If We Were Villains

by M. L. Rio

  Wren hiccupped. “I think I’m done.”

  “I think you are, too,” Meredith said, barely scolding, almost sisterly. She turned to me. “Olive, Oliver?” She raised her toothpick, one last olive speared on the end.

  “You have it,” I said, unable to suppress a smirk. “If I did it would be cannibalism.”

  She gave me such a piercing look that my temperature shot up about ten degrees, then bit the olive off the toothpick and disappeared inside. I watched her go and stared dumbly at the empty doorway until Wren spoke.

  “She doesn’t seem to be suffering much.”

  “What?”

  “She and Rick are ‘taking some time off,’” she said, making quotation marks in the air with only one hand. “I figured you knew.”

  “Uh, no. I didn’t.”

  “Her idea. He’s not exactly pleased about it but you know how he is, he won’t apologize for anything.” She made a face. “If he’d just swallowed his pride she might have changed her mind.”

  “Oh.”

  She yawned, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “What time is it?”

  “Dunno,” I said. “Late.” My own eyelids felt a little heavy.

  “I’ll go find out.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  She let go of me, pushing herself off my side to stand up straight. “Okay, I won’t tell you.” She petted my arm, like I was a dog, then meandered up the steps, a bit of her skirt pinched between two fingers.

  The yard had mostly emptied during our conversation. People were either heading back inside or (I hoped) going home. I ventured out into the middle of our little clearing and closed my eyes. The night air was chilly, but it didn’t bother me. It soothed my warm skin like a salve, rinsed the smoke from my lungs, evicted Meredith’s velvet shadow from my head. When I opened my eyes I was surprised to see a patch of blue between the dark treetops, a white sliver of moon grinning down at me. A sudden desire to see the whole sky urged me to take the trail down to the lake. But when I made to move, James’s voice held me in place.

  “Well shone, Moon. Truly the moon shines with a good grace.” I turned to find him standing behind me, hands in his pockets.

  “Where’ve you been all night?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah, honestly.”

  “I was making the rounds for a while, but I got overwhelmed and snuck upstairs to do some reading.”

  I laughed. “You utter dork. What brought you back down?”

  “Well, it’s after midnight, and I can’t disappoint Alexander.”

  “By now I doubt he even remembers telling us that.”

  “Probably not.” He tilted his head back to admire the sky. “It looks farther away when there’s so little of it.”

  For a while we just stood there, faces upturned, not speaking. The noise from the Castle was a dull rumble in the background, like the clamor of car engines on a road in the distance. An owl hooted softly, somewhere. It occurred to me (for the first time, I think) how alone we were when the Castle was empty, when there wasn’t a party, when the other students were all half a mile away at the Hall. It was just us—the seven of us and the trees and the sky and the lake and the moon and, of course, Shakespeare. He lived with us like an eighth housemate, an older, wiser friend, perpetually out of sight but never out of mind, as if he had just left the room. Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.

  There was a soft fizz of electricity; Meredith’s lights flickered and went out. I looked back toward the Castle in the deep gloom. The kitchen lights were on and the music audible, so I assumed we hadn’t blown a fuse.

  “Wonder what happened.”

  James was not curious enough to tear his eyes away from the sky. “Look,” he said.

  With the lights out we could see stars, tiny pinpricks of white scattered around the moon and glinting like sequins. The world was perfectly still for one precious instant. Then there was a crash, a shout, and something inside shattered. At first, neither us moved. We stood staring at each other, hoping—silently, desperately, pointlessly—that someone had simply knocked a bottle off the counter, or slipped on the stairs, or some other clumsy, innocent thing. But before either of us could speak again, voices inside started screaming.

  “Richard,” I said, my heart already in my throat. “I bet anything.” We raced back toward the Castle, in as straight a line as we could manage.

  The door was hanging open but people had blocked it completely, filled up the gap. James and I shoved them aside to get into the kitchen, where at least a dozen others had made a ring around the edge of the room. James broke through the circle first, knocking two second-year linguists out of his way. I wasn’t sober enough to judge the distance and slammed into him when he stopped, but the close press of people kept both of us from falling over.

  The cellist who’d been talking to Meredith outside sat crumpled on the floor with one hand over his face, blood dribbling out between his fingers. Filippa crouched beside him, perched on her toes in a glittering mess of broken glass. Meredith and Wren stood facing Richard, and all three of them were shouting at once, their words overlapping and indistinguishable as music and laughter churned in from the next room. Alexander hovered in the doorway behind Richard, but he was leaning on Colin and in no condition to intervene, so James and I pushed forward to arbitrate.

  “What happened?” I asked, hollering to be heard over the racket.

  “Richard,” Filippa said, giving him a dirty look over her shoulder. “Came downstairs and sucker punched him.”

  “What the hell? Why?”

  “He was watching the yard from the upstairs window.”

  “Everyone calm down!” James ordered. Wren fell silent, but Richard and Meredith ignored him.

  “You’re out of control!” she yelled. “You need to be in a straitjacket.”

  “Well, maybe we could share one.”

  “This is not a fucking joke! You could have knocked his teeth out!”

  The boy on the floor groaned and leaned forward, a long thread of blood and saliva hanging from his bottom lip. Filippa stood up swiftly and said, “Yeah, I think he probably did. He needs to go to the infirmary.”

  “I’ll take him,” Colin said. He left Alexander leaning on the doorjamb and gave Richard a wide berth as he came across the kitchen. He and I and Filippa got the cellist to his feet and draped his arm around Colin’s shoulders. They weren’t even out of the room before Richard and Meredith resumed their shouting match.

  Meredith: “Are you happy now?”

  Richard: “Are you?”

  “Both of you, stop!” Wren’s voice had climbed to a dangerously high pitch. “Just stop, can’t you?”

  Richard rounded on her and she took one wary step back. “This isn’t your problem, Wren.”

  “No,” Filippa said, sharply, “you’ve made it everybody’s problem.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Filippa—”

  James and I both moved forward, but Meredith spoke first and Richard froze, all the muscles between his shoulders bunched and bulging.

  “Don’t talk to her like that. Turn around and look at me,” she said. “Stop bullying everyone else like a fucking schoolboy and look at me.”

  He turned and lurched toward her so suddenly that everyone jumped back, but Meredith didn’t move an inch—she was either brave or crazy.

  “Shut your mouth—” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

  “Or what? You’ll knock my teeth out, too?” she asked. “Do it. I dare you.”

  I decided that perhaps “brave” and “crazy” were not mutually exclusive. “Meredith,” I said, carefully.

  Richard swung toward me, and James and Filippa shifted closer, closing ranks. “Don’t tempt me,” he said. “You I’ll send to the infirmary in pieces.”

  “Back off!” Meredith shoved him, both hands hitting his chest with a flat thump; before she could withdraw again he grabbed her by the wrist. “It’s not about him. You’
re making it about him because you can’t hit me and you’re just desperate to hit someone!”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Richard said, jerking her forward. She twisted her arm against his grip until her flesh went white. “If I knocked you around a bit, gave everyone something to stare at? We all know how you like everyone staring at you. You slut.”

  Between the six of us, we’d called Meredith some version of “slut” a thousand times, but this was horrifically different. Everything seemed to go silent, despite the music pounding in the next room.

  Richard grabbed her chin, tilting her face up toward his. “Well. It was fun for a while.”

  My last thin thread of hesitation snapped. I lunged at him, but Meredith was closer. People screamed as she backhanded him across the face—it was nothing like Camilo’s class, not precise or controlled, but a wild, savage blow meant to do as much damage as possible. Richard swore obscenely, but before he could get to her James and Alexander crashed into him like a pair of linebackers. Even their combined weight wasn’t enough to knock him down, and he kept bellowing curses, snatching at every inch of Meredith he could reach. I grabbed her around the waist, but he already had a fistful of her hair and she cried out in pain as he yanked on it. I lifted her right off the ground and wrenched her away from him, crushing her against my chest as I lost my balance and stumbled into Filippa. Richard, James, and Alexander pitched backward and fell against the cabinets, half a dozen people rushing to catch them before they hit the floor.

  I pawed Meredith’s hair away from my face, one arm locked tight around her, unsure whether I was trying to protect her or control her or both. “Meredith—” I said, but she elbowed me in the stomach and shoved me off. Filippa seized my shirt when I staggered and held on, like she was afraid of what I might do if she let go. Meredith stared straight past us at Richard, arms rigid at her sides, chest heaving. Slowly, he pushed himself upright. James had already backed away, and the few people still holding on to Richard hastily removed their hands. Alexander cursed softly, touching his fingertips to a bloody lip. Everyone else’s eyes were fixed on Meredith, but it wasn’t the kind of staring she was used to. Everything she felt was written on her face—shame, fury, paralytic disbelief.

  “You bastard,” she said. She turned and shouldered past me and Filippa, scattering terrified first-years as she made her way to the stairs.

  Richard and I stood facing each other, like unarmed fencers. Alexander flickered in my peripheral vision, reaching up for a napkin to wipe his mouth. I could hear Wren whimpering, but the sound was distant. James stood behind Richard like a shadow, watching me with a shell-shocked expression, one part dread, one part indignation. Anger bristled on my skin, trapped there by the fabric of my shirt pulled tight against my body. I wanted to hurt Richard like he’d hurt Meredith, like he’d hurt James, like he would hurt any one of us who gave him half a reason. I glanced at Filippa because I didn’t trust myself not to attack him any more than she did.

  “I’ll go,” I said, stiffly. She nodded and let go of my shirt, and I didn’t wait. The crowd parted as easily for me as it had for Meredith. I turned into the hall between the kitchen and dining room and pressed my back flat against the wall, breathing slowly through my nose until my head stopped spinning. I didn’t even know what I was drunk on anymore—whiskey and weed and howling rage. I took one last long breath, then ducked through the doorway to the stairwell.

  “Meredith,” I said, for the third time. She was the only one there, halfway up the stairs. Music droned in the walls, half muted. Warm pink light leaked in from the kitchen.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Hey.” I climbed the first three steps behind her. “Wait.”

  She stopped, one hand trembling on the banister. “For what? I’m done with this fucking party, with all of them down there. What do you want?”

  “I just want to help.”

  “Is that right?”

  I stared up at her—dress disheveled, arms folded, face flushed—and felt a tiny, painful thud in the pit of my stomach. She was too stubborn. “Forget it,” I said, and turned down the stairs again.

  “Oliver!”

  I gritted my teeth, turned back around. “Yes?”

  She didn’t say anything at first, just glared at me. Her hair was tangled and caught in her earring where Richard had grabbed it. That little rip in the middle of me opened wider and it burned—raw and tender, red and angry.

  “You really want to help?” she asked. It was only half a question—tentative, suspicious of the answer.

  “Yes,” I said again, too fiercely, stung by her doubt.

  That same brazen, fearless look she’d given me in the dressing room flashed across her face. In one impulsive motion, she came down the three steps between us and kissed me, caught me, both hands curled tight around the back of my neck. I was startled but still, oblivious to everything but the unexpected heat of her mouth on mine.

  We separated an inch and looked at each other with wide, unguarded eyes. Nothing about her had ever seemed simple, but she was, then. Simple and close and beautiful. A little tousled, a little damaged.

  We kissed again, more urgently. She forced my lips apart, stole my breath right out of my mouth, pushed me backward until I hit the banister. I grabbed her hips and pulled her against me, ready to feel every inch of her.

  An unfamiliar voice interrupted the thick noise of music through the wall. “Oh, shit.”

  She disengaged, broke away, and I nearly lost my balance in the sudden absence of her body. Some nameless first-year was standing at the foot of the stairs, drink in hand. His eyes slid from me to Meredith with dull, unfocused surprise. “Oh, shit,” he said again, and staggered out toward the kitchen.

  Meredith reached for my hand. “My room,” she said. I would have followed her anywhere, and I didn’t care who knew—Richard (who deserved so much worse than such petty betrayal) or anyone else.

  We climbed the stairs hastily, clumsily, impeded by her high heels, my drunkenness, and our foolish refusal to keep our hands off each other. We ran down the hall on the second floor, crashing against the wall and locking lips again before we stumbled into her bedroom. She threw the door shut and turned the bolt behind her. We collided more than embraced, the whole feverish scene shot through with flashes of pain—she clenched her fingers in my hair, caught my bottom lip between her teeth, shuddered when the rough stubble on my jaw scraped her throat. The bass from the dining room downstairs thudded under everything like some savage tribal drumbeat.

  “You look fucking amazing,” I said, in the split second I had to speak when she pulled my shirt up over my head.

  She tossed it across the room. “Yeah, I know.”

  The fact that she knew was somehow sexier than pretending she didn’t. I fumbled for the zipper on the side of her dress and said, “Great, just making sure.”

  The rest of our clothes came off and were carelessly discarded, everything but our underwear and Meredith’s shoes. We kissed and gasped and grasped at each other like we were afraid to let go. My head swam, the floor shifting and tilting under me whenever I closed my eyes. I ran one hand from the nape of her neck to the small of her back, her skin electric under my fingertips. The warm silk touch of her lips against my ear made me groan and clutch her closer—delirious, addicted, furious that I’d ever pretended not to want her.

  We were halfway to the bed when a fist boomed on the door, made it shake in its frame. Another fist followed, and another, pounding and pounding like a battering ram. “OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!”

  “Richard!” I reeled back, but Meredith grabbed me fast around the neck.

  “He can bang on the door all night if he wants.”

  “He’ll break it down,” I said, and the words disappeared between her lips before they even left mine, the thought forgotten before I finished it. My pulse was wild.

  “Let him try.” She shoved me backward onto the bed, and I didn’t argue.

/>   Everything after that was disjointed and confused. Richard hammered on the door, bellowing curses and threats I could barely hear—his voice only part of a heavy rhythm, “I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL KILL YOU BOTH.” It was impossible to listen with Meredith between me and him, tangible, intoxicating, the tiny intake of her breath enough to drown out his riot of noise. He faded out, like the end of a bad song, and I didn’t know whether he’d left or I’d gone deaf to everything but Meredith. My head was so light that without her weight on top of me I might have floated away. Inch by inch, my brain and body reconnected. I let her have her way for a little longer, then rolled her over on her back and pinned her down, unwilling to be entirely submissive.

  When I collapsed beside her on the mattress, my muscles were quivering under my skin. We were too hot to touch by then, and we lay with only our legs tangled together. Our shallow breaths lengthened, deepened, and sleep pulled me swiftly down like gravity.

  SCENE 9

  I didn’t sleep long, and I slept like a man on a raft, waves rolling underneath me—seasick more than drunk. My eyes opened before I even knew I was awake, and I stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. Meredith lay beside me, one hand pressed under her cheek, the other arm tucked tight against her chest. A tiny line had appeared between her eyebrows, as though whatever she was dreaming troubled her.

  The lamp on the nightstand leaked watery orange light across the bed. I reached carefully over her to turn it off but paused, my arm outstretched. Meredith’s breath fluttered against the back of my hand. I couldn’t help staring—not, for once, because she was beautiful, but because the small dark spots on her body I’d mistaken in my drunken fervor for shadows and tricks of the light hadn’t faded. The delicate line of her wrist was marred by tiny blooms of purple, like budding violets on her skin. Older marks, weak as watercolors now, showed where a heavier hand than mine had touched her, where phantom fingers had squeezed too hard: the nape of her neck, the curve of her knee. She was every bit as bruised as James. I felt nauseous, but the sick feeling settled in my chest instead of my stomach.