boyish charm.

  I could go on and on about the perfection of his physical appearance, but I’m not that type of person. I’m not that shallow.

  Right?

  It doesn’t matter to me that his hair looks thick enough to grab fistfuls of. It doesn’t matter to me that his defined arms look like they could lift me up without a struggle. It doesn’t matter to me that the heather-blue T-shirt he’s wearing fits him in all the right places, and I don’t even have to slide my hand inside his shirt to know where every contour of his six-pack is.

  None of that matters. I’m not that kind of person.

  So why am I finding it so hard to breathe?

  He’s still reaching out, trying to hand me the pen. He chuckles at my lack of response and then he lifts out of his chair far enough to lay the pen on my desk. He winks at me and then faces forward again.

  I look down at the pen. I look back at him and he’s no longer taking notes.

  He gave me his only pen?

  I pick it up and force myself to finish taking notes, even though I’m consumed with the fact that I’m going to have to give this pen back to him and thank him. Which means I’ll have to actually speak to him.

  By the time the professor ends his lecture, my hands are shaking. I’m completely ridiculous. I pack my backpack, and before he’s even standing, I walk past him and mutter a “thanks” as I lay the pen on his desk and rush away.

  I exit the classroom on two flimsy excuses for legs. When I make it about ten feet from the door, I feel a hand on my elbow.

  “Hey.”

  I close my eyes because that voice sounds even sexier when it’s being tossed in my direction from this close. When I turn around and look at him, he’s staring down at me, his dimples sinking in with his smirk. His eyes scroll over my features, one by one, and I’d give anything to be able to know what he’s thinking as he checks me out. He leans against the locker beside me and says, “What’s your name?”

  Oh, God.

  He’s going to ask me out.

  The guy I never thought would notice I existed has noticed. And for some reason, he wants to ask me out. I thought I’d want to say yes, but I don’t. Not after seeing him up close. Not after feeling what his voice alone does to my insides. I’m no match to his experience. I can tell by the look in his eye that he would eat me alive.

  I need to ease my way up to someone like him. I can’t dive into the dating world with him as my first attempt, never even having kissed a guy.

  I immediately turn around and walk in the other direction. A few steps later, I feel a hand on my elbow again. “Hey,” he says, laughing this time.

  I stop again and face him. “I already thanked you for the pen.”

  Why am I being such a bitch?

  That stupid, adorable smile is still affixed to his face. Even his teeth are sexy. Who the fuck has sexy teeth?

  “I realize that,” he says. “And you’re welcome. But now I’m kind of in need of a return favor.”

  I may not know anything about dating, but I know what it means when guys like him ask for favors. “You let me borrow a pen. That’s hardly a favor worth repaying.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “I let you borrow my only pen. Now I need a copy of your notes.”

  Oh. Maybe he doesn’t want to ask me out. “You show up to one out of every four classes and now you’re worried about missing ten minutes of notes?” I say. “Seriously?”

  His eyes squint in the corners a little. “Actually,” he says, leaning forward. “I’m trying to flirt with you, but you’re making that a little difficult.”

  Oh.

  I chew on the corner of my lip for a moment, trying to hide whatever reaction that comment just elicited. But he’s probably used to that reaction because I’m sure I’m the only girl left in the whole school he hasn’t flirted with yet. “I’m Sloan. And I’m not interested in being flirted with.”

  “Sloan,” he repeats with a smile. “Very nice.”

  Seriously? How do those three words cause chills to run down my arms?

  He takes a step closer. He smells like peppermint. “Sloan...you should go to dinner with me tonight. I promise to be a gentleman for as long as you need me to be.”

  His comment repulses me and turns me on at the same time. I have no idea how. I feel like my body and my conscience are at war. Especially now that I’m staring at his mouth, wondering if he’s going to be the first guy I ever kiss. I imagine kissing a guy is sort of like how it feels when you eat a pineapple. Kind of satisfying and sticky, but you can feel it on your tongue hours after you eat it.

  He lets me borrow a pencil and now I’m daydreaming about kissing him? My thoughts are not safe around this guy.

  I shake my head and turn around to walk away.

  I have no idea why I just turned him down. It’s not like I have anything better to do tonight. But something about him tells me I’ll be getting in way too deep. He’s not safe. He’s not shallow water where people normally tiptoe in, ankle deep. He’s the shark-infested deep end of the sea and if I agree to go out with him, I’ll be walking the plank, right off the boat and into his dark depth.

  How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even know if I can swim?

  He’s in front of me now, causing me to come to a sudden stop. He takes a step forward and I take a step back.

  “We don’t have to call it a date,” he says. “I’m just really fucking attracted to you and I’d like to eat a meal and be able to stare at you while I do it. Will you let me pick you up tonight so I can stare at you while I eat food?”

  A playful smile breaks out on his face and I can’t help but laugh at him. And damn. He has a potty mouth. Why do I find that such a turn-on?

  He mouths the word, “Please,” while looking at me desperately. I don’t know why I love that he mouthed that word and didn’t voice it.

  I take a moment to think about all the things I was just telling myself in class earlier. I’m young. It’s my first time to experience life now that Stephen is in full-time care. If I don’t start to experience things soon, I’m going to be too far behind to ever catch up.

  I blow out a breath and nod. “Fine. I’ll let you watch me while you eat. Weirdo. Pick me up in front of the student union at seven.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty. I’m free then.”

  “That’s a really late date.”

  He smiles and says, “So it is a date.” He leans forward, his lips coming close to my ear. “Wear the dress you wore to class last Tuesday, please. The one with the yellow flowers on it.”

  He brushes past me and walks away, and I don’t even get to see his expression after those words. I
feel like those words sent a charge of electricity coursing through me.

  He noticed what I was wearing last week?

  I cover my smile with my hand and walk to my next class.

  I got ready at the laundromat.

  How sad is that?

  The dress Asa asked me to wear was dirty and I don’t have access to a washer or dryer at my house or at the girl’s house I’ve been staying at the last few days. So I grabbed my dirty clothes and went to the laundromat and did my hair and makeup in the laundromat bathroom while my clothes washed.

  I wonder if he’d still be attracted to me if he knew that.

  I’ve noticed the name brand clothes he wears. The new pair of shoes he always has on when he decides to show up to class. Even the pen he let me borrow looked more expensive than this dress.

  I still can’t figure out why he wants to take me out. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have huge issues with self-esteem. I just wonder why, out of all the girls I see flirting with him, he asked me out on a date. I’m not loud, I don’t seek out attention, I don’t dress to impress. If anything, I do what I can to avoid guys like him for this very reason. Because I hate the unknown.

  When you go your whole life without interacting with guys in a flirtatious or sexual way, you just get to a point where you feel so far behind, there’s no way you’ll ever catch up to the people your age.

  I feel like I’m in a completely different race than they are. I stare at all the people passing me as they go in and out of the student union. Some stare at me, some don’t. Two guys have asked if I need help.

  I don’t know if they were hitting on me or if it’s because I’ve been standing here for half an hour now. One of my least favorite things about a person is tardiness. I’ve already deducted a point and we haven’t even started the date yet. I’ll give him ten more minutes and if he isn’t here, I’m leaving.

  One minute passes.

  Three.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Nine.