by J. Saman
“You didn’t suspect anything while we were talking?” My voice is incredulous. I don’t know much about drugs. In truth, I’ve never really done much other than smoke pot occasionally, but from what I’ve read about roofies, the girls end up passed out.
After that night, I couldn’t let it rest the way Nina said I should. I had gone to the student health center and they’d given me a test. Once it came back positive, I did my research on the drug. It’s an amnesiac sedative. A long lasting one at that. But the fact that it’s a sedative, means that it should knock you out, right? At the very least, make you seem loopy and out of it. Especially when mixed with alcohol. But I know I didn’t drink more than that one beer with the drugs in it.
Because I left right after that and went to Xander.
Come to think of it, Xander didn’t notice I wasn’t myself either. That I was under the influence of anything that night. I wonder if I have the same reaction to that stuff as I do to nighttime cold medicines. They wire me instead of putting me to sleep.
A paradoxical drug reaction, my doctor had called it when I was younger.
He shakes his head, his eyes still trained down. “No. You seemed normal. Like yourself. I honestly had no idea.”
“And you didn’t go looking for me?”
His eyes come up to mine, eyebrows scrunched together, not understanding what I’m asking.
“Chris told you that he’d slipped me a roofie and then I was gone. You weren’t worried that I was passed out somewhere? That some other creep had gotten his hands on me?”
He blanches, looking back down. “I didn’t really think about it.” He swallows hard. “Did anything happen to you that I don’t know about?”
I shake my head and he sighs with so much relief that his shoulders sag with it. He blows out a heavy breath.
“All I did that night was get really drunk, because I was pissed that you’d left before I got your number or secured a date.”
“You were pissed that I left before you got a date?” I’m building up a good head of rage here. Throwing his hands off of mine, I push him away. “How about being pissed at your piece of shit friend?” I roar. “Did you say anything to him about it, Brandon?”
“Not as I should have,” he admits. Standing up, he begins to pace again, his hands running through his hair, pulling on the ends with both fists. “I told him that I thought it was messed up that he had slipped you the pill.” He paces a few more times, alternating from looking at the floor and me. “He laughed at me. Told me to chill out. That I wasn’t the only one who wanted to screw you that night.”
Oh God. I’m going to vomit.
He looks over at me. “I shoved him once and stormed off.”
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
And it’s the truth. I really don’t. I believe that he didn’t know I was drugged until after. That he wasn’t going to use it on me or anyone else, but it doesn’t excuse the fact that he willingly took the pill. That he continued to be friends with Chris, whom I’d personally love to go and beat into a bloody pulp.
“Have you continued the tradition of passing out free date rape drugs to new freshmen?”
“No. Absolutely not. In fact, I’m pretty sure it stopped after that year. Abby . . .” He falls back to his knees again, his eyes searching mine and his hand come up to cup my face. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. I fucked up and I know it.” His fingertips run across my cheek. “I would never have hurt you, babe. Never. I would have never used that pill on you or anyone else.” His tone is firm. Strong. He’s begging me to believe him.
To trust him.
But I can’t trust him anymore.
I push him off and stand up, walking into center of my room. I need space. I need distance.
“I can’t do this,” I blurt out, my hands on my hips as I move around in a circle trying to make sense of my scattered thoughts.
“What? What do you mean?” He stands up, walking right up to me, looking down on me with wide fearful eyes that stop me short.
“I mean that I need you to go home.” I hold my hands out. “I don’t know if I can be with you anymore.”
“No.” His head shakes vigorously back and forth. “No. Please don’t end this. I’m so sorry. Please give me another chance.” His hands reach past my out stretched ones, snaking his arms around me and pulling me into his chest.
“Brandon,” I start, but he stops me with a searing kiss. His lips press so firmly against mine that he tilts me back. But I don’t kiss him in return. I just can’t.
“No, Abby.” The words come out pained as he pulls away from his kiss just enough so that his eyes can find mine. “I love you,” he whispers softly, looking over each one of my features. “I love you so much. Please don’t end this,” he repeats.
Jesus. He cannot be serious, right now? And if he is, the fact that he picked this moment to tell me that, bothers me. But I suppose that’s really the least of everything right now.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, looking down at the small space between us. “I need some space to think.”
He’s shaking his head again, but doesn’t say anything else.
“Please,” I add on a whisper, hoping he doesn’t make me keep going.
“Fine,” he breaths out warily. “I’ll go and give you time to think.” Warm strong fingers clasp my chin gently, lifting it upwards until my eyes find his. “Will you come see me tomorrow?” His eyebrows go up as he lowers his chin a little. “Please. So we can talk more?”
“Yeah. I’ll call you, okay? We’ll talk more, but I need some space and time to figure this all out.”
“I love you, Abby and I’d never hurt you.” There is so much sincerity in his eyes as he bends down to press his lips gently against mine. In a flash, he releases my chin from his grasp. Stepping back, he moves past me, out of my room, shutting the front door of the apartment behind him.
CHAPTER 24
“DID YOU KNOW THAT THE walls of our apartment are very thin?” Xander’s voice startles me, but I don’t turn around to face him. I’ve been standing in the same spot in the middle of my room since Brandon left. I couldn’t tell you how long ago that was.
“I do, actually,” I snort, finally turning around to face him. “It’s a wonder that I’ve lasted as long as I have living with Aubrey.”
He smiles a smile that meets his eyes as he hovers just inside my door. “It’s worse for me. There’s only a bathroom separating my room from his.”
I nod. “True.”
“Are you okay?” His eyes harden as they begin to scope around my room like he’s never seen it before, stopping on various things before moving to the next.
“How much did you hear?” I tilt my head, curious.
He shrugs, still visually exploring my room. “All of it.”
“I see.” I laugh lightly at the fact that he’s admitted to listening in on me. “So then you’re asking if I’m okay with the fact that my boyfriend’s friend drugged me two years ago and he’s known about it the entire time?”
He nods once, not moving from my open door. “Yeah. I guess that’s what I’m asking you?” His arms cross over his chest, making him look large and menacing. Or maybe that’s just his eyes that look like they could cut steel.
“I don’t know, Xander.” I sigh out, running a hand through my long hair and twirling the end. “I mean, how okay can someone be with learning something like that? I feel foolish and deceived.”
“I get that. What are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean?” I take a step toward him, my hands across my stomach, one on top of the other.
“What are you going to do about Brandon? He said he loves you.”
“He did say that.”
His head tilts towards the door. “But you don’t believe that?”
I shrug, moving my hands to my hips. “Really, Xander? Do you want honesty from me right now? Are we going to talk about shit or is there something specific you want to know b
ut aren’t coming out and asking?” I think I’m officially fed up with games.
He doesn’t flinch. In fact, his expression doesn’t change at all. He just simply waits me out.
“What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to break up with him. And the fact that he says he loves me?” I take another step towards him. “Well, other than making me feel bad about ending it, it doesn’t matter. I’m not in love with him. And honestly, I don’t see how he could be in love with me. We have zero in common, and don’t see each other all that often.” I tilt my head, much the way he is. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
“I was just curious.”
Nice. Very nice.
“Well, now you know.” I cross my arms and wait him out now. He left me for almost two full days after telling me why he’s acted the way he has to me all these years and me admitting to him that I was drugged and that I didn’t remember what happened. He left. And I’m mad and hurt by that. If he wants to continue to play games with me, I’m not interested.
“And Chris drugged you.”
“Looks that way.”
“I have to go,” he says suddenly, and I feel my eyes widen, but I remain silent as he pushes off the door frame, turns and walks away from me. I want to yell after him. To tell him that he’s a dick and that I hate him and his antics.
But I don’t.
I just let him walk away again and leave it at that.
And maybe that’s best for now. I need time to collect my thoughts about Brandon anyway. Right? Right.
Once the front door shuts for the second time today, I make my way into the kitchen and start to open up all the cabinets. I’m hungry, but I don’t want greasy pizza or any other sort of takeout for that matter. I want a home-cooked meal. Something comforting.
Xander, being the good roommate that he usually is, went grocery shopping.
I take out the ingredients for one of my favorite meals: fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and creamed spinach. But that doesn’t seem like enough, so I also decide to make homemade biscuits—this is the south after all—and fudge brownies. I’m actually hankering for cheesecake, but we don’t have the right stuff for that.
I walk over to my phone, ignoring the text from Aubrey that only says WTF. I’m assuming Xander told him some things, which I’m really unhappy about if he did. Pressing the app for my Bluetooth speaker, I turn on some music. Loud.
I don’t want to think about anything of importance while I’m cooking.
After the brownie batter is made and baking away in the oven, I get started on the mac and cheese. This kitchen is actually equipped with two ovens, which is rare for apartments. It was one of the reasons I picked it. The owner of the building lived in this unit with his family for a time, and had completely redone the kitchen and bathrooms while he did. We have granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and professionally distressed white cabinets.
It’s expensive, which was one of the points Aubrey made when he was convincing me to let Xander move in here. Our parents give us each a healthy stipend of money and do not nickel and dime us. They give us what they give us and whatever we decide to do with that money is up to us.
So I’ve been saving the extra money that I’m not spending on rent. It comes to roughly three hundred a month, which is a lot. I figure if this continues I’ll have a nice little nest egg saved up by the time I graduate. A good thing if I stick to my new plan of becoming a writer.
I feel like the concept of a struggling artist might become something I’m intimately familiar with.
The brownies are cooling while the mac and cheese and biscuits finish off their baking. The creamed spinach is done and sitting on the stove, and I’m just removing the last piece of bubbling golden chicken from the pan of oil when the front door flies open and Xander is standing in the entry to the kitchen looking a mess.
I place the chicken down on the cooling rack and practically sprint over to him.
His lower lip is bleeding, split down the center. Under his right eye there is what will become a healthy bruise and two of the knuckles on his right hand are cracked and bleeding. The light blue graphic t-shirt he’s wearing is ripped at the collar, like someone pulled it hard. His dark brown hair is all over the place.
“What the hell happened to you?”
I’m running my eyes all over him to see if I’m missing something else like a knife or a gunshot wound, or maybe a Chinese throwing star sticking out of his chest. None of these things would surprise me with the way he looks right now.
“It smells good in here. I’m starving.” He’s completely serious with absolutely no hint of sarcasm or humor.
I walk over to my phone on the counter and turn down the music so I can hear him and myself.
“Xander?” My eyes pull back to his after I set the phone back down on the counter. “Are you okay?”
He nods.
“Why do you look like this?”
I leave him standing in the doorway. Going over to the freezer, I bend down, pulling out the drawer and take out an icepack. Slamming the door shut, I grab a clean dishtowel before covering the pack and walking back over to him. He’s watching every move I make.
I could feel his eyes on me even when I wasn’t looking at him.
“Here,” I say quietly, bringing the cold cloth up to his eye and pressing it gently against the discolored skin.
He winces a little a first before his features soften.
“Hold this.” I take his hand, bringing it up to cover the pack and the rag before I leave him standing there again. I have to shut off the stove before we have a grease fire. “Go wash up,” I yell over my shoulder, but don’t turn to look at him. Grabbing two plates out of the cabinet, I load them up with the fried chicken, mac and cheese, spinach, and biscuits, before carrying them over to the dining room table.
We could easily eat at the breakfast bar, but I don’t want to. I want to sit down so I can face him and get some answers that I have a feeling I will not like. It’s not hard to guess why he looks like this, what he did and where he went when he left me here earlier today. But I want to know why he did it.
Did he beat the shit out of Brandon? Or did Brandon beat the shit out of him?
Because I certainly didn’t ask him to defend me or hurt anyone in the process.
Normally, this is the type of meal that is best with a cold beer. But I don’t drink beer anymore and yes, it is a byproduct of that night at the frat party. I grab one for Xander, pouring myself a glass of red from the open bottle in the wine cooler I bought myself last month.
By the time I’m sitting down, placing our drinks in front of our plates, Xander is walking back into the dining area looking much better. He’s changed his shirt, washed the blood off his mouth and knuckles and even brushed his hair. I don’t say anything as he sits down. I’ve already asked my questions, more than once in fact, and he has yet to answer.
I figure he will when he’s ready.
Right now, I’m way too hungry to speak.
I haven’t eaten anything in far too long, and my stomach is reminding me of this as I take my first bite of chicken with a crunch and an explosion of flavor that actually has me moaning aloud. Xander watches me for a brief moment before digging into his own food and for a few minutes, that’s all we do.
We eat ravenously.
I even go up for seconds, which is not something I do all that often.
Finishing off the last of the wine from my glass, I look over at Xander’s beer, which seems to be empty as well.
“Do you want another one?” I ask softly, feeling like the sudden sound of my voice after not using it for so long demands me using it with care.
He nods. That’s it. Just a nod and no words.
It’s starting to grate on me.
But I get up anyway, with both of our empty plates piled in one hand and my empty glass in the other. Xander watches me. Of that I’m sure.
I set the plates down next to the sink that
is pretty full of dishes already, before cutting into the brownies. But I don’t plate them. Instead I grab another beer for him, fill my wine glass and bring them in before returning with the full tray of brownies.
I want more than one. I may even want ten. I’m just not sure where my mood is yet.
I don’t wait for him as I dig into the chocolaty fudgy goodness. Leaning back in my chair, I hold my brownie in one hand and my wine glass in the other, pinning him with my eyes.
“Okay. I’m tired of the silent treatment. You need to give me something.” I take a sip of my wine before lowering it, holding it upright with my elbow propped up on my hip. “Did you fight Brandon?” I’m trying for impassive, though I’m anything but.
“No.” He shakes his head before bringing his beer up to his lips, but not taking a sip yet. “I didn’t fight Brandon.” He takes a sip before setting it back down on the table. “That’s your battle, sweetheart, and though I know I’d take a lot of enjoyment in beating his ass, he’s actually bigger than I am, so I’d need Aubrey as backup to take him on.”
“Jesus, Xander, stop being so fucking vague.” I lean forward placing my wine on the table with a little more force than I intended, but I hold onto my brownie, not willing to part with it. “What. Happened. To. You?”
“I kicked the shit out of Chris, okay?” My jaw hits the table. “I knew he didn’t go away for break because I saw him at the gym yesterday. So today, after your little chat with Brandon, I went looking for him. I found him eventually, talking to some girl outside Brew’s, so I told her just what a piece of shit he actually is and then he took a swing at me.”
Xander smiles a mischievous smile at this, but I’m not really sure why. Maybe because he didn’t technically have to throw the first punch? Who knows.
“He hit me in the mouth.” He points to his busted up lip that isn’t as swollen as I would have thought. “Then I dragged him into the back alleyway and beat the ever-loving piss out of him.” His smile gets bigger.