Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week

by Charlotte Byrd

  The party for that Friday night had been planned a long time ago and we can’t cancel it now. It was Dylan’s idea, but we have all invited people and asked them to bring people so there’s no way to let everyone know it’s off. The only thing is to go through with it and host it. Dylan gets the alcohol and the cups and Juliet and I get the food and the decorations. Juliet actually seems excited gets a little carried away in the party favors section.

  “Are you sure we need so many?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says, throwing more into the cart. “I’ve been living in the middle of a war zone for a couple of weeks now and I need to let loose. At first, it was fiery and exciting so that was fun. For me. But now, the whole place has become some sort of Cold War zone. No one talks to anyone anymore. It’s boring. And tense. And this party is exactly what we need to move on with our lives.”

  “Move on?” I ask.

  “Listen, you and Dylan act like you’re the only people in the world getting a divorce. But you’re not. Lots of people do it. And they don’t mope around like you two. So you made a mistake? So what? Nothing too terrible has happened. It’s not like you killed someone.”

  “You definitely have a way of putting everything in perspective,” I say sarcastically. “I mean, I guess I should be glad that instead of just ruining my life, I didn’t actually kill someone.”

  But the sarcasm is lost on her. She either doesn’t get it or chooses to actively ignore it. Instead, she goes to the next aisle over and drops a few more decorative banners into the cart.

  19

  Later that night, our dorm is flooded with people. Everyone is standing around, drinking, laughing, and having a good time. Two separate beer pong games form and Dylan is only too happy to organize and oversee both. He’s a beer pong king and is quite a stickler for rules and regulations. While he is taking advantage of the party as an excuse to get plastered, I decide to not drink at all tonight. Nothing good has come from my drinking this semester and I need a break. I pour myself another cup of soda into a red plastic cup and try to join a conversation about the Oscars. Who is nominated. Who isn’t. Who should’ve been. But I can’t follow what anyone is saying. I know what they’re saying, but none of the words are making sense in sentence form. My mind is wondering. I can’t focus on anything.

  “Don’t you think so, Alice?” the girl next to me asks. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She lives down the hall from me. I’ve seen her a million times before. We’ve exchanged pleasantries in the elevator. I know that she’s majoring in dance. But I can’t even remember her name.

  “Yeah,” I say with a nod. Everyone waits for me to continue, but I can’t. “Listen, does anyone want anything to eat? Or another drink?”

  Everyone shakes their heads and goes back to what they were doing. I head toward the dining room table and top off my drink with more soda. I want to look busy and like I’m having fun. I pace around the room saying hi to people, but not staying long to engage in actual conversation. My mind wanders, but it keeps coming back to one thing: Tristan. Will he come? I search the room and all the new faces that have shown up in the last half hour. But Tristan’s not one of them. Maybe he won’t come. I wouldn’t be surprised. Even though it was Dylan and I who have done this horrible thing, it is him who has been paying for it. It has been him who has been staying away. We didn’t ask him to leave. I didn’t want him to stay away. But he has ostracized himself.

  And then just as I’m about to give up hope, I see him.

  He walks through the front door in his suit, tie, and polished shoes. He is dressed like an adult, like someone with a real job. The girls at the party are dressed nicely, taking the opportunity to wear nice outfits for once in college, but the guys are a total disaster. In comparison to them, he looks like a god.

  Unlike many guys our age who look like they don’t belong in a suit and like they are playing at being adults by putting on their dad’s, Tristan embodies his. He doesn’t look oppressed by the stiff collar or the perfectly creased pants. He doesn’t look like the tie is one step from strangling him or the cuffs are cutting off his circulation and his willingness to live. No, his body belongs in the suit. He looks like he could sleep and eat and run in it. Like the two were meant to be together.

  He walks toward the dining room table and pours a drink. The red cup looks out of place. He should be holding a perfectly polished glass with scotch. Or maybe a martini. I wait for him to take a sip – to see his elegance at work. But instead, he turns around and hands it to someone behind him.

  Her.

  Kathryn.

  The woman in red.

  Oh. My. God.

  I want to scream. Tear my eyes out. Tear her eyes out. Pound my fists on the table.

  But I continue to stand there motionless. Expressionless. Taking little shallow breaths that are barely enough to keep my body from shutting down.

  Kathryn smiles graciously and nods. She’s about to take her drink from Tristan, but then mimics to him to hold on to it for a second while she removes her coat. Under her coat, she’s wearing a little black dress. It’s tight around all the right places, accentuating her beautiful figure. I watch as Tristan looks her up and down while taking her coat. Her collarbones are adorned with a delicate necklace with blue gemstones that bring out her eyes. Her lips are lined with a luscious red lipstick.

  Agh! I look away from them. I think I’m going to scream otherwise.

  “Tristan’s here,” Juliet says under her breath. She nudges me in his direction.

  “I know,” I say and try to walk away. But she follows me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to leave,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Did you see his date?” I ask. Juliet looks around.

  “Oh yeah! That’s the same girl from the bar, huh?”

  I roll my eyes. Juliet can be very dense sometimes. Or bullheaded. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose.

  “Alice,” I hear someone call my name. I pretend that I didn’t hear it. But he’s persistent.

  “Alice?” he says, grabbing my arm. I know who it is. I take a deep breath before turning around.

  “I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Tristan says. His eyes sparkle. He wants to make me suffer. I deserve this.

  “This is Kathryn,” he says. “Kathryn this is my ex-girlfriend, Alice.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand. Her hand is warm and inviting, while mine is ice cold. I feel like it’s getting sweaty as we touch and pull away as quickly as I can.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she says in a kind, soothing voice. There’s a tinge of malice in it and it makes me hate her even more. She isn’t proud or trying to rub it in my face. Why can’t she be like every other girl? Why does she have to be…genuine?

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Kathryn says.

  “Well, don’t believe everything you hear,” I say jokingly. I mean it like a casual joke, but it comes out all wrong. Bitter, somehow.

  “Oh no, not all. Tristan had nothing but good things to say,” she says with a smile. I can tell that my comment made her do a double take.

  “Well, now I know that you’re lying,” I say with a smile.

  Kathryn takes a deep breath and a sip of her drink. I can tell that this moment is as uncomfortable for her as it is for me. And we both blame Tristan for it. But Tristan isn’t sorry. He wants to pick a fight.

  20

  “So,” he says with a cocky attitude. He looks around the room.

  “What?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.

  “Where’s your husband?” he asks. Now I get it. He was just waiting for the right moment to deliver his blow. I didn’t know he was such a good actor. He has got excellent timing.

  “Tristan,” Kathryn says. She puts her hand on his arm, to try to get him to calm down. That used to be my job. I’ve been laid off. “Tristan, calm down,” she says under her breath. I try to hold back the smile that’s forming on
my lips. What she doesn’t know is that he’s perfectly calm. Decisive. This is exactly what he wants to do.

  “What? We’re all friends here, right? Alice? I’m just making small talk. Just wondering where your dear hubby is,” he says sarcastically.

  Okay, I’ll play along. I look around the room.

  “Dylan’s right over there,” I say pointing to the beer pong table. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Yes,” he says reluctantly, taking a beat. I’ve called him on his bluff. “I’d like that,” Tristan adds.

  I call Dylan over. When he sees the three of us, the expression on his face changes from exuberant and laid back to reserved in a moment. He stares at me. I shrug to apologize. There’s nothing I can do.

  “Dylan, I’d like you to meet my…friend,” Tristan says, searching for the right word for who Kathryn is to him. The way he says it, we both know that it’s not true.

  “This is Kathryn,” he says. “Kathryn, this is Dylan Worthington. My roommate and Alice’s husband.”

  “Not for long,” Dylan says. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  I look at Kathryn. As they shake hands, Kathryn is so embarrassed, she looks like she wants the floor to open and swallow her right there and then. But Tristan remains oblivious, either completely unaware of how uncomfortable she and everyone else is, or callous to it. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. But now, I’m not so sure. He’s beaming with pride. The wrong kind. He wants us to suffer. And he doesn’t care if Kathryn suffers along with us.

  “Not for long?” Tristan asks. “Is the honeymoon over already?”

  “There never was one, Tristan. You know that,” Dylan says. Then he turns to Kathryn to explain. “It was an accident. We’re getting it taken care of.”

  “I see,” she mumbles.

  “An accident? Oh, is that what you’re calling this?” Tristan says, taking a step back. Insulted. “People accidentally rear-end a car. They accidentally forget their keys and get locked out of their house. People do NOT accidentally marry their best friend’s girlfriend!”

  “Okay, Tristan, calm down,” Kathryn says, sternly this time.

  “I am calm,” he says, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. “But seriously. Why don’t we take a poll? I mean, let’s ask all of these people at the party whether what you two did can be considered an accident.”

  None of us say anything. I feel like I’m watching a runaway train and I can’t do anything to make it stop.

  “Hey, everyone. Everyone. Can I have your attention please?” Tristan says loudly. After a few moments, everyone quiets down and turns their attention to him.

  “My roommate here, my best friend, Dylan Worthington went to Atlantic City a few weeks ago with my other roommate and my girlfriend. The girl who was the love of my life, or so I’d thought. And they got married and slept together. And they are saying that it was an accident. Now, my question to you all, is can we actually call it an accident? I mean, to me an accident is running into something or calling the wrong number. But not marrying your best friend’s girl.”

  We all wait for someone to say something. Each second that passes feels like an eternity. And then a smart-ass from the back yells out, “It depends on how much they had to drink!”

  Everyone laughs.

  “See, that’s what they keep telling me,” Tristan says. “But the thing is that all of you in this room have been drunk plenty. And how many of you can say that you got married while you were drunk.”

  “Maybe she just got tired of your moaning, man. Maybe your roommate doesn’t complain so much,” the guy in the back says again.

  Everyone laughs with him and turns back to doing what they were doing. Tristan shakes his head and drops his shoulders. He’s embarrassed. And I’m sorry for him, but I can’t help but give out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry, Tristan,” Dylan says. “I’m really sorry.”

  “I don’t care,” he says, shaking his head. Tristan turns away from him, so Dylan turns to Kathryn.

  “We’re getting a divorce. As soon as possible. We just have to get a lawyer and this will be over. Soon.”

  “I know,” Kathryn says.

  She’s speaking for Tristan. I hate how I seemed to have been replaced in a second. But I can’t blame anyone but myself. And the alcohol.

  “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Tristan says. “I was really rooting for you two.”

  The sarcasm in his voice is filled with pain. I wish there was something I could do to help him. To make all of this go away. But I’m helpless.

  “You’re a real asshole, Tristan,” Dylan says.

  “Oh, I’m an asshole? Seriously, man? I’m the asshole?” Tristan asks. He’s at a loss for words. I don’t know why Dylan had to say that. He was on the right track with his apologies. But now…everything’s even worse.

  “I’m sorry.” Dylan turns to me, as if to answer what I was thinking. “But I’ve apologized for this plenty. I am sorry. I’m not making excuses. But if he doesn’t want to accept my apology there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Fuck you, Dylan!” Tristan says.

  “No, fuck you,” Dylan says.

  We’re a second away from yet another fight. And I don’t know how to stop it. Luckily, Kathryn does.

  “I’m leaving,” she says, grabbing her coat away from Tristan. He’s caught off guard.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I’m leaving,” she says again. She puts on her coat and puts her cup on the table.

  “It was nice to meet you,” she says to me and heads toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Tristan yells after her.

  “I’m leaving,” Kathryn says without turning around.

  “Why?” Tristan asks, running up to her.

  “Because you’re acting like a child. I didn’t come here with you for you to act like that.”

  They continue to argue, but everything else they say is out of earshot. All I know is that Tristan isn’t able to get her to stay and they take their arguing outside.

  The night proceeds at a more even pace after that. Dylan and I avoid each other. I spot Tea and Tanner and try to lose myself in a conversation with them. They were present for the scene that Tristan caused, but once he leaves, they thankfully don’t ask me anything more about him. Juliet hooks up with a guy I’ve never seen before, but luckily does not invite him to spend the night.

  When I go to bed that night after cleaning up after the party, I’m well aware of the fact that Tristan isn’t back yet. I try not to think about it and what it means. He’s with Kathryn and they’re probably at her place. Instead, I just bury my head under the covers and force myself to fall asleep.

  21

  The following morning, I sleep in late. The party raged on until after 3 am and I don’t get up until well after 10. My head is pounding. I wrap myself up in my robe and drag my feet into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. My thinking is all blurry and the light streaming through the windows is too bright. I pull the shades down. Plop. They make a loud noise, startling someone sleeping on the couch.

  “What the hell?” he asks. I turn around. It’s Dylan. “Why are you making so much noise?” he asks with his eyes still closed.

  “Why are you sleeping out here?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  He doesn’t respond. I look at the door. And there, on the handle, I see a Do Not Disturb sign. But not just any sign. I’m well familiar with that one. That’s the Do Not Disturb sign that Tristan stole from the hotel room in Mammoth, California where we spent the weekend skiing and making love. That’s our Do Not Disturb sign.

  Suddenly, the door opens. And Kathryn comes out. She’s wearing the dress she wore last night and holding her heels in her right hand. Her hair is disheveled and out of control. She’s wearing barely any makeup and the eyeliner that she has on looks like it was applied last night, but she still looks as beautiful as ever.

  “Hey,” she says quietly.

>   “Hey,” I say, taking a deep breath.

  I wait for her to run off and leave, but she doesn’t. She simply stands in the middle of the room waiting for something. But for what? She keeps eyeing the coffee pot. And then it occurs to me.

  “Would you like some coffee?” I ask reluctantly.

  “Oh, yes, please!” she says. A huge smile forms on her face. “I simply can’t function without it. I don’t think I would even be able to find my way home.”

  I nod and pour her a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, listen, I’m so sorry about last night.” Kathryn walks up to me. She puts her hand on my arm. Shivers run up my spine. I want to shrug her off, but I don’t want to be rude.

  “What do you mean?” I manage to utter.

  “You know, about Tristan making that whole scene. If I knew that he was planning on doing that…I would’ve never agreed to come.”

  “Oh, that, yes. I understand,” I say with a nod.

  “Can you two please take your chatter somewhere else? My head is killing me,” Dylan moans from the couch. He doesn’t bother to lift his head off the pillow and his words are muffled and barely comprehensible.

  I’m about to reply, but then there’s a knock on the door.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  Loud knocks, each one less patient than the last.

  “Who could that be?” I ask rhetorically. I open the door. A man in an expensive suit and coat storms past me.

  “Dylan! Dylan Worthington!” he yells at the top of his lungs.

  Dylan opens his eyes and jumps back into the couch. There’s a sheer terror in his eyes. I look at the man before him. He’s fuming. It looks like smoke is about to come out of his ears, but his suit and tie and coat remain perfectly coiffed and put together. His newly shone shoes shine in the sunlight even though the streets are full of slush and sleet.

  “What the hell are you thinking, Dylan?” the man yells, reaching for something in his front pocket.