Fiendish Play

by Angela Richardson

  When I knocked on the door, it was opened by a fresh-faced Italian-looking guy with black hair, some facial scruff and a wide grin. We were pretty close in height and body size too even with him being a few years younger than me. The guy must have worked out as well. My mother had shown me a picture of him online before I left so I knew instantly he was my new roommate.

  “Marcus Voltaggio,” he said, reaching out and shaking my hand. Already I had a good feeling about the guy. He seemed warm and friendly and it looked like he recognized me as well.

  “James Riley,” I said back. “Thanks for letting me stay here this year.”

  “Hey, no problem,” he said opening the door wide and letting me walk in. “My parents insisted on having you live with me when they found out you were coming over and going to the same college. It’s funny because the way they talk about your parents, it’s a wonder we haven’t met before.”

  I nodded. It was true what he said. The way my parents spoke of his parents, it sounded like they were lot closer than just ‘business acquaintances’. They knew a lot about Marcus, his schooling, where they all went on holidays. It felt like they were definitely friends. I guess with my parents travelling so much, they never got around to introductions.

  “Yeah, I get that impression too,” I said in agreement.

  I looked around the apartment. There were a couple of leather couches, a decent sized plasma television in the corner and a small round dining table with four dark timber stained chairs near the kitchen. There was even a pot plant near an open window, which looked completely out of place for a bachelor pad. I was assuming the feminine touch was probably a gift from his Mom.

  “So welcome to our humble abode,” Marcus said, closing the door, and walking past me, pointing around the apartment. “So my room’s on the left. Yours is down the hall there.” I followed him to a door and he gestured inwardly. “Your boxes are already in your room along with a bed and sheets. My Mom told me that you are doing art and that you are working with wood and nails and those kinds of materials. That true?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “That’s cool. The artist thing I mean. This is actually a three-bedroom apartment so I’m fine if you want to use the third room for your art stuff. I don’t need it and I don’t want another guy in here.”

  I followed him back through the lounge and to the kitchen. I stopped near the breakfast bar taking in the space, thinking about what he said. “That would be great actually. Being able to do my work in the third room. Thanks a lot.”

  “No sweat.” Marcus stood near the fridge in the kitchen, opening it wide and showing me inside. There were at least three rows of it filled with beer. “Now I don’t care about sharing food, but if you do take my beer, I hope you’re the type of guy who replaces what he drinks.”

  My head couldn’t help but take inventory. In a matter of seconds I had counted at least fifty cans of beer. Already I was beginning to worry about this guy’s extra-curricular activities.

  “That’s not a problem...replacing what I drink,” I said, assuring him I wasn’t about to deplete his stockpile.

  Marcus rubbed his chin with his right hand, and used the other to hold onto the open fridge door. “Uhhh, I can’t think of anything else. I tend to make things up as I go along, so apart from the beverage refill, I don’t have any other expectations. You?”

  “As long as this doesn’t become a constant partying frat house,” I said pointing inside the fridge, “then I’m all on board.”

  “Oh this.” He turned and pointed to the rows and rows of beer and then began to laugh. “Nah, don’t worry. It’s just my very first fridge on my own, and I went a bit crazy filling it up. Don’t let this scare you. I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I prefer to go to parties than bring that kind of scene back here. I hate cleaning up. Oh, I should probably mention I’m pretty lazy too. Well, that’s what my mother tells me. She also says I’m not focused, I get too distracted, I think about girls too much...” He shook his head, lost in thought, standing in front of the open fridge like his mind was going down a list in his head of everything he was nagged about. It sounded like his Mom was pretty hard on him as well. Then he blinked a few times like he realized he was back in this reality where he was finally free. I think we could both relate to that feeling. He slammed the fridge door shut, and drew in a breath. “So, are we cool then?”

  I glanced around the apartment once more. I felt comfortable, relaxed and most importantly — I was on my own. I had a good feeling that this year would change everything for me. Here, in a country far away from my parents’ worrying eyes, I would be making my own choices. My own decisions. There were new people to meet, and new opportunities. Calmness had already settled into my skin.

  “Marcus,” I began, walking past him, opening the fridge and grabbing a couple of beers. I tossed one to him, cracked mine open and took a big open-minded mouthful. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  {3}

  So guess what? My new roommate Marcus...is a talker. Within the first few hours of unpacking some boxes and settling into the apartment, he had shared with me, in long drawn-out graphic detail, his list of his high school girlfriends that he had banged, that he had been captain of his high school soccer team which had won the state championship, and that he was here at Cloverley as pre-med, or as he put it, studying ‘female anatomy’. He had already been scouted by a few fraternities and encouraged to pledge with them, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to commit himself to anything like that. He certainly fit the mold of a fraternity type of guy, especially given his likeable personality, his looks, and sporty background, but from everything Marcus was telling me, it sounded like he didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything. “Smart guy,” I thought to myself. It would’ve been the same decision I would make for myself too, especially after all the years I’ve had to listen to my parents speak about those types of groups with such over the top condemnation. A ploy to make sure I wouldn’t be stupid enough to be lead astray as well.

  But the guy talked so much, I think at one point I actually switched off, because the next thing I knew, I had agreed to go to some party on Greek Row to meet up with some new friends of his. He was still very open to the idea of mixing with frats and meeting the girls who ran with them. At the last minute, I tried to back out of going. It wasn’t that the idea didn’t appeal to me, but I had an early meeting in the morning on campus with my new art professor, and the last thing I wanted to do was to be hung over or late. That was not the first impression I wanted my greatest idol to have of me. Plus, I had to familiarize myself with the buildings and where everything was on campus.

  But, I also knew the year would be a lot smoother if I put in some effort getting to know my new roommate, and so I agreed to go for a short while. I didn’t plan on having any more drinks, so I figured I could leave whenever I wanted.

  “So...this is Betty,” Marcus said, lifting up the garage door on the ground floor of our apartment complex, revealing an old restored Mustang, (in excellent condition I might add). “It was my Dad’s once,” Marcus said eyeing it like it was his first time with the car. He obviously had a lot of appreciation for fine motor vehicles. That was another thing we had in common. My step-dad was a car lover too and gave me a lot of insight into luxury sports cars and how to drive them. He was an excellent driver and had taught me well. I loved my motorbike, but I was still very skilled with a stick.

  “He used to call it Cherry, I think,” Marcus continued, tilting his head, like he was trying to remember the story, but shook it quickly and shrugged his shoulders. Clearly he had forgotten all about the car’s past now that it was his.

  “Why did you change it to Betty?” I asked curiously as I climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  Marcus grunted a laugh at himself. “You ever read Archie comics?”

  “Once or twice,” I said. I was sure I picked up a few comics while I was growing up in Australia...or was it London? I couldn
’t recall, but I knew of the characters in them.

  “Betty is fucking hot! Just like my girl here. I guess you can say I have a thing for blonds.”

  “Ahhh,” I said, the word coming out as a sound so he knew I got it. It also explained the yellow racing stripes on the black shiny exterior too. Nice touch.

  Marcus started the car and the engine purred to life. We started along a road for a few minutes near the woodland I was eyeing earlier before it swung into the small town and towards the campus. Our apartment wasn’t far from the college at all. I was taking mental notes as we drove. It seemed easy enough to remember for tomorrow.

  “So, you’ve been living in France huh?” Marcus yelled at me, cutting through the sound of the engine, breaking my train of thought.

  “Yep,” I yelled back.

  “Which means you know French, right?”

  I wasn’t quite sure where he was going with the line of questioning. Perhaps he was about to ask about my accent. Having been born in Australia, then living in New Zealand and then various places in the United Kingdom, English was certainly my first language, but when my family moved to France, I was surprised by how easily I picked up French as well. My mother told me it had something to do with how intelligent I was, like my real Dad. But now my voice was a very odd mix of an Australian and New Zealand English accent with a hint of something laced in French. I guess to an American it would have been a weird combination.

  “Yeah well, that is the language people communicate with over there.”

  “I just mean…you speak French.” Marcus began nodding his head up and down like I was supposed to understand his double meaning. Which I didn’t. He kept grinning at me like an idiot, eyebrows raised. Perhaps this was some weird American thing I was missing completely.

  “Man, I don’t know what you mean. Speak English.”

  “I just mean…Chicks over here are going to love a guy whose both an artist type and who speaks French. It’s going to be like catching fish with a net for you.”

  Ah. Finally I got what headspace he was in. I laughed at Marcus and at myself for not catching on a lot quicker.

  “I bet you killed it with the ladies there? Am I right?” he asked, eyebrows rising again, like he needed every sordid detail.

  “I only had one girlfriend in France. And besides, I’m more of a quality type of guy.”

  “That’s a shame, cause I’m more a quantity type of guy.” He held one of his hands up proudly, waiting for me to fist pump him my approval. Which I did, but only because I found it entertaining. The guy was a lot of fun and could make me laugh.

  He ended up parking his car near a pathway with street lights which was a block over from Greek Row. It lead to the campus library and a few buildings on the far end of the campus. He didn’t trust leaving his precious automobile near the drunken antics spilling out of those buildings. I suppose I could understand that reasoning. I had the same paranoia about my motorbike too and would have probably done the same thing.

  I followed Marcus down a dim pathway lined with trees and bushes and to a massive white pillared house with Greek letters painted about the double door entryway. The house was abuzz with music and people drinking, talking and dancing. It wasn’t all that different to the college parties I went to in France. Youth is youth in their quest for a good time, although there were definitely differences in the party atmosphere and how people conducted themselves. Where I would say partying in France was a slow and steady burn, here was something I would say was more full throttle. Although I still wasn’t convinced of the anarchy part yet, as my parents so eloquently put it.

  Marcus was welcomed with a bunch of high-fives, pats on the back and a whole stream of college girls who seemed to be sent to his side to try and convince him to pledge this particular fraternity. The majority of them circling him were blond. Marcus would have certainly been in his element. It didn’t take long before one of them strutted over to my side and started chatting to me as well. I guess they figured if they got in good with the friend, it would help his decision along. I wasn’t complaining about their methods. It was actually a pretty smart move in trying to hook a big fish like Marcus. They definitely were using the right bait.

  With the sorority girl on my side, I could foresee my first night in the United States turning out to be a memorable one. I saw the pleased look on Marcus’ face when he saw the rather busty blond practically attached to my hip, giving me her undivided attention. Not that I had had trouble getting girls’ attention in the past. The offers came pretty easy to me. Always have. I kept my body in good shape, and knew girls liked what they saw. What can I say? I’m not conceited. But my quiet and brooding nature was apparently charming and mysterious to the opposite sex, and they lined up to find out more. Though I never cheated on my girlfriend Nancine in France. I didn’t need to look elsewhere when I already had the best in my eyes. And for me, loyalty was something that was imbedded into my genes.

  “Are you new here too?” The girl giggled into my ear rubbing her hand over my chest. Great, I had one who was touchy feely too. Look, there’s nothing wrong with assertive girls, but personally, I prefer the chase. I wanted to be the hunter, not the hunted. So right away, I was already losing interest. I think she told me her name was Chastity but I wasn’t too sure over the loud boom of the music. I found myself nodding my head up and down to all her questions just to get her to stop her incessant chatter. I don’t know why I had switched off the way I did. I should have been a lot more excited about the idea of no-strings attached sex in a new country with a hot girl. But I wasn’t. After about an hour of continuous compliments and stroking my ego, she offered me the inevitable. She was kissing my necking and sucking on my earlobe when she invited me upstairs. Perhaps it was the way at which she offered herself up so easily which turned me off, but I found myself making up an excuse to leave the party. Chastity gave me the death stare as I excused myself from her manicured fingers locked on my waist. I guess she wasn’t used to rejection.

  Marcus seemed to understand when I explained to him my important meeting the next morning on campus, and he looked even more pleased when I offered to take his car home. He had every intention of taking up the offers in front of him and said he’d get a lift home the next day.

  I shoved Marcus’ keys into my jean pocket as I headed out the door and crossed the yard to where the pathway was leading back behind the buildings where the car was parked.

  It was nice to be alone again. The trees lining the path filled me with a serene feeling in the dead of night. The slight wind in the air catching the branches and making the trees sway and move like they were alive. It was these kinds of visuals that moved me and created the sculpture designs in my head. That, as well as all the architecture I had seen in the many places around the world. It was why I liked to incorporate pieces of metal into my woodwork. I was getting excited at seeing the campus in the morning. I had seen some pictures of the buildings online which dated back to the early 1900s and knew that visually, the buildings here were some of the oldest and most interesting in design for a campus. I was keen to be motivated by this place for my final year sculpture piece.

  It was then an unusual sound stopped me dead in my tracks. At first I thought my mind was playing games with me. I can’t tell you how many times my conscious, which flashed at rapid speeds, made me think I was having conversations that weren’t even happening, or made unreal thoughts and ideas play out in my head like I could actually see them in front of me. Sometimes I think it was just my imagination projecting itself into my real life and sending me into a state of confusion, but other times, I think it was trying to see alternate realities and putting together pieces of situations all around me so I could see and explore every angle. Even trying to explain how it works was disorienting. Yes, yes, I know. My mind was a complex place I was still learning to control and operate.

  I was about to keep walking when I heard the sound again. It was whimper. A girl’s cry. It was muffled
but there was no mistaking when I heard it the second time round. It sounded like someone was in trouble. I moved slowly to where I believed the noise was coming from. I knew something was going on in the darkness behind the bushes. A chill hit my skin as I heard the crying once more as I got closer to the sound, knowing that what was in my head was right. Although I was nowhere near prepared for what I would see.

  As I shifted some branches that were blocking my eye line from view, I saw her. The source of the crying. Under dim light from a torch that was resting on a large rock, I could see two guys. Their backs were turned to where I was standing in the bushes, and they were tying a girl with a mess of long brown hair, in very little clothing, to a tree. Her head was hanging down so I couldn’t see her face, but I could clearly hear her cries and pleading to be let go. To stop.

  What the fuck was going on here? I moved closer, brushing along the leaves, making a rustling sound. Her head lifted up from off her chest hearing the noise I had made. It was then that I saw her face for the first time. I swallowed back something lodged in my throat. Amongst my need to get closer and help, I was completely thrown by her beauty which made my body instantly react. I had to force myself to breathe, even consciously telling my brain to swallow down a breath so I wouldn’t pass out from loss of air. I had never had this type of reaction from seeing a girl before. Perhaps it was because I was trying to make sense of the urgent situation she was in, but the smarter, more logical side of my brain told me something different. It told me that my inability to use my body like a normal person had something to do with my heart constricting and my pulse racing at the sight of those big brown eyes that were red and glossy with pained emotion. That, and the fact I was drawn irresistibly to her pale skin against her chocolate-brown hair. Just the look on her innocent face screamed at me for an escape. Her image had grounded me like nothing I had ever known. It was scary. It was beautiful. She looked like a fallen angel in the moonlight. Then she did something which moved me into immediate action. She mouthed the words ‘help me’.