Rough and Tumble

by Shae Connor

  “All right. Buddy bet.” Darryn names the game that kept us on track most of the previous year. “An hour studying. No talking.” Yeah, okay, keeping my mouth shut is a struggle. “If you make it, I’ll get snacks. If you don’t, you’re on the hook. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  I nearly always lose these bets. It’s next to impossible for me to keep my mouth shut for that long. I do have one special dispensation—I can repeat a sentence aloud to help me absorb it. I do that unconsciously so often that it’d be unfair to count that against me.

  Of course, the snacks I pick out are usually more fun than Darryn’s. He’s not a diet hard-ass by any means, but he’ll get fruit juice and pretzels instead of soda and chocolate. Unless it’s dark chocolate, of course. He does keep a stash of his favorite Japanese snacks around, though—melon pan, mochi, Pocky, even dried seaweed—and sometimes he’ll share.

  Okay, well. I’m not such a fan of the seaweed, I’ll admit.

  We’re both quiet for the first little while. Sounds from outside our room filter in—doors closing down the hall, water running, people shouting and laughing outside. Darryn’s highlighter squeaks as he marks a passage, and then the paper flips as he turns the page.

  I’m only half absorbing what I’m reading. Too much of my attention is focused on the man sitting across the room from me.

  This has been the problem with the two of us studying together almost since we first met. I’d been caught off guard by the way my stomach swooped when Coach Everson brought him over to introduce him and Darryn smiled, friendly but a little unsure. Being out to myself was a brand-new thing then, and my sister was the only other one who knew. I wonder now if Darryn had felt the same thing. Maybe if I’d been up front with him from the start…

  It takes an effort to pull my thoughts out of that valley and back to the page in front of me. Anthropology ought to be more interesting than this, but the text is dry and the professor almost as bad. If it wasn’t “strongly suggested” for my major, I’d have gone for something else.

  Darryn’s in psychology, which doesn’t sound much better, though he’s had good things to say about his professor. And here I am thinking about him instead of doing my reading again. Argh. I give up and read the next lines out loud.

  “An example of an old ritual that is encoded in myth and religious symbolism can be found in the catacombs of Sicily where over 2,000 dead bodies are kept. Most of these bodies have been embalmed or mummified and dressed in the attire that suited their profession, many of them being nobles, professionals, and merchants.”

  Darryn’s head pops up. “Okay, that’s gross,” he says, and then his eyes widen as he realizes what he’s done. “Oh shit!”

  I’m laughing already. “You lose! And none of that uber-healthy stuff this time, either. I want at least a Snickers out of you.”

  Darryn grumbles under his breath, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he turns back to his text. I know I can’t stop smiling, and for a moment, it feels like it did before. I wish I could hold onto that feeling, but just the act of thinking about it bursts the bubble.

  It’s not the same. It never will be. I’ve got to accept it. What are the stages of grief? I guess Darryn’s textbook would cover that. Denial, anger, depression…whatever. Acceptance comes eventually. Right now, I keep bouncing between anger and depression. It’s giving me whiplash, and it’s getting old fast.

  Dammit. I shake my head and force myself back to my reading. I’m never going to learn anything about religion and ritual at the rate I’m going.

  I wish there were a textbook to spell out how to navigate through the newly mined field of my relationship with Darryn.

  Chapter Five

  All right, nail this last fucking tumbling pass, you asshole.

  Even on a good day, my internal monologue during a routine sometimes sounds like Deadpool and Samuel L. Jackson as the Spartan cheerleaders—equal parts rah-rah-sis-boom-bah and “do you even do gymnastics, fucker?”

  Today? Today is not the best day.

  Rich is here again. Sitting in that same spot in the bleachers, this time ignoring me and watching Darryn like a hawk. Twice I’ve caught him baring his teeth when someone else touched Darryn, even though one was a high-five and the other was Coach Sato lifting him up to grasp the rings.

  This guy is a real piece of work.

  I do my best to channel my anger and frustration into my routine. I nail the tumbling pass, and when I jog off the edge of the mat to let Kenny take his turn, I feel marginally better.

  Then I glance over at Darryn and catch him frowning toward Rich, and all that emotion wells back up like it never went anywhere at all.

  I make it through the rest of practice without exploding, which feels like a feat of valor, and I stand under a hot shower longer than I usually would, ignoring all my teammates, including—especially—Darryn. I trudge back to my locker and dress, and when I turn to leave, I’m surprised to see Darryn waiting for me.

  “Hey,” he says with the tiniest of smiles. “You gonna be studying tonight? I could use another buddy bet.”

  I muster up a smile about the same quality as his. “Sure. Always more reading.”

  “Great. I’m having dinner… I mean, I’ll be back after dinner. Maybe around eight?”

  I shove away the knot in my stomach at the knowledge of who he’s having dinner with—you’d think I’d be used to it by now—and give a nod. “I’ll be there.”

  Darryn turns toward the door and pulls it open before waving me through. “I won’t lose this time, so better get your wallet ready.”

  “We’ll see about that.” I taunt as we walk out into the gym together.

  Our banter gets cut short because seconds later, Rich is there. He bares his teeth in a semblance of a smile, but his eyes tell me an entirely different story.

  “Come on, babe,” he slimes out as he wraps his fingers around Darryn’s upper arm. “Let’s get out of here. I missed you so much.”

  I don’t even have a chance to respond before Rich is dragging Darryn away. Darryn says something to Rich in a low voice, and Rich responds by slowing down and sliding his hand down to take Darryn’s hand instead of holding onto his arm, but they’re still out the door within another few seconds.

  I shake my head, as if I can shake off the entire encounter and maybe Rich’s whole existence. Blowing out a breath, I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and head out to find some dinner.

  …

  As promised, Darryn comes through the door of our room at eight p.m. sharp. He flashes me that same tiny little smile and drops his bag on his bed, going through the usual ritual of toeing off his sneakers and trading his jeans for loose shorts. He grabs a book and a highlighter off his desk and drops onto his bed.

  “Sorry about Rich,” he says after a moment. “He knows we’re close, and he gets jealous sometimes. I tell him we’re just friends, but, well.” He shrugs.

  He’s a controlling bastard? I bite my lips to hold back the words and return his shrug. “It’s okay. I get it.”

  It’s a lie, but it’s the best I can come up with.

  Darryn settles against the wall and opens his book. He picks up his phone. “Buddy bet?”

  I turn back to my own book. “Buddy bet.”

  “All right.” His phone beeps. “Annnnd, go!”

  Right off the bat, we fall into the same rhythm as always, the scratch of a pen and the soft shushing noise of a highlighter joining the soft music coming from my phone as we work. I’m not completely focused, I’ll admit. A small voice in the back of my mind reminds me that Darryn not only came back to study with me—he cut short his time with Rich to do it. There might be a little bit of mental dancing going on.

  But homework’s still a thing. I try to push all that aside and concentrate. I make it through the entire hour, the stopwatch soundin
g seconds before I push my book aside. “Ugh. There’s only so much anthropology my brain can absorb at a time.”

  Darryn laughs. “Definitely time for a break,” he agrees.

  As if scripted, his phone chimes, and he reaches over to check his text. His face rolls through about four different expressions as he reads—a happy smile, followed by a furrowed brow and a frown before he shakes his head and types out a short reply. He puts the phone down and reaches for his water bottle to take a long pull, then balances it on his book and fiddles with the mouthpiece.

  I watch him fidget, wondering what he has on his mind—because it’s pretty clear he’s working his way up to saying something.

  “Rich wants me to move in with him.”

  Wait, what?

  “I told him it’s too soon,” he adds quickly, probably to head off anything I might say. “We haven’t been dating that long. And I’m not supposed to move off campus until junior year anyway. He hasn’t quite let it go yet.”

  He might as well have slapped me across the face. “How long would be long enough?” I choke out.

  Darryn slumps against the wall. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice shaky. “Just…not this soon.”

  Anger wells up in my chest. “Then he should leave you alone about it.” I slam my book shut. “No means no.”

  Darryn shoots me a glare. “It’s not like that. He wants to spend more time with me, you know? It’s what boyfriends do.”

  The idea of Darryn moving in with Rich leaves me sick to my stomach, and not only because I still have a thing for him. I already feel like I’m losing my best friend. I don’t want to lose my roommate, too.

  I take a steadying breath and lift a placating hand. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” A lie, but I hope it’s a convincing one. “But you know what he wants, and you said no. You can tell him if you’re ever ready for something like that. He shouldn’t keep pressuring you about it.”

  His expression softens. “It’s okay. I mean, I’d have to agree to it. Not like he can kidnap me and make me go.”

  Some tension drains out of me at that, and I chuckle. “Yeah, I think people would notice.”

  “Anyway.” Darryn sets his water bottle down and pushes his books aside. “I know that was only, like, an hour, but I think my brain is shot for tonight. I’m gonna wash up and brush my teeth, get to bed a little early.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I watch him climb to his feet and grab his shower caddy to head across the hall. After he’s gone, I sit there another couple of seconds, feeling like I’m missing something, before I finally shove my own books aside to go take another shower.

  Maybe the water will knock loose whatever I’m not quite grasping.

  …

  I still haven’t figured it out by lunch the next day. I got to the dining hall late, and they don’t have much of anything that looks appetizing, at least for the mood I’m in. So I have a half-assed salad and bottle of apple juice. I’m digging through wilted romaine for an elusive bacon bit when Annie plops down in a seat across the table from me. She’s followed by Mo—Michelle—who’d been Annie’s roommate freshman year, before Annie saved up enough from her side hustle to pay the extra fees for a single room.

  Annie immediately narrows her eyes at me. “You look like the subject of a bad country song.”

  I bark out something approximating a laugh. “Isn’t that redundant?”

  Annie snorts and shakes her own bottle of juice. “Touché.” She glances around. “Where’s the roomie?”

  I shrug, still chasing bacon. “Probably with his boyfriend again.”

  Annie makes a noise that falls somewhere between mocking and sympathetic. “Still dealing with the other dude?”

  “He’s an asshole.” I stab a grape tomato with more force than necessary. “He’s just always there, you know? He’s even showing up to practices now. And he cannot stand when anyone touches Darryn, even when it’s one of the coaches correcting his positioning. And I hardly see him anymore. Darryn, I mean. He comes to our room to sleep most nights…during the week, at least. But he’s always with Rich.”

  I growl out the name and stab another tomato, hitting it at the right angle with my fork that it goes flying off the table and rolls across the floor. I blow out a breath and look up in time to see Annie and Mo exchange a long look. Before I can ask what that’s about, Annie tips her chin at Mo, and Mo nods before turning toward me.

  “Is Darryn doing things differently?” she asks. “I mean, other than going out with Rich a lot. Has he stopped doing anything he normally does? Stopped talking to anyone?”

  I frown. “Not… I mean, he’s not around much, but he’s with Rich.” Now she has me thinking. “And he doesn’t go to the library or the gym like we used to.” I shrug it off. “But we did a lot of that stuff together, so it’d probably be kind of awkward.”

  “Is he still doing that stuff, just without you, though?” Annie’s gaze is sharp. “You said Rich started coming to practice all of a sudden. Is he keeping tabs on Darryn? Keeping him away from you?”

  I shake my head, though my gut clenches. “You guys are overreacting. They’re dating. Of course they spend a lot of time together. That’s what people who are dating do.”

  I pull up short as I realize I’m parroting Darryn’s words. Why the hell am I making excuses for Rich?

  Mo doesn’t let it slide. “They don’t normally cut you off from other people, and they don’t monitor what you do.” Mo folds her arms on the tabletop and leans forward. “Trust us. Women hear a lot about this stuff. How to tell if a guy’s being controlling. If he’s trying to isolate you. Warning signs.”

  Now she’s lost me. “Warning signs?”

  “Abuse, asshat.” Annie gives me a look like I’ve been dropped on my head repeatedly. “Classic progression. Cut the victim off from any kind of support so when the really bad stuff kicks in, he’s got no one to go to.”

  Gobsmacked is the only way I can describe how I feel. “You seriously think—”

  I cut off my own train of thought as the progression of the past few weeks runs through my mind. They might have heard more than I did, but Annie and Mo weren’t the only ones who got the freshman year orientation warnings about how to spot bad situations. Darryn’s practically disappeared from everything except class and practice. Rich started out showing up at the end of practice and waiting until Darryn was ready to go, but then he started getting there earlier and rushing Darryn out the second we’re done. Darryn’s been MIA at dinner most nights, when we used to eat nearly every meal together, and he comes back to the room late—when he comes back at all.

  My stomach twists, and my fork slips out of my fingers. “That’s… I mean, I haven’t seen anything that makes me think he’d hit Darryn.”

  “Abuse isn’t just about hitting.” Mo catches my gaze and holds it, and something in her eyes tells me this isn’t only speculation on her part. “It’s about control. Emotional and verbal abuse is as bad as physical, and sometimes it’s even harder to get over.”

  I can only nod in response.

  “So,” Annie puts in. “Keep an eye on things. Watch how they interact. If Darryn starts acting weird about being around Rich, ask him about it.”

  “Be careful about it,” Mo adds. “His first instinct is going to be to protect the boyfriend. More than anything, he’s going to need you to be his friend. Don’t give the asshole more reasons to paint you as the enemy.”

  My head is swimming. “I’ll pay attention,” I promise. I can’t be sure, of course, but everything they’re telling me feels right. I should’ve realized sooner what was behind that weird feeling about Rich I couldn’t figure out. Maybe it wasn’t just jealousy after all.

  I muster up a small smile. “If I need help dealing with it, I know where to go, right, ladies?”

  “Payment due up front.” Annie s
ticks her tongue out at me, and I toss a balled-up napkin at her in response.

  Mo sighs. “Gotta love twin rivalry,” she mutters as she reaches for her glass.

  Well, I don’t want her to feel left out. I ball up another napkin and toss it her way. She bats it off with an ease that makes me blink before I remember her sport.

  Annie laughs at me. “Maybe you should stick to the gym and leave the balls to the experts.”

  I can’t help myself. I push back far enough to glance down at my crotch and then back up at her. “I’m pretty sure I’m an expert at balls, thanks.”

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t want me slamming a racket into those.” Mo’s grin is entirely too much like Annie’s, and two women versus one sensitive set of gonads is more than I want to take on. I press my legs tightly together and concede defeat.

  “So, Mo,” I say, forking up some corn, “How are things on the courts these days?”

  They’re still laughing at me, but they must be feeling benevolent, because they accept the change of subject.

  If only I could stop worrying about Darryn that easily.

  …

  The next afternoon, my phone buzzes with a text as I’m walking to practice. It’s Annie, a rarity. For someone so absorbed in computers and technology, she sure doesn’t use any of it as much as most college students do.

  Mo was looking for you. Wondered if you wanted to go to Pride this weekend with her.

  I stare down at the phone, wondering how that subject came up—is Mo gay, too?—but before I can respond, a second text follows the first: And no, I didn’t out you. She figured it out on her own. She said, and I quote, “That boy needs someone to show him the rainbow ropes.”

  My first instinct is to say oh hell no. I’ve never been to Atlanta Pride, or any gay-pride-related event at all. All I know is what I’ve read online, and I’ve never really thought about going.