I can’t do this.
I slyly try to pull my hand out, but he mutters something inaudible into my ear and pushes it down even further. I want to tell him to stop, but when I feel for my voice it seems like nothing is there.
“Chris…I can’t…”
I want to cry. I want to cry forever.
“Can we stop for a minute?” I choke out.
“Ok, sure…sorry,” he says, letting his hands drop. I let a monsoon-sized wave of relief blow out of my body. “You’re just so hot. I’ve been lusting after you for weeks,” he mumbles, trying to paw at me again.
“Thanks…”
I fall back against the wall next to him.
And I see Darby.
She throws her cigarette to the ground and stomps it out with her high heel. Her emotionless eyes focus into me, and I see the smallest smirk spread across her face.
“Nighty, night, Maura. Enjoy yourself.”
00:00:02.004
The day everything became dark again
Dear Samantha,
God, I hate myself.
I don’t want to spend yet another morning hung over.
I told myself that I needed to slow down. That embarking on a continuous drinking streak wasn’t going to solve everything.
But here I am.
I know you’re probably wondering why I’m writing to you again. I know that you thought I swore you off. And you’re probably wondering why I insisted that Mom shipped you, your parents, and the entire dollhouse to me. All I can say is…I needed you. There, I said it. I’m an eighteen-year-old woman who just wanted to have her dolly by her side. A pathetic pseudo-woman who can’t even manage to form relationships with actual humans. I’m such a degenerative waste of space.
Darby hasn’t talked to me since the incident at the social. It’s been weeks. I took to hanging out with the alcoholic party girls—they never ask questions. Most of them aren’t fans of Darby so they couldn’t care less about her opinion of me. They’re great at sneaking me into bars and feeding me drinks. They think it’s highly entertaining when I get completely wasted and try to dance on tables or steal money from the bartender’s tip jar. And I don’t care that I make a total ass of myself in front of them. In fact, I care about very little these days.
My head is on fire. I’ll write more later…
Even though I have the blinds closed, the few tiny streams of light that have managed to push their way through are sending excruciating pains through my already throbbing head. Shivering and sweating at the same time, I bundle my comforter as tightly as I can around me, wishing to the gods above that I would just go to sleep. All I want to do is sleep, yet all I can do is simply lay here and stare at the ceiling. Every time I start to doze off, the dry heaves begin again. My stomach is aching from the whole event of trying to lull myself to sleep.
Each time the retching in my stomach begins, I try to aim my vomit into a bright pink plastic trash can that has somehow ended up at the edge of my bed, but half of it always manages to make its way on the side of my mouth, encrusted in my hair, on my comforter, and on my Egyptian cotton sheets. When I do manage to make it in the trashcan, the smell of moldy oranges that is embedded into the plastic triggers me all over again. This is certainly the worst hangover I’ve had in my life—the food poisoning I got from a cafeteria hamburger junior year was a day at the beach compared to this.
There’s a knock at my door. The sound of bare knuckles banging against wood makes me jump and grab my temples.
“Maura, are you in there?”
OWEN?
I look over to the dollhouse and stare at Samantha, snuggled up in her bed. I widen my eyes as if doing so will signal my desperate need for assistance to her.
“I brought you a bagel with peanut butter,” he whispers into the doorframe. “Do you remember when we used to get them all the time?” I remember. On Fridays, we used to stop at the New York style deli on the corner of my housing development where we would carb up to get through the day. He thought I was insane for enjoying such a disgusting combination. But he broke down and tried it eventually. Needless to say, he loved it.
My eyes fill with tears and I rub my hand on my aching heart. I will always hold on to that happy moment.
“You in there?”
I pull myself upright and keep my comforter wrapped around me. I tie up my greasy, matted hair in a quick bun and try my best to rub the mascara stains out from under my eye with a dab of spit and the tip of my finger.
“Maura…”
I throw the door open and my heart instantly aches. I haven’t seen him in so long—it feels like years. Everything about him looks the same—black studded belt, tattered jeans, a too-tight t-shirt of a cartoon dinosaur, jet-black hair standing up on all ends—but the energy between us feels different. Like the undeniable pull that once kept us together has been forever severed. My feeble body begs to collapse to the ground and dissolve into a puddle of tears at the idea.
“Thanks,” I whisper, letting him drop the bag in my hands. I step to the side so he can come inside my room. He walks a lap around it, running his fingers over the dresser, my stack of books, and the dollhouse. Taking in everything. Just like he did the first time I let him in my room back at home.
God, I just want to have that pull back. I NEED to have that pull back.
I need him so much it fucking hurts.
“You still have the dollhouse, huh?”
“Yeah, I had my mom send it here. I just…I needed it,” I say, taken aback at the sound of my own voice. I haven’t actually spoken to another person in a few days.
He nods and stuffs his hands in his pockets, scanning the interior. “You finished the living room? It looks awesome. I love what you did with the stairs.”
I just gawk at him. I can’t bring myself to accept his compliment.
“Owen…what are you doing here?” I ask once he stops his investigation and sits down on my bed. His jaw tightens and I already know this is going to be an unpleasant conversation. He did not come here to confess his undying love and try to win me back.
“Your mom called me. She’s really worried about you, Maura.”
“Jesus Christ, she CALLED you?” I shriek, my voice wobbly. I feel like I’m going to vomit again. It takes every ounce of willpower I can muster up from my weakling body to not do so.
“Yeah, she said you refuse to return any of her calls. She asked me to come and check in on you.”
I lie back down on the bed next to Owen and pull the comforter completely around my body like mummy wrap. I cannot believe she would do such a horrendous thing to me. I keep my eyes focused on his hand, willing it to just reach out and touch me. I need you Owen.
I want, more than anything, to just be able to talk to him about everything that’s been going on in my life. He was always willing to listen and offer up his advice—and even though it usually consisted of going to a party and just having a little pure, uninhibited fun, it worked. I’ve been trying desperately to re-create that feeling that I got when I went out with him, but I just can’t.
“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m alive and well. Go ahead and report back,” I mumble into the fabric.
“What’s been going on?” he asks, turning his body so that he’s facing me. I peek up at him through they tiny hole I’ve left myself and watch his face widen with concern.
“Nothing. Just hanging out.”
“You’re partying an awful lot, aren’t you?” he asks, his eyes dancing around.
“How would you know that?” I ask, throwing back the comforter and jumping upwards. I start digging through a colossal pile of dirty clothes on my floor and try to find my purple hoodie. I can’t remember the last time I managed to exert enough effort to bring my clothes down to the dorm basement and actually wash them.
“The Greek world isn’t that small,” he says, surveying all the crap that’s around my room. I forgot about the fact that I have three bags of trash piled up in the corner. A few t
iny flies zip around them, trying to figure out a way to break in and feast up on my microwaveable dinner scraps. I should feel embarrassed that Owen is baring witness to my ever-encroaching insanity. But instead I just feel…blank.
I pull the hoodie over my head and realize that it smells like wet towels. Oh well. I ball up the edge of the sleeve and swipe it over my now moistened eye. I want more than anything to just talk to him. I want to tell him that there isn’t anyone else in my life I can talk to about anything that matters besides him. My vapid ‘sisters’ can’t shut their mouths about getting drunk and hooking up with guys long enough to delve into anything that might be of substance.
Owen was the only one. And he just completely abandoned me.
“Why does it matter to you?” I snap as I suck in any remaining tears.
“Because I still care about you Maura. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He reaches out now, his hand coming towards my face. I try to make my body sit still and just allow myself to finally have what I’ve been aching for, but I can’t. I slap his hand away before it can even make contact with my skin.
“I’m fine, Owen.”
“Really?” he says, more of a statement than a question.
“Yes, really. I’m good.”
I’ve gotten particularly clever when it comes to pulling off this statement in a convincing manner. So good, as a matter of fact, that I don’t even think about it anymore. ‘I’m good, I’m good.’ I rattle it off at least five times a day. I don’t think I even truly listen to the question that’s being asked anymore. All of my responses are just so rehearsed—they come out with no effort whatsoever.
Just like my smile.
“Ok. If you insist,” he says, standing up.
Please don’t go.
He opens his mouth to say something else, but the ringing of my phone interrupts him. He opens his hand and signals to it, letting me know I should break my pathetic puppy dog stare and answer the damn thing.
“Hi, Maura?”
“Yes…” I say, trying to control the sobs I feel bubbling in my chest.
“This is Jess, the pledge educator.”
Owen’s by the door now, pulling his jacket back on and zipping it up. I feel like a cold fist is closing over my heart, freezing all of the blood and threatening to make it stop beating forever.
“We’re having an emergency pledge class meeting. I need you to get to the auditorium in the Student Union as soon as possible. Can you do that?”
He raises one hand and waves goodbye. I can’t will myself to do the same. ‘Call your mom today!’ he mouths as he smiles and shuts the door. The air instantly becomes heavy with loneliness and regret. My entire body aches with memories. Owen is my world. And it felt so good to be part of the world again—even though it was for just a fleeting moment.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask as my eyes mist over.
“We need you here. Now.”
****
“Maura. There you are.”
Darby steps out from a group of girls and plants herself right in front of me. I clasp and unclasp my hands repeatedly, trying to get my blood to start pumping through my veins once again. Everyone is staring at me—and I’m not imagining it. The room is filled with girls from the sorority house—hundreds of eyes scanning every inch of my body. Some I recognize, but most I do not. Jess, the pledge educator who called me and demanded that I make myself available immediately, is nowhere to be seen. Why are we here? All of the muscles in my body tense up. Something just feels wrong.
“Glad you could make it. We’ll be ready in just a minute,” Darby says, glancing down at her watch. “We’re just waiting on a few more people. Why don’t you take a seat right up front? I saved one for you.”
She squeezes my upper arm and flashes me a smile too big to be real.
“Wait, Darby?” I ask. She stops and spins around to face me. “Do you still want me to make the presentation for that charity baseball tournament we talked about last month?” I feel the sudden need to try and make up for everything that has happened between us. And I worked really hard on a speech. Maybe putting myself in front of this group and showing them that I’m capable of organizing one of their most important events of the year can turn things around. Maybe this whole thing can still be saved.
She reaches for my hand and squeezes it a little too had. “We’ll talk later.”
I let my eyes wander around the room once she leaves me alone. Everyone is whispering and I feel my pulse start to race. I swear they’re all looking at me. I can’t truly be crazy enough to make it all up in my mind. Darby watches me from across the room as she sips coffee from a pale green mug. She keeps her eyes glued to me as she leans over and mumbles something to the girl next to her. The girl covers her mouth to hide her giggles and nods her head in agreement. She turns and follows Darby’s glance, giving me a once-over. My hands ball up into fists, fingernails cutting into my palms. I feel lightheaded and can’t seem to stop swallowing.
“Sit,” Darby mouths, pointing to the chair. Her eyes are seething as she watches every step I take. Once she notices that I’ve finally obeyed her command and sat down in her designated chair, she turns her back to me and waves a group of girls in to join the riveting discussion.
The auditorium is colossal—rows and rows of puke yellow fold-out chairs lined up ever so neatly to face the stadium-sized screen in front of me. Maroon-colored velvet curtains are pulled back, and a podium with the University’s logo etched into the front sits in front of the screen. The microphone is flashing a green light, signaling that it’s on and ready to be used.
1,2,3,4.
1,2,3,4.
My hand begs to reach down into my bag and pull out my notebook. I need to write to Samantha. I need her to help me work through this before I explode into tiny bits and spray flecks of anxiety all over this room.
I left the notebook in my dorm. Of course I did.
I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin—I need to do something NOW—so I pull my Sociology textbook out of my bag and start to flip absentmindedly through pages. I hear a stampede of high heels clicking on the wooden floor, about to surround me. I pretend to be incredibly invested in reading a paragraph as they all gather their skirts and perch in the chairs surrounding me. Their low, crisp voices make my skin blotch with redness. I pull my hoodie as taut as I can around my body, knowing very well they are staring at me.
This is so not good. A panicked moan jumps up from my stomach, doing everything in its power to escape the confines of my body. I clench my teeth and fight it back down. Don’t do it Maura. Don’t give them anything. You’ve given too much already.
A few male voices start to fill the room. I let my right eye wander away from the book and notice a group of guys slowly filing in. I recognize a few of the faces—they’re Alpha Pi’s. Some of them poke each other and point me out when they see me sitting in the lone chair in the front row. Oh shit. Really? My legs start jittering, pleading with me to just jump up and run for my life. What if HE’S here?
I stay glued to my chair. I open up my purse and start feverishly searching for a pen that I know isn’t in there. Beads of perspiration are forming along my hairline, and I feel myself about to explode.
1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.
I let my eyelids flutter as I try to imagine something calming—something that can quiet the terrifying voices that are bouncing all over the inside of my head.
The pledge class camping trip last fall. Right after we got initiated. We stayed up late and worked together to not only build a fire, but to cook a dinner of hot dogs and baked beans on that fire. Everything tasted awful but nobody seemed to care. We stayed up all night playing two truths and a lie, and as the sun rose, we ran to the lake and jumped in, still wearing our pajamas.
That was the first time I finally felt like I had them. Sisters.
“Ladies and Gentleman, as most of you know, we’ve recently had an incident develop between our two
organizations—more of a severe misunderstanding, I should say.”
It’s the vice president of the sorority. I’ve never actually had a conversation with her outside of her shaking my hand and welcoming me as her sister on my initiation night. Her bright auburn hair is donning perfect, thick 50’s finger waves. She speaks with such confidence and elegance—almost like she’s getting ready to present an award and there are hundreds of cameras waiting to capture the event. Her eyes sparkle and her cherry red lips present each word confidently.
“We want to let you know that the member of our sorority who has brought these allegations to light is, quite frankly, a liar.”
A wave of whispers spreads among the audience. I fidget in my seat when no one leans to me to share their insight on what exactly this is all about. My fingers grip around the spine of my book, begging it to keep me afloat.
1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.
She brings her hand up and waves to someone in the back of the room. The lights dim and a video plays behind her.
“Let’s watch for a moment,” she says, stepping off to the side and dragging the podium with her. Nothing stands in between the screen and me now.
The image is too grainy to see anything right away. All that can be made out is a kissing noise. More like a gasping for air noise. A few mumbles. Then the only thing I can make out is a man’s voice, moaning with desire.
“Chris, I can’t. Can we just stop for a second?”
My entire body falls into paralysis. I can’t move anything. All I can feel is a tingling sensation thundering through my nerve endings, forcing me to stay still.
“But I’ve been lusting after you for weeks. You’re so hot, Maura.”
My eyes transfix with horror as images come into focus. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I get up and just run away from this? Why can’t I at least close my eyes?
6 Seconds of Life Page 19