Monster in His Eyes

by J. M. Darhower

  Standing up, I grab a towel and some clothes, dragging the blanket with me to the bathroom to take a shower, hoping to wash away the lingering guilt I feel as I stride right by my sleeping roommate, snoring and clueless.

  Have I mentioned I'm a terrible friend?

  I wash up and pull myself together, getting ready for a day where I have nothing planned. I'll do some packing, maybe, some sleeping, definitely, and probably just drown myself in mindless television all afternoon. I should really find a job, find somewhere else to go, seeing as how I have to be out of the dorm in seven days.

  Summer break. I was looking forward to it months ago, counting down the hours until the semester was over, but now I dread even thinking about it. I anticipated going back to Watertown to spend the summer with my mother, but after the visit a few weeks ago I'm not sure how plausible that is.

  I'm not even sure how long she'll be there, to be honest, or if she's already gone.

  I try not to think about it, try to clear my head as I stand under the warm water, but it lurks in the back of my mind, an ominous rain shower in the distance. My future is as hazy as a storm cloud.

  I wonder if Naz drew another picture of the future, if it would be clear for him yet.

  I haven't told Naz. I'm not sure how he's going to take a long distance relationship, even if it is only two months.

  I'm not sure how I'm going to take it.

  He's been gone twenty minutes now, and I already miss his touch so much.

  I head back into the room after I'm clean, and changed, feeling wide-awake but I don't want to disturb Melody. So I grab the remote, turning the television on low, and stare at it in the morning light.

  Talk shows.

  Baby daddy drama.

  Cheating boyfriends.

  Celebrities in rehab.

  I lose myself in everyone else's drama, momentarily forgetting my own issues. Melody stirs in bed a few hours later, as the clock starts to approach noon, and rubs her eyes. "Oh God, I feel like ass."

  "Long night?" I ask, flipping the channel to find more mindless entertainment. Court shows.

  "And morning," she mutters, sitting up. She's still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, old makeup streaking her tired face. "I didn't wake you when I got home, did I? I tried to be quiet, but I was drunk as shit."

  "No," I say. "Didn't bother me at all."

  She climbs to her feet and trudges toward the bathroom. I flip through channels again, not paying it much attention, finding something less dramatic.

  Game shows.

  "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

  The voice shrieks right beside my ear, rousing me from a deep sleep. I yelp, holding my hands up defensively as someone shakes me. Disoriented, I open my eyes to see Melody's blurry face right in front of me, grinning like a maniac. "What?"

  "Wake up!" she says again, physically yanking me to a sit.

  Groaning, I push her away and blink rapidly. "I'm up, I'm up… ugh, why am I up?"

  "I did it," she says, jumping up and down in front of me. "I got my B in Philosophy!"

  It takes a moment for her words to sink in. Suddenly wide-awake, I stare at her, anxiety brewing in my stomach. "Wait, grades are posted?"

  "Yes!" she says excitedly. "Can you believe it?"

  "Uh, that's wonderful," I say, rubbing my eyes. I'm trying to play it cool, but it's senseless. The anxiety makes me want to puke. Standing up, I push past her to boot up my laptop, logging into my school account to check my grades. My heart pounds rapidly in anticipation, but as soon as the page loads, everything in me comes to a stop. My stomach lurches, my heart nearly stalling.

  Philosophy: C

  "No, no, no," I chant, scrolling through the page, going back to look up my grade on the final. 88.

  Eighty-eight.

  Eighty-fucking-eight.

  "This can't be happening," I say, shaking my head. Bile burns my throat that I try to swallow back. "I missed it by one point."

  I'm dumbfounded. I don't know what to think, or feel, half asleep and out of it as I scroll back to my final grades. Melody babbles behind me, but her words go over my head. I don't hear it, nor do I hear my phone ringing. The sound evades me until Melody thrusts the shrieking object right in my face.

  My eyes shift to the screen as I swallow thickly, pushing my feelings down. Don't panic, I tell myself. You'll figure something out.

  I close the browser on the laptop before answering the phone. "Hey."

  My voice sounds meek. I clear my throat and repeat myself, but Naz chimes in before I can finish the word. "What are you up to?"

  "Nothing. I, uh... nothing."

  A moment of silence. "What's wrong?" I start to say 'nothing' when he continues. "And don't say nothing."

  I let out a deep sigh. "I got a C in Philosophy."

  "You passed!" He sounds genuinely enthused. "That's great."

  "No, it's not. I needed a B to keep my scholarship. I don't understand why I didn't get it! I studied my ass off for that final. I missed the mark by one point... just one point. That's it."

  The words pour out of me, tears stinging my eyes. One fucking point. It's unbelievable.

  I'm kicking myself for not answering the question on the back of the final seriously. I would've written my entire life story had I known I'd need just one more damn point.

  "Ah," he says. "I see."

  The nonchalance of his voice twists me up in knots, anger simmering inside of me. It's not Naz's fault—it's nobody's fault but my own—but I'm too upset to be calm about it. I let out a deep groan, shoving my chair back to stand up. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm going to go talk to Santino to see if there's anything I can do to change it."

  I hear Melody inhale sharply, not a fan of my plan.

  "You want me to handle it?" Naz asks.

  "No, I'll do it," I say. "It's my problem."

  He bids me good luck, telling me to let him know how I make out. Hanging up, I throw on some clothes and slide my feet in a pair of shoes before heading for the door. I walk to the philosophy classroom, my nerves a frazzled mess, as I silently plead to whatever God is listening for a break.

  Just give me this, please.

  The classroom is open, the lights on. I expect to find him in his small office in the back of the building but instead he's sitting there, papers and books splayed out in front of him. His glasses are low on his nose as he studies a textbook, taking notes from it.

  Carefully, I step in the classroom, knocking on the doorframe to garner his attention. "Professor Santino?"

  He glances at me over top his glasses before turning back to his book. "Miss Reed, what can I do for you?"

  "I, uh... I wanted to talk to you about my grade."

  "What about it?"

  "Why did I get a C?"

  "You should be asking yourself that, not me."

  "But I did everything I could."

  "Did you?"

  "Yes. I needed a B. I was only one point away."

  He finishes writing whatever he's writing and puts his pen down, leaning back in his chair. He eyes me peculiarly for a moment, grabbing his pointer stick to tinker with it. He uses it to motion toward the front row of desks, wordlessly telling me to take a seat. I nervously oblige, sitting right in front of him.

  His expression is hard, no compassion, or understanding, before his eyes flit around the room. "This classroom has two exits. Why do you think that is?"

  Ugh. I thought I was done with him calling me out to answer absurd questions. Is it extra credit for my extra point?

  "Because the classroom is so big, and it holds so many students, that it's logical to have more than one exit in case of an emergency," I say. "There's probably something in the fire code about it, about having a certain number of exits per however many people occupy the room, so whoever designed it had to include them. It holds 100 students so I'm guessing 50 people per exit?"

  He raises his eyebrows. "Is that your final answer?"

  I hesitat
e. "Yes."

  "It's because it's safer, Miss Reed."

  My brow furrows. "That's what I said."

  "No, it's not. You referenced hypothetical fire codes and mathematical equations. You said it was logical, not that it was safer. And that, Miss Reed, is the difference between a B and a C. You always complicate things and miss the entire point."

  "But that's what I meant," I say.

  "Maybe so, but let this be a lesson to choose your words carefully, because people will take you at face value and hold you to what you say and not what you mean."

  "But I—"

  Before I can get anything else out, he picks up his pen and goes back to his work, cutting me off. "Good day, Miss Reed."

  Shoving my chair back, I stand up. I should've known coming here was pointless. I storm out of the room, tears stinging my eyes again, this time stubbornly falling down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the back of my hand as I pull out my phone, dialing Naz's number.

  It rings twice before he answers.

  "I fucking hate him," I say right away, stepping outside. "He's such a dick."

  "I take it appealing to his compassion didn't work."

  "No, it didn't, because he's heartless. He treats me like I'm ignorant... like I'm just this stupid little girl who doesn't understand anything."

  My voice cracks as I try to hold back tears. The line is stone cold silent for a second before his quiet voice carries through. "You're crying."

  "No, I'm not."

  "Don't lie to me."

  It's stupid to cry. I feel ridiculous. I wipe away more wayward tears, trying to pull myself together. "I'm fine. I just... ugh, he makes me so mad. He's so smug and acts like he knows everything and I just wish someone would knock him down a peg."

  He lets out a sigh. "Don't worry about it, Karissa."

  "But I don't know what to do about it all."

  "It'll work out," he says. "What you need is some time away, some time to clear your head and not think of everything. Come away with me this weekend."

  I roll my eyes. He sounds so damn relaxed, nothing bothering him. I wish I had his confidence. "You know I will."

  The town car is idling along the curb in front of the dorm, the driver standing beside it, waiting for me. I pause a few feet away, my bag dragging the sidewalk, a new red dress still in plastic and on the hanger, draped over my arm.

  I'm a mess, sweaty and tired, wearing a pair of black leggings and an oversize white shirt, the outfit complete with a pair of flip flops.

  I couldn't put on my shoes. My toenails are wet, painted red to match my dress. I was in the middle of doing it when Naz called, informing me the car was waiting downstairs. He hadn't given me much notice. I had to rush around at the last second getting all of my stuff.

  The driver takes my things and puts them in the trunk. I don't wait for him to open the door for me, opening it myself. Naz is sitting there, phone to his ear, dressed as usual. He casts a look at me as I climb in beside him, talking to whoever's on the line.

  "We're leaving Greenwich now," he says. "We should be to Jersey in about half an hour."

  My brow furrows. He's taking me to New Jersey?

  He hangs up without saying goodbye, slipping the phone away, as he leans toward me and quickly kisses my lips. The driver gets in and pulls away from the curb, merging into traffic.

  "So what's in New Jersey?" I ask curiously.

  "A lot," he says. "Full-service gas stations, saltwater taffy, the Jersey Devils, Palisades Park... Atlantic City, the Jersey shore... and Snooki, of course."

  "Snooki?"

  "Oh, and the Sopranos." He raises his eyebrows. "You watch it?"

  "Uh, I caught a few episodes."

  "Great show," he says. "Purely fictional, of course."

  I laugh, shaking my head. "So that's why we're going to Jersey? Because of TV shows and gas stations?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then why are we going?"

  "You'll see."

  Not long after we cross the state line, the car heads toward a small airport. As soon as I see the sign for it, I cut my eyes at Naz. "We're not really going to New Jersey, are we?"

  "Of course not," he says. "There's nothing in Jersey."

  Rolling my eyes, I watch out of the window as we approach a private jet parked off to the side, the car pulling right up to it. A group of people hangs out beside it, chatting as other cars unload luggage, their belongings being loaded onto the aircraft.

  Most of the faces on the tarmac are foreign to me, middle aged men and a few women, maybe a dozen in total. But dead center in the crowd, I recognize Raymond Angelo.

  He's smiling cheerfully, his arm around a blonde woman not much older than me.

  Everyone is dressed impeccably—suits and dresses, not a single hair out of place. They fit in with Naz, in his expensive black suit, but not me. I don't belong here. I'm not like these people. They're lobster and caviar, thousand dollar bottles of wine.

  I'm more like something you can order in a drive-through.

  I reach over and grab Naz's arm when the car stops. He hesitates, shooting me a peculiar look, as the driver opens the door.

  "Give us a moment," Naz says. "Go ahead and load our things."

  "Yes, sir."

  Once we're alone, Naz shifts around in the seat to face me. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

  "I can't do this."

  "Why?" he asks. "Afraid of flying?"

  "No," I whisper, although now that he mentions it I feel the anxiety bubbling in my stomach. "I mean, I've never flown before, but that's not it. I just... I don't fit in."

  "I know you don't."

  I guess I expected him to contradict me, because his agreeing catches me off guard. "What?"

  "I know you don't fit in, Karissa, but that's one of my favorite things about you. You stand out."

  "What if they don't think so?"

  "Then it's a good thing I don't care what they think."

  He says it so matter of fact, like any differing opinion is just plain wrong.

  "Trust me on this," he says, reaching over and cupping my cheek. "It's going to be the best weekend of your life. And if anyone here ruins it for you in any way, I'll make certain they pay for it."

  He gets out of the car without awaiting a response, and my chest tightens. Something tells me them paying for it won't be monetarily.

  I take a deep breath as Naz opens my door, and before I can talk myself out of this, I step out to join him.

  Eyes shift our way. I can feel them on me, meeting curious gazes as I scan the crowd. The looks aren't so much hostile as they are puzzled taking in the sight of me. The women especially regard me with skepticism. They're painted up pretty, Picasso masterpieces, while I feel more like one of his rough sketches.

  Raymond breaks from the pack, stepping toward us. "Ah, Vitale, perfect timing."

  Naz nods to acknowledge that, but Raymond isn't looking at him. No, Raymond is looking at me.

  He takes my hand, kissing the back of it. "I'm honored you'd join us, Karissa."

  I want to say it's not intentional, that I had no idea I was joining the likes of him, but I keep my mouth shut, merely smiling tersely to keep from saying anything. My mother taught me enough to know he isn't the kind of man that takes kindly to being offended.

  Naz doesn't dawdle. Pressing his hand to the small of my back, he leads me past the crowd onto the plane. The inside looks bigger than it does on the outside, all cream-colored and wood-paneled, with more than enough seats to accommodate everyone.

  Naz stops dead center of the plane and plops down on the end of a long couch, a small two-cushion portion segregated from the rest. I sit down beside him nervously, but he eases some of my anxiety by draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me closer. He presses a kiss to my hair, his cologne swarming my senses, making me lightheaded, as everyone else boards the plane.

  Raymond decides to sit beside me, nothing more than a cushioned armrest separating me from the
infamous man. The blonde sits with him as the others file in. I peek at her, unable to fathom what she sees in him.

  I know Naz is older than me, and maybe people see our age difference as extreme, but he's still quite youthful, and regal, and so goddamn sexy. There's an attraction with him I can't deny—don't want to deny. But Raymond is much older, maybe old enough to be that woman's grandfather, and has not a smidgen of the sex appeal.

  In fact, he looks a little like Shrek to me.

  I sit quietly, tucked in at Naz's side, my heart beating frantically in my chest, each thump echoing in my ears, an anxious rhythm I fear everyone around me can hear. They all settle into their seats, chatting, but none of the conversation means anything to me.

  I feel invisible, and for that I'm grateful.

  The plane takes off after everyone is buckled in. My heart is in my throat as we ascend into the air, my fist clenching Naz's suit coat. My ears pop, my stomach clenching from the altitude.

  Nobody else seems bothered by it. In fact, nobody else seems bothered by anything. As soon as we're in the air they return to where they were, picking up conversation right where they left off, like this is nothing to them. My hand loosens the fabric of Naz's jacket, but I don't let go.

  I won't let go of him.

  His presence is the only thing keeping me from freaking out.

  Beside me, Raymond is telling a story, laughing at his own jokes, as everyone around us listens attentively. He's clearly the center of their little world, the sun these men orbit around.

  Everyone, that is, except for Naz. He appears to not be paying attention. He tilts his face toward me, his breath fanning against my cheek as he whispers, "You okay?"

  I nod.

  "You recognize everyone here?"

  Brow furrowing, I shake my head. How would I? I only know Raymond, but I don't dare say that out loud. He's sitting close enough that he'd hear me speak his name.

  "Huh."

  I glance at Naz, his face a few inches away. "What?"

  "I'm just surprised."

  "You? Surprised?"

  He smiles. "It happens every now and then. I just figured you'd know these faces since you recognized Ray."