Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

  Ryan:

  I must have fallen asleep while studying last night. It’s so hard to concentrate on case studies and the intricacies of the criminal justice system after a long day at the office. I don’t even remember what I was reading about when I dozed off. But I do remember that Will was in his room because I heard the video games through the door. He must have sneaked past me on the couch. It’s a wonder he has the wherewithal for stealth but can’t seem to get himself to class or hold a job or really do anything useful to help out while I work 2 jobs, study for the bar, and take care of him.

  This sort of thing has happened too many times. I can’t believe I let it happen again! He could have gotten into serious trouble, ended up in jail, gotten hit by a car…It’s too easy to think of ways that Will could spiral downward and it would be all my fault. Again. Sometimes, the responsibility feels so heavy I can’t breathe. And it never gets better. Will just waltzes through life, knowing I’ll bail him out of trouble, putting me in embarrassing positions just like this one. And the guy who called did not sound pleasant.

  I throw on some clean clothes grab my keys, and cruise down quiet Saturday morning streets. After circling twice, I finally find the apartment. Why are apartment complexes always so confusing? It all looks the same and the buildings are alphabetical except that, per apartment logic, building “D” doesn’t follow “C.” Instead, it’s hidden behind building “E.” My little brother has a lot to answer for. By the time I knock on the door, I am riled up and put out. The door opens, framing a lanky guy in his late twenties with wavy brown hair, a chiseled jaw, and electric blue eyes. I didn’t expect him to be so…pretty. But he is undeniably attractive. I introduce myself, stifling my involuntary physical response to the guy, and trying to be civil despite my bad mood.

  “Hey, I’m Ryan. Here to collect my brother. Sorry if he caused any trouble.” I sound terse, even to my own ears.

  “Yeah, well, he did. I don’t need random kids sleeping it off in my living room.”

  I’m taken aback; this guy is a jerk – a jerk with pretty eyes. I know that we inconvenienced him and he’s got a right to be irritated, but he doesn’t have to be so rude. He doesn’t even try to make the situation less awkward. He just turns and walks back into the apartment, presumably expecting me to follow. I certainly don’t feel welcome but I follow him in and, sure enough, see Will snoozing comfortably on a plushy blue sofa like he owns the place.

  I shake Will and he barely stirs in response so I grab his arms and haul him into a sitting position on the couch. He opens his eyes groggily and peers around, confused.

  “Where am I?” Will asks with minimal interest.

  “You’re in my apartment” the guy scowls at him.

  “Who are you?”

  “Dean. We don’t know each other. Time for you to leave.” Dean’s tone leaves little room for argument but, nonetheless, Will staunchly refuses to move.

  “I’m just gonna stay here” Will mutters illogically.

  Chapter Three

  Dean:

  For a few minutes, I actually feel bad for this “Ryan” guy. He’s got this ‘wholesome tough’ vibe going. It’s pretty disarming and his brother is so difficult, it’s almost funny. I can tell that Ryan is under a lot of stress and he’s clearly embarrassed by his brother’s behavior. I quietly leave the room, thinking that maybe he’ll make more progress without an audience. I get the coffee pot going and head back towards the living room. I clear my throat, preparing to ask Ryan if he wants a cup, when my cell phone rings. I stifle a groan, recognizing the number. It’s work.

  “Good morning, Charles. What’s up?”

  “Hey Dean, sorry to bother you on Saturday, but Stuart needs his paycheck a little early this week. Do you think you can come in and help him with that this morning? He’s here right now so, uh, the sooner the better.”

  “Right, well, I’ll head in shortly. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “Sure sure, I just told him you’d be here in 20.”

  Click. Work is at last 15 minutes away. I’m grabbing my coat and shoes even before Charles hangs up on me. I’m halfway to the door before I remembered my uninvited guests. I stride back into the living room all out of patience and ready to throw Ryan and William out by force if necessary. William hasn’t moved from his shlump on the couch.

  “Okay guys, gotta get a move on. I need to leave for work and I’m not leaving with you still here!”

  Ryan looks defeated but tugs on William’s sleeve in good faith. William barely responds.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I honestly can’t tell. I suppose it’s tactless to ask directly, but it’s beyond tactless to crash on a stranger’s couch without permission so I feel like I have a right to ask.

  Ryan scowls but doesn’t answer my question. He looks offended that I even brought it up, like I’m inconveniencing him.

  “He seems fine, just stoned and probably spoiled. I really don’t think you’re doing him any favors by bailing him out of trouble. I could call the cops; that would get him off my couch.”

  Ryan glares at me fiercely and I glare right back. He takes a step towards me and something about his expression makes my heart start pounding; I can’t tell if he’s about to shake me…or kiss me. Just for a moment, there is something electric between us besides anger. I know it’s inappropriate, but I can’t help thinking about what it would feel like if this guy, who I just met, walked up to me, all angry, and just kissed me. Maybe it’s wrong, but I’m silently willing him to do it. I know it’s crazy, but he’s so powerful and righteous, I want to see what our contest of wills looks like under different circumstances. Luckily, my thoughts don’t show on my face and he doesn’t advance any farther.

  I think maybe he’s too angry to speak but finally he gets himself under control enough to say, “you have no idea what you’re talking about! I’m responsible for him. You don’t know what that’s like!”

  “He needs to be responsible for himself! Maybe if you were a little less responsible he’d step up a bit.”

  “Oh, thanks, I really needed advice from the guy who just met us an hour ago. You’re clearly an expert!” Ryan spat sarcastically.

  “Someone needs to take a step back and look at the situation! This is crazy. How old is he? 18? He should know better. But you’re treating him like he’s 10. Of course he’s incompetent.”

  “Excuse me, did you just call my brother incompetent? What is wrong with you? Do you always go sticking your nose into everyone else’s business? You don’t know anything about us!”

  “Not everyone. Just people who sneak into my apartment in the middle of the night.” All of a sudden I feel exhausted and let out the breath I’ve been holding. “Look, can you just get him out of here? I need to get to work and I do not have time for this.”

  Chapter Four

  Ryan:

  Getting William into the car is like shuffling a sack of potatoes. I yank the passenger side door open and, once he’s sitting, I reach across him to click his seatbelt into place. Stomping around the car, I slide into place behind the wheel. I tear out of the apartment complex. I know I’m driving too fast. Taking a deep breath, I incrementally ease up on the gas and glance at Will out of the corner of my eye. He’s fiddling with the zipper on his jacket as though it were the most interesting thing likely to come along today.

  Right. I should let him take on more responsibility! Will can barely find the kitchen without getting lost or injured. That guy, Dean, is such an arrogant jerk! Of all the presumptuous strangers to stumble upon, why’d it have to be Dean? Why couldn’t Will have crashed on someone else’s couch? I’ve been taking care of Will since we were kids. I think I know what’s best for my own brother! Dean just doesn’t get how incapable Will is, how childish and unprepared for the realities of adult life.

  My anger at Dean seems way out of proportion, even to me, but he got under my skin. As I drive, I imagine our conversation as I wish it had gone. In my head, I forcefu
lly explain the situation and Dean backs down, deferring to my better judgment on this personal matter. He places a conciliatory hand on my arm, and looks up at me as though to apologize for challenging me. Just as I prepare to relent, he tries again to assert his opinion about Will, more gently this time, and I stifle his words with my mouth on his…

  Somehow, the fantasy conversation always ends with a passionate embrace. Nevertheless, I’m still fencing with Dean in my head, imagining my hands on his shoulders and our faces inches apart as I try to make him understand how things really are when I pull into the driveway, cut the motor, and swim out of my imaginary conversation. I look directly at Will.

  “Are you still stoned or can you get yourself from the car to the house without me holding your hand?”

  “I don’ need you…” Will mumbles.

  It’s like something breaks inside of me. The strain of the past two years has finally reached a breaking point. Part of me hears my own voice and recoils in shame but the rest of me needs to let it out.

  “Excuse me? You don’t need me? What the hell is wrong with you? Needing me is all you do. I wish to hell you didn’t need me! I could just live my life like a normal person, maybe take care of my own self sometimes. But no, Will, you’re a helpless baby, a parasite, and I’m terrified that you’ll always need me!”

  Will’s face takes on a guarded look. He’s still not tracking well, but he’s paying attention now.

  “You think you’re a hero ‘cause you drove over to pick me up? Yeah, what a mensch, my brother. At least you get to feel like a martyr. Plus, you can use me as an excuse for why you’re such a loser.”

  “Is that what you think this is about?” I ask incredulously “because it looks like you’ve perked up. By all means, if you’re so self-sufficient, then get the hell out of my car. Do your own laundry. Get a job.”

  Maybe it was the word “job” that takes the wind out of his sails, but Will abruptly looks deflated. He gets out without another word, walks to the house, scuffing his shoes with each step, and throws himself down on his bed. He’s asleep within minutes.

  I’m exhausted too but it’s a workday for me – just like every day. My shift at the coffeehouse starts in less than an hour. I change my clothes and grab a late breakfast before heading in to work. It’s Saturday, which means that Annabelle’s Café will be packed with hipsters on their laptops and middle aged folk ordering pumpkin chocolate chip muffins and vegan wraps.

  I’ve been scurrying around taking orders, busing tables, and soothing ruffled feathers for long enough to be in the customer service groove but, somehow, I still fail to notice the guy at the counter waving for my attention. I don’t notice him until he whistles shrilly at me; when I turn around, I see Dean in his pressed slacks and blue button down shirt that matches his eyes. Again, I’m momentarily staggered by his physical beauty. I stare at him for a moment before remembering how rude he was earlier and how much I dislike him.

  Chapter 5

  Dean:

  The other three executives sent me down to Annabelle’s to pick up coffee as though I was their personal assistant. I’m not. I’m in accounting and payroll as they very well know. Sure, maybe my job is related to human resources but I am no one’s secretary; this certainly wasn’t in the job description and, after the morning I had, someone should be buying me coffee!

  Annabelle’s is packed and I can’t get anyone’s attention. I end up waving my arms and whistling at the turned back of a barista like I’m a crazy person. This is degrading. Although, from what I can see of him - mostly his back - at least the barista is cute. I’m thinking that it can’t possibly get any worse when the barista, hearing my whistle, turns around and I find myself looking into the friendly customer service face of Ryan-from-this-morning. Recognizing me instantly, his polite smile freezes and then evaporates.

  “How did you find me? I work here, you can’t be stalking me at work!

  “You’re the last person I wanted to see here. I just need some damned coffee.”

  “Oh, sure, you just happened to wander into Annabelle’s, of all places, right after this morning’s altercation,” Ryan looks skeptical.

  “Altercation? What are you, a lawyer?”

  Hearing our heated conversation, a formidable looking woman makes a beeline in our direction. Her nametag reads “Joan Rivera: Manager” so I am not surprised when she takes charge, clearly deferring to me, the customer, as I explain to her that Ryan failed to greet me, left me waiting at the counter, and is now yelling at me. I’m aware of pouting slightly as I wrap up my list of complaints. I must have oversold my case because the manager nods once, decisively, and fires Ryan on the spot.

  This is not the response that I expected. I thought maybe they’d comp my order or something, not fire Ryan. I feel terrible and try to apologize to Ryan’s retreating figure as he storms out. Ryan ignores me completely and I follow him out onto the sidewalk still apologizing loudly and profusely. I even offer to get him a job where I work.

  “Look, I work at this marketing firm downtown. It’s called BridgePoint Marketing; ‘BridgePoint’ is one word. Just come in for an interview, I’m pretty sure we’re hiring right now. I’ll put in a good word for you!”

  Ryan barely looks at me before storming off, furious. I look around; I hadn’t realized that we had attracted a crowd but, as Ryan exits stage left, I’m left holding the spotlight. I flush and creep as anonymously as possible back to my car. The guys at the office will just have to work un-caffeinated today. Nothing in this world could convince me to go back into Annabelle’s.

  Chapter Six

  Ryan:

  Landscape rolls past but I don’t see it. I feel numb. When I get home, Will has the TV on too loud. I set my lawbooks out on the kitchen table and try to study to retake the bar exam but I can’t concentrate. Between the blaring television and my own suppressed understanding that, without the extra income from the café, I can’t possibly pay to retake the bar, never mind pay for Will’s weekly therapy sessions, I’m hopelessly distracted. Fired. I ‘ve been fired. If this isn’t rock bottom, I don’t want to know what is.

  I jump when my cell phone starts to vibrate and pluck it from my pocket, eager for a legitimate distraction from my dark thoughts. It’s Dave, a friend from a previous restaurant job. I know I should stay home and study, plus I shouldn’t be wasting money on beer, but when Dave asks if I want to go out for a drink I hear myself saying, “yeah, what time?” in a hangdog voice.

  At the bar, I tell Dave all about the awful day I’ve had, starting with Will’s breaking and entering last night and the jerk from this morning and ending with me losing my job at Annabelle’s. I feel defensive about being fired.

  “It’s not like I was a terrible barista or anything,” I explain to Dave. “It’s just, you know, I had been late a lot. Because of Will.”

  Dave nods noncommittally. I can tell that he doesn’t really understand what it’s like taking care of my little brother all the time. None of my friends do. But his sympathy is genuine when he says, “that’s rough, man. It sounds like you did everything you could and it just wasn’t enough. Everyone’s got days like that but that doesn’t make ‘em any easier.”

  Dave’s a good guy and having someone to talk to makes me feel better. It’s not like Dave, who I only hang out with once every couple of months, is going to fix any of my problems. But he’ll listen and that helps more than people realize.

  It’s good to blow off some steam, to have a night off from worrying and working, but when the bill comes I feel guilty for spending the money when I have so many other bills to pay. I resolve to follow up on Dean’s offer to get me another job. And first thing the following morning, I call the office, BridgePoint Marketing, and ask to speak to Dean. After a minute of static, I hear Dean on the other end of the line. He sounds genuinely relieved that I called, not to mention guilty for his role in the café debacle. I agree to come in for an interview on Monday.

  Chapter Seven
/>
  Dean:

  Ryan agreed to meet up early for some pre-interview coaching, so here we are at 8 o’clock Monday morning, nestled into a tall-backed booth in a café that is not Annabelle’s. Ryan is dressed for his interview in a well-fitting burgundy button down that reveals his lean, muscular frame and seems to add color to his cheeks. Fortunately, BridgePoint Marketing is hiring for a part-time security guard during the night shift. Night shift doesn’t conflict with Ryan’s daytime paralegal job or his many William-related responsibilities. The more he talks about his schedule, the more I want to give him a hug. I mean, someone should give him a hug. The poor guy clearly needs and deserves one.

  We run through the standard interview questions, which he answers smoothly. He is well prepared and has reviewed the company’s mission statement and corporate profile; I admire his professionalism. Our conversation turns to other topics and we find ourselves joking around and laughing about how awful our first encounter was…and our second, for that matter! Sipping my coffee, I watch Ryan over the top of my mug. He has smile lines around his eyes that transform his face; I wonder when the last time he had smiled was before today. His big, strong hands wrap around his coffee mug and I can’t help wishing they were wrapped around something else…I realize that he’s been watching my eyes watching his hands and, when I look up, he holds my gaze. I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking. His slow, broad smile seems to tell me, yes, he knows. We both reach for a napkin at the same time and our hands brush together. Was it an accident? Maybe, I’m not sure, but I feel a charge leap from his hand to mine and I can tell that my cheeks are flushed. The blood has rushed to other parts of my body too and I take deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. Why is my heart pounding? We barely touched!

  He continues chatting nonchalantly, as though nothing has happened, but there’s a glazed look in his eyes. He shifts and I feel his leg brush against mine under the table. Now I know for sure that he is coming on to me and I match him, move for move. I let my leg rest against his. He presses against me and places a hand on my knee under the table. All the while, we continue talking as though we were just 2 friends catching up over a cup of coffee.