by Kata Čuić
Another thought hits me. “What if Kieran had ruined someone’s life tonight with the reveal after the fight? Do you know what kind of charges you could face for that? Is that why he didn’t go through with it?”
Not that I’m complaining. Maybe Rosie really didn’t have anything juicy enough to offer.
“Honestly?”
I whip around at the sound of Kieran’s voice in the doorway. He spares Rosie a passing glance before approaching us, still counting a wad of bills. “I didn’t account for how busy I’d be, managing the money. I forgot to text the message to the laptop.”
“You idiots are going to get yourselves arrested or killed.” I glare at Kieran before turning back to work on Jason’s injury.
“So?” Even without looking at him, the smugness in Kieran’s voice comes through loud and clear. “If you’ve got a better plan, then help us. I always knew you were the woman for the job.”
I don’t bother responding. My focus is on Jason. No matter how many times I try, I can’t make the butterflies stick to his wet skin. Without some sort of bandage, the blood continues to pour from a cut the size of my pinky nail. “Where’s your shirt?”
“Huh?” Jason’s gaze seems glazed over. If he has a concussion, there’s nothing I have in my bag of tricks to fix that.
“I need something to stem the blood flow before I can close the wound. Give me your shirt.”
He shakes his head, causing my fingers to slip from his skin. “I, uh, didn’t wear one under my hoodie. Ro, go find it in the ring.”
I check over my shoulder. Rosie’s still clutching the garbage can and staring with wide eyes at Jason’s blood. “She’s currently indisposed. Kieran, find me something to use.”
“I’m not going back out there. People are still harassing the brothers about next week’s fight. I don’t wanna get robbed of all my profits.”
“And just how much of the cut does Jason get for doing your dirty work, huh?” In a fit of frustration, I whip off my shirt. It’s not the usual slinky, sequined material I would wear to a party, so the cotton baby tee will be absorbent enough for the job. I press the material against Jason’s forehead, counting to sixty in my mind before I try again with the bandages.
Jason tries to pull away. “Put your fucking shirt back on.”
My shoulders hunch in a protective stance at the laughter over my shoulder. “Don’t be jealous, Gould. I’ve already seen everything she has under her clothes. I do apologize for not anticipating tonight’s events better. Next week, I’ll deliver all the willing pussy I promised you.”
My hard stare meets Jason’s skittish eyes. “Is that why you agreed to this lunacy? You wanted to finally show the ladies everything you’ve been working so hard for to distract them from your face?”
“What do you know about it?” he sneers, still not making eye contact.
“Enough to know you’ll bleed more than the average person from the tiniest abrasion. Which is more than you knew, apparently.”
Jason’s fingers wrap around my wrist. The situation feels all too familiar. He did this same thing the night I was allowed to touch his birthmark. “Is that why you’re pre-med? Because of me? Because you spent so much time Googling what’s wrong with my face?”
That he remembers anything from the night I admitted to doing exactly that surprises me, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of boosting his ego. Especially knowing he bared himself to all the women in the room in the hopes of getting laid. “Don’t flatter yourself. You were simply a gateway to finding what I was interested in enough to spend the rest of my life doing it.”
Kieran cackles at my sass. His eyes travel a path down my cleavage. “I’d lend you her for the night in lieu of a fresh lay, but she gives you more attitude than she’s ever given me. She wouldn’t make a very good consolation prize, I’m afraid.”
By the time I realize what I’ve done, my hand stings with the force of the blow I deliver to Kieran’s cheek. His skin is almost as red as the marks around Jason’s eyes. I’m shocked at my outburst but not the least bit sorry. “I’m not on loan to anyone. Least of all from you.”
Jason wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me down into his lap. His breath feels hot and overbearing against the heated skin of my neck. “Hey, hey. Ssh. Get me fixed up, then I’ll take you home.”
I hop out of his hold like his thighs are on fire. Such pretty words and promises from a man who cast me aside as easily as Kieran did. No one has ever made me first place in their life, and I’ve gotten along just fine. “I’m not your charity case. You’re responsible for getting your partner in crime home since you two live together.” Those last two words drop from my tongue like spitting out poison. “Now, shut your mouth and hold still, or I’ll leave you to bleed all night.”
They must take me seriously because not another word is uttered while I bandage, then glue Jason’s cut.
I point to Rosie, then toward the larger span of the basement. “I suggest you get some water in her before even attempting to make it back to the apartment building. And find your hoodie to cover your face again so any passing campus security won’t question your beat-up appearance.”
The sound of Kieran’s laughter at my back makes this entire night feel like a dream. He’s never outwardly displayed such joy. “Seriously, you’ve got this whole operation covered. When are you going to cave and join us? Rosie and Jason might not see it, but you’re as much of a misfit as the rest of us. You’ll feel really good after some well-deserved payback. Giving the cool kids what they have coming is better than any orgasm.”
“Fuck you, Kieran King.”
Maybe he’s right. Getting those words off my chest does feel better than any night I’ve ever spent with him.
Truth: Beware the messenger.
The pounding in my head can’t possibly be from alcohol. I didn’t have that much, I swear. Said every college student who’s ever had to face the music for their poor choices the night before.
Except, when I look at my phone to check the time, I discover it’s still night. Two in the morning, to be exact.
Ah, so my sins have come to greet me before sunrise. Did I dream? Am I going to be sick? My hands carve a path down my chest to my belly. I swallow several times to test the dryness in my mouth. Nope. All good. What woke me?
Another bout of noise jars my sensitive eardrums. That’s not imaginary. Someone’s knocking at my door. In the middle of the night.
I glance around my bedroom for anything I can use as protection. I don’t play sports, so there’s no baseball bat resting by my headboard. The top drawer of my nightstand yields nothing but my trusty BOB, but I’m pretty sure I can’t vibrate someone into submission in the ways I have in mind.
After a third round of knocking, I slip from my cozy blankets to tiptoe toward the front door. If I’m quiet enough, maybe whoever is out there will assume I’m sleeping and go away. That doesn’t mean I can’t give in to my curiosity to see who’s trying to wake me. You know. To file away for security purposes.
If it’s Kieran, I’ll invite him in before grabbing a butcher knife from the kitchen to castrate him with. I can finally atone for being the other woman by ensuring he stays true to his dead girlfriend both emotionally and physically.
Then again, I’m prone to being overly dramatic. It’s probably a neighbor who locked themselves out after answering a late-night pizza delivery at the main door of the building.
A quick check of the peephole reveals Jason, still clutching a towel to his brow. I swing the door open but try to tamp down my anxiety. “Can I help you?”
He swallows several times in succession before shrugging. “I don’t think the glue stuck. It won’t stop bleeding. You’re right; I can’t go to the ER.”
I gesture for him to enter, mentally running through my previous treatment. I’m not so ego-centric to assume I did everything right, or that my level of knowledge replaces a specialist’s care. “Did you scratch it? Maybe run your hand o
ver it without thinking?”
He plops on the couch with a thud. “No. I haven’t touched it. Do you have more of that stuff?”
A quick exam reveals only a little seepage. It’s not nearly the river that was flowing from the fresh cut. This smells like a set up. “Why didn’t you just use your key to get in and rifle through my medicine cabinet?”
A sheepish expression crosses his face. One I’ve never seen before. “You’re mad at me. I didn’t think it would be okay to use my key.”
On my way to the bathroom for supplies, I call over my shoulder, “What makes you think I’m mad at you? You’re the one who stopped talking to me.”
Over Rosie. He agreed to her claims of my selfishness.
I shouldn’t be surprised he follows me to the bathroom. It’s typical behavior, really. Still, his quiet voice at my back startles me. “You quit talking to me after the night I got drunk.”
“I did not,” I argue. “You seemed to want to ignore that night, so I followed your lead. You’re the one who quit talking to me when Rosie ran to you for comfort after I found out she’d been lying to me for three years. Not to mention you both had been lying to me about your secret friendship and clandestine texts about me. I have no idea how long that was going on behind my back.”
“You kicked me out of your apartment and said you couldn’t deal with me anymore.”
“With your lies, Jason! I can’t deal with everyone withholding vital information from me, anymore!”
“Withholding is not the same as lying. Rosie’s secret was never mine to tell.”
“You know what?” I turn to face him, abandoning my search for the skin glue. “I think I’m starting to see why you rarely speak. It’s because you have a serious problem. Every time you open your mouth, shit pours out.”
He gets right in my face, breathing so hard I feel the rush of air across my cheeks. “Yeah? And maybe you need to learn to keep your mouth shut more often instead of firing off every damn fucking thought that crosses your mind.”
My palm itches. It seems now that my inner bitch has been released, there’s no telling what she’ll do. I curl my hand into a fist. If Jason loves to fight so much, I’ll happily rise to the occasion.
He makes first contact, gripping my shoulders nearly to the point of pain. “You just had to show up at the fight tonight, didn’t you? Had to give Kieran more reason to want you involved in this. Why couldn’t you just stay with your pretty little friends and leave well enough alone?” Jason shakes me. Not hard enough to make my teeth rattle, but with an expression that terrifies me more than his face first did. “You don’t belong in this, Emma. You don’t belong with us. Stay out of it.”
All my pent-up fury deflates. Tears well in my eyes. “What did I ever do to you besides try to be your friend? Why do you suddenly hate me so much?”
For a split second, something like regret crosses his dark eyes. It must have been only what I wanted to see, because his jaw ticks, and he tightens his grasp. “You’re just like the rest of them. Selfish, stupid, and blind to the suffering of others. No matter how much you daydream otherwise, reality isn’t going to get better for some of us. There are no happily ever afters, no meet-cutes, and no knights in shining armor to slay the dragons. We are the dragons. You’re just a vapid princess, waiting for someone else to save her.”
I stagger out of his reach, my chest heaving. “You’re wrong, Jason. You don’t look like the villain. You are the villain.”
I absolutely am capable of saving myself. Wellbridge University isn’t going to know what hit it when I pick up my sword.
A smile spreads across my lips as I shield my eyes from the sun. Birds chirp in the branches, a crisp fall breeze ruffles my hair, and there’s a bounce in my step I can’t hide. All around me, students bump into each other. They’re too busy with their phones to notice all the natural beauty around them.
I push through the doors to The Beanery where the usual Sunday crowd is lounging around, using caffeine and delectable pastries to recover from their hangovers. It’s mid-morning, so the shop isn’t too crowded yet. A group of women talk excitedly in the corner. Several chairs surround a table, littered with papers, notebooks, and coffee cups.
They’re so engrossed in conversation, they don’t notice me waiting to announce myself.
“Which one is a lie? How are we supposed to figure it out? Are there clues we’re missing somehow?” The Tri Gamma representative, Tara, swipes at her phone furiously, obviously searching for something.
Lisa, from Zeta house shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s a game so much as a way to mess with our heads. I have to say, it’s working. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“How did they even get our numbers to text us? Not that I’m complaining, but should we be worried about a massive security breach on campus?” The Omega sister bites her lip and clutches her phone to her chest like she can physically keep it safe.
I clear my throat. “Good morning, ladies. What are we discussing?”
“Oh my God, Emma. Didn’t you get the text?” Jacquelyn, one of my favorite Panhell delegates, grips my arm.
I take the seat beside her on the worn leather loveseat and pull my cell from my satchel. “No. What text? Are we rescheduling the Holiday Bash meeting until later this week?”
Every year, the Panhellenic Council of Wellbridge throws a huge party before winter break. It’s open to the entire campus. No one minds paying the steep admission price since all the proceeds go to charity, and everyone walks away with gifts. It’s also one of the few opportunities college students have to relive the glamour of Homecoming and Prom. The classy atmosphere is a nice change of pace from the usual weekend keggers.
Since it’s always been my favorite Greek-sponsored event, I elected to serve on the planning committee. Today is supposed to be our first meeting.
Somehow, I don’t think we’re going to get much work done.
Jacquelyn grabs my phone, scrolling through my texts. She frowns in defeat when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, then thrusts her cell at me.
My heart tap dances in my chest as I read the message.
Another win for Phi Kappa.
Reply YES to place your bet for next week’s fight. Include the dollar amount.
Opponent will be Harrison Michaels, Wellbridge QB.
Space is limited to watch the action. To enter for a spot, play a game.
Two truths and a lie:
Jill Yates cheats on Adam Nichols.
Angela Levy is the mistress to a married professor.
Michaela Zane doesn’t like receiving oral.
Reply with the number of the lie.
You will be notified of the time and location of the fight if your answer is correct.
I hand Jacquelyn’s phone back in a fit of laughter.
“You think this is funny?” Tara fumes.
“Oh, come on.” I pause to catch my breath. “Michaela doesn’t like oral? This has to be a joke. Every woman wants to be treated like a queen in bed.”
“Amen to that sister,” Jacquelyn snickers. “That has to be the lie.”
“I don’t know.” Lisa tips her head in thought. “That one seems so obvious, it might be a truth. Kind of like a trick question?”
They devolve into another heated debate over which number to choose until I slap my hand on the table to get their attention.
“I don’t understand why you’re taking this so seriously. The text came from a blocked number. How do you know this person has the authority to place your bet or offer you a spot to watch the next fight? Have you even tested it out?”
They exchange contrite glances.
“No. Not yet. We didn’t want to pick the wrong answer.”
I mentally count to ten before responding with as much control as I can muster. “Who cares if you pick the wrong answer if this whole thing is a scam? I didn’t even get one of those texts. It might be a prank. Maybe one of the other frat houses is trying to cas
h in on Phi Kappa’s sudden popularity.”
Jacquelyn nods. “Emma’s right. Let’s try it out and see what happens.” She pecks at her phone, mumbling a play-by-play for the rest of us. “Yes. Bet twenty on Phi Kappa.”
Everyone seems to hold their breath as they wait, leaning forward in their seats. After several minutes go by, nothing happens.
“Maybe there’s no response for only placing a bet?” Lisa suggests.
“Good point,” Jacquelyn agrees. “But, what if I choose one of the truths? Maybe there’s no response to an incorrect answer. Or maybe they won’t notify the winners until right before the fight. We still won’t know if it’s legit.”
“Just pick a number,” the Omega girl whines. “The suspense is killing me.”
Jacquelyn points at her. “If I choose wrong, someone better find a way to get me to that next fight, no matter what.”
“Just offer to blow the Phi Kappa president.” Lisa smiles sweetly. “Guys will agree to anything to have their precious dicks serviced.”
The women clink their mugs together like they’re glasses of champagne.
Jacquelyn places her cup on the table, then takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes nothing. Number three.”
Again, nothing happens.
“Maybe I chose poorly.”
“Let me try.” For Tara acting so furious about the game minutes ago, she sure seems eager to play now. “Yes. Twenty on QB. Number one.”
Lisa fake gasps. “Of course, you would think the lie is about one of your sisters. I’m sure Jill would never dream of cheating on her boyfriend.”
She shrugs. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s always keeping her options open, if you know what I mean.”
Everyone nods in assent as I blink in confusion. “I don’t understand. Her boyfriend doesn’t treat her well, so she looks for a better option, you mean?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s just her Old Faithful, you know?”
I shake my head. The only Old Faithful I know is a geyser in a national park.