by J. Saman
Finally, after the longest minute of my life, he turns to me. Just the simple twist of his head in my direction, but it’s enough for now.
“Is what because of me?” His voice is soft, not at all as hard as I thought it would be.
“My brother’s sudden complete lack of respect for me.”
Xander gives me a look that says I’m being ridiculous, but I’m not. I felt it last night in the way he was treating me. In the way he totally disregarded me. “Don’t be stupid—”
I shove his shoulder with my hands before he can finish. “I’m not stupid!” I yell, causing a couple heading into Jive to look at us strangely. “I’m not stupid,” I repeat in a lower tone. “I’m so sick of that shit. And I don’t know why you are the way you are with me, but right now I don’t care. What I do care about is my brother, and if you’ve poisoned the well against me, I want to know why. Why you would do something like that when I’ve never done anything to you?”
Xander laughs, and this makes me want to punch him, but it’s not an amused laugh, I realize. It’s a dark laugh. The kind that says I don’t know shit, and it makes me edgy. He moves his body so that he’s facing me now, standing only a foot or two from me, breathing heavily down on me.
His blue eyes are so cold and dark that I actually gasp from the way they gaze upon me.
“Your brother loves you more than anything in this whole world. There is nothing I could say to ‘poison the well’ as you put it.” He puts air quotes around the words. “He didn’t ask you about my moving in because it happened so quickly and he was trying to help me out. He doesn’t think you’re a stupid slut, but he’s worried about you because Kessler has a reputation and he doesn’t want his sister mixed up in it.” His eyes blaze as he takes a step, cutting our distance in half. My neck cranes up to meet his eyes, but of course, his are not on mine. They never are. “And believe it or not, princess, I don’t spend my time planning ways to hurt you. Or even think about you,” he adds. “You believe you’ve done nothing to hurt me, then fine. Keep playing that game.”
And then he spins away from me, running off into the cold morning. For a moment, I want to run after him. Grab him and make him tell me what it is I’ve done, because clearly his words indicate that it was something.
But for the life of me I do not know what.
Guilt and shame flood through me.
Maybe Xander is right. Maybe I read too much into what Aubrey said to me last night because of my own insecurities about Brandon’s real intentions with me. God, when did I become so melodramatic? I don’t even recognize myself right now.
Yanking the elastic from my ponytail, I rub my fingers against my scalp, trying to ebb the ache as I walk the mile back home. The streets are becoming increasingly busy with morning commuters and people walking their dogs as the bright sunshine makes everything feel warmer, more alive and vibrant.
Except for me.
I feel like crap and there is only one thing I can do to fix that. Well, one thing I can do to fix some of what’s making me feel this way. Something tells me that I’ll never be able to fix things with Xander, especially considering he won’t talk to me about it.
But Aubrey? Yeah, that I can fix.
I open the door to our apartment. It’s still quiet and dark.
The only sound is Aubrey’s heavy breathing coming from his room.
I drop my phone and headphones on the counter, take off my running shoes and go straight for Aubrey’s room. The door opens with a small squeak, but it’s not enough to rouse him out of his deep slumber. He looks so sweet and peaceful in his sleep. Lips slightly parted, shaggy auburn hair tousled every which way, eye lids fluttering like he’s dreaming.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the weight of my body causing his mattress to bow. Aubrey stirs, moving a little and squinting his eyes in my direction. He figures out quickly that it’s me and sits up, tossing his arm over my shoulder and kissing the top of my head.
“You okay?” he rasps in that sleepy, gravelly voice of his.
“No. I’m not.”
“I’m sorry about last night, Abby. I am. I love you and I worry about you. That’s all that was.”
I nod my head against his shoulder. “I know and I’m sorry I got so upset with you about it.”
He sighs deep and heavy, his warm breath brushing against the top of my head. “I should have told you about Xander moving in sooner, but . . .” He pauses taking another deep breath. “I was afraid you’d say no and he’s my best friend and—”
“I know, Aubrey. I know.” I smile into his soft t-shirt. “It’s fine. I’ll learn to adjust and live with him.” And I will. I mean that.
“Thank you. That really means a lot to me.”
“So, we’re cool?” I ask, raising my head so I can look up at him.
“Of course. We always are.”
I smile, leaning up to give him a kiss on his forehead before I rise up and get off his bed. “Good. Now you can make me breakfast. I’m starving and I have an early meeting today.”
He laughs at me, but starts to get up all the same. “Pancakes or eggs?” he yells out as I leave his room, headed towards mine at the end of the hall.
“Pancakes,” I call back before shutting my door and stripping out of my barely sweaty running stuff. I feel better. So much lighter. It’s amazing how attuned Aubrey and I are to each other. We’ve always been like this. Even as little kids we were inseparable. And when I started dating Kyle in my sophomore year of high school, it was always the three of us, and occasionally Aubrey’s flavor of the month.
Turning the water on in the shower, I let it run for a few minutes to come up to temperature. I wonder what it will be like next year after we graduate. Where each of us will end up. Aubrey’s a criminal justice and business major. Despite that, he’s brilliant with math and has an insane memory, whereas I’m good with languages and oddly enough, science.
Funny how that works.
Reaching into the stream, the water runs over my hand as I test it for temperature. Stepping inside, I let the hot water remove the early morning chill from my body. I wash up quickly, because even though I’m in the shower, I can still smell the food cooking from the kitchen and my stomach growls accordingly.
I towel off, run a brush through my long hair, that really could use a cut if I’m being honest, and get dressed into a black sweater, jeans and my Docs. The second I open my door, I plow right into Xander, getting knocked back into the wall by the force of the impact.
“Jesus.” I reach up, rubbing my left shoulder that stings from the collision it made with the wall. “What the hell, Xander?”
He laughs, because apparently, I didn’t hurt him the way he hurt me. “Sorry about that. I’m moving in today, sweetheart. Remember?”
I look up to see his smug grin, even if it’s not really directed at me. “Yeah. I remember,” I say. “I just thought it was going to be later in the day,” I mumble as I brush past him, still rubbing my smarting shoulder as I head for the kitchen.
Aubrey’s laughing at my scowl as I walk in, leaning against the counter as I often do. “Don’t make that face. You said you’d be fine with it.” He looks way too happy right now.
“Just give me my food already and shut up,” I grumble, making him laugh even harder as he hands me a plate with two large blueberry pancakes covered in syrup. “Thanks.”
“Eat up before they get cold. I’m going to go help Xander move some of his shit in.”
“Have fun,” I say sweetly, batting my eyes and trying to hide my ire at seeing the one person I didn’t really want to see.
Oh, and he’s living with me now.
Just fucking super.
Opening the drawer, I pull out a knife and fork and get to work on my pancakes, which are only slightly helping my mood. Now, if I had some bacon with them . . .
For the next fifteen minutes, the two of them come back and forth with suitcases, garbage bags of blankets and linens and even a dresser and
a bed. The fact that I’m going to be living with a guy who cannot stand me is becoming more and more real. I pick up my phone and text Grrace, because someone needs to get some crap for this and she’s my best option.
I hop up on the counter, taking a piece of pancake with me.
Me: As one of your closest friends I feel it only right to tell you that I’m officially pissed for having to hear from Aubrey about you and Gavin moving in together. Oh, and for making me live with Xander!
I get a text back almost instantly, but I take my last bite of food before I pick up my phone off the counter to read it.
Grace: I’m sorry. I know that was a total bitch move. But you like me too much to stay mad. Bar on Friday night to celebrate?
Me: Yes, but you’re buying my first drink for me. You’re lucky I love you, bitch.
Grace: I love you too! Oh, and I expect full deats on Brandon hot-as-sin Kessler.
I set my phone down, laughing at that. My legs scissor kick in front of me as I hop down. Picking up my plate and flatware, I walk over to the sink, rinse everything off including the mess Aubrey made, and load up the dishwasher. I grab my bag off the back of the stool, call out a goodbye to the two boys hard at work, and get the hell out of the apartment before they start asking for my help.
I have a meeting this morning that I am not looking forward to.
I arrive at Professor Halpern’s office with five minutes to spare.
Instead of meeting as a class, we meet individually with her once a week to discuss the progress of our manuscripts. She’s not going to be happy, and I don’t blame her. I agreed to this class in the first place because she pushed me to do it. Said I had a lot of untapped writing potential and that once I got myself into it, I’d find I love it. Blah, blah, blah.
Needless to say, I have yet to tap into any of my supposed bottled up writing potential. Normally, I’d just drop the class, but I can’t. Halpern is my advisor and my mentor and my champion, and I love her dearly. The thought of disappointing her is more than I can bear.
But I’m so embarrassed to show her what little I’ve written.
Her thick heavy office door opens two minutes later and she greets me with a warm smile that shines in her soft brown eyes. Her mostly gray hair is done up in its usual low pony tail, with the occasional strand that has rebelled, hanging near her face. She’s wearing her standard hideous long black skirt that stops a few inches above her ankles and white blouse.
“You’re early,” she snaps at me. God, I love this woman. “I was going to grab a diet coke. You want one?”
“A diet coke?” I snort. “It’s nine in the morning, Halpern. You’re going to give yourself cancer if you keep that up.”
“I can’t stand coffee and I need a fix.” She tilts her head at me, putting one of her chubby arms around her large mid-section. “Go sit down in my office and pull up your manuscript. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
“Yes ma’am.” I salute her, getting a smirk in return. Halpern’s office is everything you’d think of for a college English professor.
She has two large black metal bookshelves that are filled to the brim with books of every kind, including a few of her own published works. Multiple diplomas and awards are hung up on the wall next to the small square window that lets in limited light, considering it’s not actually facing the outside. Just back out into the building.
Her small, wooden desk is pushed up against the wall and covered in picture frames of her six—yes, I said six—children and ten grandchildren. A large computer screen takes up much of the remaining space. It’s cluttered and dark with only a fluorescent light overhead that makes everyone look washed out and miserable.
But I love this office.
I sit down in one of the hard plastic chairs that’s next to her desk, setting my bag on the floor before removing my laptop. Balancing it on my lap, I turn it on. Just as I’m pulling up my manuscript, Halpern reappears, diet coke in hand.
“Now, cookie, let’s see what you’ve got for me.” She sits her large frame into her very worn and very old black office chair, before leaning towards me. I blanch, feeling the heat start to creep up my cheeks. “Oh, come on now,” she says, clearly noting my panic. “It can’t be all that bad.”
Oh, but it is.
With her hand held out to me, I pass her my laptop and she takes it, setting it on top of her desk, pushing aside a picture or two. She’s quiet for a few minutes, reading quickly over my work as my eyes dance around her office, though I pretty much have it memorized. I just can’t look at her face when she sees what I’ve done.
Or what I haven’t done, I should say.
“Huh.” She nods her head a few times.
“I know.” I cover my face with my hands and she starts to laugh at me.
“Stop that now. These last few paragraphs are really very good.”
I pull my hand away from my face, resting them in my lap and looking over at her warm smile.
She’s always smiling, this one.
“Really?” I ask completely surprised. Those are the paragraphs I wrote yesterday in the library before Brandon interrupted me, but I haven’t had a chance to read over what I wrote yet.
“Yes.” She nods her head enthusiastically. “Very good. This is what I’ve been waiting for from you.” She reaches over, handing me my laptop that I automatically take, and set down on the chair next to me. “My only question is why did you stop writing so abruptly? You were clearly on a roll.”
I sigh, slouching heavily. I’m really starting to wish I hadn’t said yes to coffee.
“I was interrupted and never managed to get back into the swing of it,” I half lie. Damn, I suck at life.
“Well,” she chuckles, leaning back in her chair that creaks in protest, “I think you’re onto something here.”
“But I don’t feel like I am,” I whine making her shake her head at me the way my mother would when she knows I’m being a baby.
“Cookie, this is a senior-level writing class. I put you in it because I think you can do amazing things. I’ve read your other work.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she puts up a hand stopping me, and I slink back into my seat like a good little girl.
“I’m talking about your writing for your other writing and lit classes. The ones that you whip off and barely even have to think about.” Her large frame leans forward, adjusting her chair so that she’s facing me fully. “You have real talent, just no confidence.” Her eyes bore into mine and I feel myself starting to heat again. I’m not very good with praise or compliments.
And it’s not because I’m modest or have a low sense of self-worth or anything.
I just hate being the center of attention or praise.
I’d much rather be lingering in the background and let others take credit. That may sound bad or wrong or whatever, but I can’t help it.
“I’ll try harder,” I say in a low weak tone that I hate. My eyes are downcast, but I slowly raise them up to her encouraging ones.
“I know you will, cookie. I know you will. Now,” she smiles, leaning back again, “get out of here and the next time I see you, I want some of your soul on those pages.” She winks at me, picking up her silver can of soda and taking a long sip of it.
“You got it.” I stand up, tucking my computer back into my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. “Thanks.” I smile and mean it.
I leave her office feeling both lighter and heavier.
But as I walk across campus towards the library, I realize I have no idea how to put my soul on paper.
CHAPTER 7
“I HATE MY UTERUS,” NINA groans into the phone. “Menstruating is further proof that if there is a God, he’s a fucking sadist.”
“I really won’t argue with you on that point,” I say into back before switching the phone to the other hand so that I can finish applying my mascara to my other eye.
“I mean, we grow babies. Big. Freaking. Deal. That means we have to suffer through pa
in and carb loading once a month for that honor?” she scoffs. “All having babies means is that we get fat and stretch marks before pushing something far too big out of our vaginas while we scream out obscenities in pain. Screw. That.”
I snort. “Don’t forget how hot our vag looks after the fact, and then we suffer sore nipples, lack of sleep and a lifetime of poverty at the hands of our children.”
“So true, my friend. So true.” She giggles and so do I. “You better call me tonight when you get home,” Nina says as I stare at myself in the mirror, which is not something I normally care enough to do. “I’m working at the bar until midnight, so I’ll be up.”
“I’m sure I’ll be home and in bed by midnight,” I tell her, tilting my head this way and that way as I take in my outfit, trying to talk myself out of changing it again.
“But who’s bed will it be?” she teases and I roll my eyes.
“Now you sound like Aubrey.” My free hand runs down my black tank top dress that stops a few inches above my knees. I’ve added a crimson belt that’s cinched at my waist. The dress is a little low cut, but nothing terrible, and I plan on wearing a jacket over it, so that will help.
I’ve paired my ensemble with my black wedge booties that my mother bought me. They’re not my usual style, but I need all the height I can get when it comes to Brandon, even though I’m not really a heels girl.
I’ve even done my makeup and hair. I put on thick liquid eye liner on my upper lids, a small amount of blush so I don’t look as pale as I naturally am, and red lips to match my belt. My long hair is brushed into a glossy shine and left down my back in soft waves.
I feel pretty and that alone makes me smile.
“No,” Nina protests. “I’m encouraging you to end up in his bed.”
“I’m not sleeping with him tonight. It’s one date, Nina. Ease up.” I turn around, looking for my matching red purse, and finding it stuffed in the corner next to my dresser.
“Fine, but you at least need to text me when you get home.”
“Will do. I gotta run, babe. He’ll be here any minute.” I stuff everything I need into my bag and sling it under my arm.