by Havana Scott
“You have no idea.” Even I had no idea how much hearing something like this would affect me. I haven’t had to pound in faces in a long time, but I can still do it if needed. I’m in way over my head, I tell myself. I’m in love with her, I also tell myself.
“If there’s two battles to fight—bringing harassment to justice or getting to Graduation Day in one piece—” she says, “I’m going to choose getting to Graduation Day.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t fight this off the record.”
“What do you mean?” She gives me a curious look, while I crack my knuckles like a fucking gangster, because that’s how I feel right now.
It means I can solve this my own special way by teaching that little shit a lesson, but I’m not sure I want to tell her that. Alice may be a risk-taker with her emotions, but she’s a rule-follower in academics who’s fought tooth and nail to make it this far. She doesn’t want to rock the boat. I get it. And I don’t need to be getting into a scuffle with anyone, unless I want to lose my own job as well.
“What else did he say?”
She sighs. “He basically said I was a slut and suggested I fuck him and Parker at the same time. I told him to fuck off and he did. That was pretty much it.”
I don’t care. She might be done with the asswipe, but I’m not. “What night is it?”
“Friday night. Why?”
I slap a twenty on the bartop, finish my drink, and charge out of the joint. I don’t know what it is I’m going to do, but the calm, rational part of my brain isn’t the one thinking anymore. “Roman? Where are you going?”
It was Aaron she saw at Taco Paco, wasn’t it? He was there, enjoying the $2 pitchers like every other undergrad on campus on a Friday night. That’s why she wanted to leave. “What does he look like?”
“Who, Aaron? Why?”
“Answer me, Alice.”
“He’s tall, short brown hair. He’s wearing an orange shirt with blue letters. Roman?”
“Stay here. I don’t want you to get involved.” Grabbing her by the shoulders, I set her aside and brush past her.
Blind rage drives me now. I charge down the sidewalk, past the barhopping students all laughing it up to Taco Paco, where I know these assholes are. I walk into the joint like a prick-seeking missile and find the orange shirt immediately. I’d know it was him anyway, ‘cause he’s got that condescending shit-eating grin on his face.
The orange shirt stands in the corner with an equally stupid-looking nerd, the two of them repelling all the pussy in the place. Her friend, Gunther, is there, too. I should’ve asked if he was involved in any way, but I’ll give the guy the benefit of the doubt and leave his bones intact this time.
The three see me coming a mile away, and judging from orange shirt’s wide eyes, has already pissed his pants before I even arrive at his table. They all stare at me. I must look like a bat out of hell. “You’re Aaron?”
“Who’s asking?” Just like I imagined, he’s got an arrogant voice, too.
I lift up his shirt collar and breathe into his face. “I am. Meet me between this building and the pool hall next door.” When I let go, I notice several bar patrons all watching me, but nothing to worry about, I’m not going to make a scene and disturb the peace inside this establishment.
I’m going to disturb the peace outside of it.
Channeling through the tables and sea of students, I book it outdoors, feeling the night hotter and muggier than usual. And then I wait, fists clenched, in my last moments before risking my career. Sure, I may get in trouble for this. It’ll probably reach administration’s ears in no time. But some things are worth fighting for, and I’m fucking sick of weak, scared men preying on women. Women who are better. Women who kick ass. Women who make this world a better place, but they’re too stupid to realize it. I’m tired of them bullying my fucking girl.
“What is it you want, doctor?”
I turn around to find Beavis and Butthead standing by a lamppost, hands in their pockets. Slowly, I walk up to Aaron and stare into his eyes. He might be my height, but he’s half the weight, and the kid’s never seen the inside of a gym before. “Mess with Alice Verano one more time, you little shit.” I point at his nose. “One more time.”
“Or what?”
“You don’t want to find out, son.”
“Son?” He chuckles. “Okay, Dad. So you’re the reason Alice was late to class today. The reason she’s been late a lot lately.”
“Dude, she’s only been late twice,” the one named Parker slaps his arm. “It’s not your business. Come on, let’s move on.”
“It is my business if it affects my grade,” Aaron says without taking his eyes off me. Smart move. “So, that’s it? That’s all you want to tell me?”
I swear, if he gives me that pompous shade one more time…
On second thought, I won’t give him that chance.
“Yeah. That’s all I wanted to tell you.” I reach out, grab him by the collar, and yank him headfirst into my fist. Then, grabbing him by the ear and slamming his head into Parker’s, I kill two birds with one stone. “And that’s so you’ll never forget it.”
17
ALICE
It happens so fast, there’s nothing I can do.
I stand there watching, frozen, unblinking, hanging onto a lamppost with both hands, while my Roman grabs both Aaron and Parker and slams them together, knocking their heads like coconuts. This is shit you only see in movies.
Whoever I thought he was, I knew nothing.
Immediately, both guys grab their heads and moan in pain then lunge at Roman, but it’s too easy. First of all, Roman’s not the disoriented one in severe head pain, so he pushes them off, sending them scuffling back onto the sidewalk, while all around, a crowd begins to form and I’m mortified.
“A fight, a fight, a fight!” I hear a few people scream in unison, egging them on.
I want to jump in and separate these boys, but I can’t move. I’m rooted to my spot. Roman told me to stay put and something inside of me doesn’t dare defy him. I may have been getting to know him all these weeks, but I’ve yet to see him truly pissed off once in that time—not roleplaying angry sex, mind you—and I know better than to interfere with his modus operandi at the moment.
Parker hangs back, wise to stay out of it, having learned his lesson, but Aaron, hardheaded idiot that he is, plows his skinny body back into Roman, his head buried in my man’s chest. It takes nothing for Roman to separate him, cock back his arm, and deliver another punch to Aaron’s already bloody face.
Aaron is no match for Roman. Parker is taller than Roman but doesn’t have nearly half the body mass or strength. I can’t believe this is happening. Like, I seriously cannot believe these men are fighting because of me. Aaron asked for it, though. If he thought he could harass me and not get shit for it, he was sorely mistaken. Hell, even I was mistaken.
Aaron fucked with the wrong woman. And the wrong man. There was nothing I could do to stop Roman once he heard what happened and maybe I should’ve told him at home. Despite the awful feeling like someone is going to get their bones broken, I’m glad this is happening. No one’s ever defended me this way. It’s the stuff that happens in movies to feminine girls with thin arms who flail and need saving. I have to say—I see him in a new light. And I love him ten million times more now.
Gunther does his best to break apart the tangle of arms and heads. Once they’re far enough apart and the crowd starts retreating back to the bar, a few linger to take videos on their phones, while Aaron and Parker limp off to tend to their wounds. It’s over. My heart pounds like it’s contending for the Triple Crown. Eyeing me from where he’s doubled over, catching his breath, Roman grips Gunther by the shoulder.
“Take her home,” he says. Just then, a set of blue and red police lights pull up to the curb, and two officers get out of their vehicle. You have got to be shitting me.
“I came with those guys. I don’t have a car,” Gunther tells Roman.
Digging into his pocket, Roman pulls out his keys and slaps them into Gunther’s hands. “She trusts you. Choose what kind of man you want to be. You want to fuck around with those pricks? Fine, but then you don’t deserve her.” With that, he ambles past me, giving me a measured, distanced nod, and heads straight for the cops.
There’s discussion between them, all very quiet, as Roman cooperates with police and climbs into the back of the car. They’re taking him? But why? It’s not illegal to fight, is it? I feel my chest swelling with something, but I don’t know what it is. I want to yell, “It wasn’t his fault!” but the least I can do is honor Roman’s request for me to stay as far away from this situation as possible.
I wasn’t supposed to watch him kick Aaron’s ass.
“Come on. Let me take you home.” Gunther’s gentle hand on my arm, leading me in the direction of Roman’s car, is only slightly comforting. All I can think about is what’s going to happen now, whether or not Roman will get into trouble for this. Whether or not Aaron will get in trouble now, though why I should worry about him, I have no clue.
Even from the shadows of the police car’s backseat, I see his bright green eyes, shining with love—a man who risked everything. For me. I can’t have him losing his job over this. This was all my fault. Has been, since the very beginning.
It doesn’t take long to hear the gossip the next day. It’s all anybody can talk about in the Student Union while grabbing my lunch, except people really have their stories mixed up. One student thinks Dr. Lee, the college counselor, was caught with an under-aged minor. She says it doesn’t surprise her considering his reputation. I want to pull her by the long red hair and lasso it around her neck.
If only she knew how squeaky clean his reputation has been. Can’t a good man get a break? How far does someone have to go to earn back trust?
I overhear another student say that he was arrested for drugs, but that’s just stupid. How does this shit get around? Even stupider still, another guy says he’ll go to jail for attempted manslaughter. Is that even a thing? But nobody talks about how Aaron provoked the whole thing, how it was his fault and Dr. Lee was only defending an unnamed woman.
The worst part is the waiting.
I call him all day long, text him, leave him messages but get nothing in return. Was he arrested after all, and they’ve taken his phone? But it was just a fist fight! I hate not knowing what’s happening, and I’m sick with anguish.
Jilly sticks with me for most of the day for moral support. Every so often, she’ll hand me a napkin when she sees me fighting tears or buys me a snack when I won’t eat. “Has he replied?” she’ll ask, looking across the study table at my phone.
“Not yet.”
“Give him time. He kicked Aaron’s ass for you—he’ll call. That man loves you.”
That makes me smile. “And Parker’s ass, too.”
“A double whooping. Sexy, Alice. Fucking sexy.” Jilly’s eyebrows do a little dance, as she purses her lips.
“You think I don’t know?”
But now comes my biggest worry—will he think I’m more trouble than I’m worth? There’s nothing to stop Roman from now thinking he’s gotten too involved with me. After all we’ve been through these five and a half weeks. Knowing him, he’ll take the blame for all that’s happened and firmly believe I don’t need him in my life, that he’ll only serve to distract me from my goals. If that were true, he wouldn’t understand that I need him now more than ever.
Over the last six weeks, Roman has calmed me.
He’s taken that angry edge that used to make me hard and cold and bitchy and softened it, brought out a nicer, sweeter Alice. Tardiness aside, I’ve been thinking more clearly than ever, participated in class more than ever, I’ve given my best answers ever, and overall, I’ve just been happier. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more prepared to take my final exams next week in my life.
But that was yesterday.
Before Aaron. Before the scuffle. Before not knowing where Roman is. I call him again, fingers nervously tapping on the table. No answer. Shit. I leave him voicemail, “Roman, please. Please pick up. Please call me. I need to know what’s happening. Were you arrested? Talk to me and tell me what’s going on.”
I fight the urge to cry. Crying resolves nothing, and meanwhile, I have a whole book to study here with Jilly. I can’t study the chapter on self-contained circuits through tears, so I bite my lip and try to forget there’s a crisis going on.
Finally, my phone buzzes on the table. Both Jilly and I stare at it. Quickly, I swipe it and check my messages. Roman has replied—about time!—and I focus my rattled energies on reading and rereading his very precious words over and over until they begin to form a coherent thought:
Taken in for questioning. Everything fine. Now at work.
Everything’s fine?? I reply. Why haven’t you called me? Roman I’m worried sick!!!
Forget about me, Blondie.
Forget about me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? He’s not breaking up with me, is he? And through a text? No, he must mean forget about him, as in give him a day or two to regroup. Of course. After a day like yesterday, he needs to gather his bearings.
So I give him that space. After all, whenever I needed space of my own, he let me have it. But by the end of the day, he still hasn’t called, and the next day, I find myself sitting at the Student Union yet again with Jilly, eating a different sandwich, still waiting for Roman to text or call back. I sink deeper into despair. It can’t be true—he didn’t break up with me via text. After I came to him that night in the parking lot because I needed to talk to him in person when I thought I wouldn’t be able to continue seeing him? So, now the tables are turned, and this is what I get?
No, I will not forget about you. Call me please, I text the next day. I’ve given you your space. Now I need to know what’s happening.
From her seat opposite me, Jilly sits, highlighter poised, studying me with worried brown eyes. I wait, as seconds go by, while Roman finally composes a reply, the little dots of impatience undulating on my phone’s screen. At long last, after an undefined eternity, his text comes in:
It’s better this way.
“What.” Butterflies flit throughout my stomach. No—winged gargoyles do. They bring pain, discomfort, and anger.
Jilly peers up into my face. “What is he saying?”
I can’t believe this.
“What? Was he arrested? Did he lose his job? What?” Jilly’s curiosity is going to kill me dead. I have to hold up a hand to shut her up.
“Stop. I can’t…”
He is breaking up with me through a text. Wow. Why do I feel my world crumbling all around me? This house of cards that looked so sturdy from one angle just yesterday and the weeks before now appears flimsy. Well, it was flimsy to begin with.
Part of me wants to march my ass right over to his office and raise hell. Demand to know how he could just shove me aside. Tell him how much I love him, because shit—maybe he doesn’t realize it. I’ve only told him I love him during sex. Maybe I need to tell him straight out how much he means to me, how he’s changed my life for the better in such a short time. Maybe if he sees my face, he’ll change his mind.
But the other part of me—the wiser, more logical part of me—knows it won’t do an ounce of good. Whatever he’s decided, nothing’s going to change his mind. If Roman believes that this is the best way, then nothing I can say or do will change him.
So, you know what?
Fuck him.
If this is how he wants to deal with life, close up tight when shit gets too tough, that’s fine. Just when the big know-it-all therapist helped me open up, make emotional connections, and believe in love again, he runs away. Fucking great. Be a hypocrite. It’s cool.
You know what I’ll do? I’ll forget about him just like he wants. I’ll throw myself 100% into my studies, because you know what? That’s how it should’ve been all along. I wasn’t supposed
to fall for anyone anyway. I wasn’t even supposed to have a summer fling. I wasn’t supposed to know his name, his age, occupation, nothing. Because I knew myself, knew that it would mean a derailment of the catastrophic kind from my studies so close to graduation, yet I took a risk.
I took a fucking risk.
And look where it got me?
HURT. Holy shit, Jilly and Gunther were right, the little bastards.
“Is he okay?” Jilly is still concerned about Roman—Dr. Lee—whatever the fuck his name is. “Alice?”
I gather my notebook, my phone, and all my scattered shit, shoving it all into my backpack. “I never should’ve let myself get distracted. I should’ve stuck with bringing up my grade, thought of nothing but my GPA. Never should I have swayed from the plan.”
“The plan? What plan, Alice? There’s no plan in life.”
“Yes, there is, and I was this close.” I show her with my pincer fingers. “My father wants me at Tesla—I’m going to work at Tesla. I need a summa cum laude to get in? I’ll get it, even if I have to kiss Eckler’s ass.”
“Honey, you’re just upset.” Jilly has started packing her things up, too, right as Gunther arrives with that sad-looking “what’s up” smile, hands in his pockets. Casual Gunther. Unassuming, boring Gunther. It’s like both Gunther and Jilly have been given specific instructions to take care of me, keep me busy so I don’t go and hurt myself over the self-absorbed little doctor.
Well, guess what? I don’t give a shit.
“Should we go out for a beer later?” Jilly gives Gunther secretive looks, and Gunther nods my way. They’re talking about me. They’re worried, but there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’m going to forget about him, and then everything will be okay.
I’m going to forget about Dr. Roman Lee.
I’m going to forget his smile, his rough face, his sinewy arms, his commanding way that I loved, and the way he looked at me. I can do it. I’m a Mistress of Dissociation. He wants me to detach, I’ll fucking detach. I’m going to forget about love. I’m going to continue with my life plan. In fact, I’m going to pretend he was never here at all.