In Ruins

by Danielle Pearl

Courtney shakes her head. “I want to see your tattoo.”

  I’m not an idiot. I know she’s flirting with me. Maybe even offering me something. And I should be into it—I know I should—but I’m not. Instead, I keep thinking of Carl in that damn costume. And it’s because of that that I give in.

  “Follow me.” I lead her down the hall and around to my room. I’m not planning to try anything with her. I’m just trying to…I don’t know what I’m trying to do. Just not think about Carl.

  I slide off my cut, and Courtney is behind me, reaching under my T-shirt before I even flip the light switch on. The lights are so bright they’re almost blinding, and as I grip the hem of my shirt to take it off, I change my mind. I’m not a fucking stripper. I let her push the material up instead, and have her look.

  Her fingers trace the fake ink. “This is so hot,” she murmurs in a way I’m sure she thinks is seductive.

  But I just want to shout at her, “It’s fucking fake, you idiot.” And I know I’m being a jerk, at least internally. She could be a nice girl for all I know. But I never will know. Because I don’t fucking care.

  Her nails are too long, and pointed, like those of a witch, and they scratch gratingly along my skin as her fingers continue to trace past where I know the tattoo ends, and along the lines of muscle in my back. There is nothing erotic about it; it’s just fucking creepy. I can’t take it anymore, and I shrug her off and she lets my shirt fall back into place as I turn around to face her.

  “You really do look like him. Jax Teller. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “You know he’s not a real person, right? That Sons of Anarchy was a TV show?” I’m being an ass, this time out loud, and even though I know she’s done nothing wrong, she’s irritating me.

  But the corners of her mouth curl wryly, like she thinks I’m playing with her. Her fingers find the hem of my shirt again, this time in the front, and they slide along the top of my jeans.

  I wait for a reaction from my dick. Anything. Please. Because it would be so much easier if I could just be into this girl. If I could have some fun with her. Take the first step in actually moving on.

  “He doesn’t have to be real,” she coos. “He’s a character. A fantasy. And isn’t that what Halloween is all about?” Her fingers slip under my shirt again and over the grid of my abs.

  I wait. I will my body to give a shit about her touch. And it does—but in the wrong way. Her nails might as well be scraping a blackboard. I give up; I grab her wrists and stop her exploration. “Sorry, Courtney. Not gonna be your fantasy tonight.” I try to be nice about it, but I’ve had enough. I want her the fuck out of my room.

  “I don’t have to be Courtney, you know. I can be whoever you want me to be.”

  I frown at her, but she starts lowering herself to her knees.

  Well, shit.

  Her fingers move tentatively to my belt buckle.

  Can I do this? I haven’t hooked up with anyone but Carl in over a year. Obviously this girl isn’t expecting anything other than a good time. Rationally I know the vague sense of guilt rising in my gut over the fact that I had sex with Carl only a couple of weeks ago isn’t warranted. She knew it didn’t mean we were getting back together. She was just looking for a normal college experience—a one-night-fucking-stand—and in a fit of rage and jealousy I convinced myself I could be the guy to give it to her. But I made it damn clear she shouldn’t expect anything from me. I’ve never lied to her. I’m not the liar. And she got the message, and obviously agreed wholeheartedly, since she got up and walked out barely minutes after I finished inside her.

  And neither of us has mentioned it since.

  But I look down at this cute girl, her fire-red hair falling over her shoulders, brown eyes shining up at me with lustful promise, and her sharp claws clanking against my belt buckle, and I know I can’t go through with it. The lights shine too bright in the room, highlighting the glaring differences between this girl and the one I had in here a few weeks ago. The only one I’ve had in here. And I have to accept that, for whatever reason, I just don’t want this girl. I don’t want her mouth on me, and I certainly don’t want to fuck her. Because she can’t be whoever I want her to be. She can’t be the one girl I do want. The one who never really existed in the first place.

  I step back from her and offer a smile of consolation. I shrug. “We should get back to the party,” I murmur, and then I turn and walk out, leaving my door wide open, hoping she’ll follow, but I don’t really care either way at this point, as long as I get the hell away from her.

  I grab myself another beer and try not to scan the party for the reason I’m unable to have a normal college experience. I spot her friend Devin dressed as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, complete with fake piercings. She’s chatting up one of our attackers, Max Brighton, and Carl is nowhere to be found. I could just ask her where Carl is, but then she would tell Carl, and Carl would think I give a shit.

  I take a lap around the party. The house is big, but it’s not that big. There are only so many places someone can be, and an anxious fury starts to build when I realize I’m looking for Ben as much as I am her. If I don’t find either of them, I might completely lose it.

  I know Ben asked her out. And I know she agreed. It had me seething for days. But then I heard it didn’t come to fruition. She kept blowing him off, making and canceling tentative plans, or fabricating excuses. But while that knowledge calmed me somewhat, I think it’s only made Ben more interested. He’s accustomed to having pussy served to him on a platter, and Carl’s elusion is only making hers more desirable. And though rationally I knew being at school with her would be like this—that she’d attract attention, including probably from my own friends—knowing it and living it are two different things.

  When I find Ben in the garage getting more vodka from the freezer, my relief is palpable. But it still doesn’t explain where Carl has gone off to, and though I have my doubts that she could be hooking up with some random guy, the truth is I don’t really know.

  I suck in a shallow breath and make my way over to Ben.

  “Hey, bro,” he murmurs. “Grab this.” He hands me an icy super-sized bottle of Smirnoff, takes two more out, and then replaces them with new bottles from a crate to chill in the freezer.

  I should bullshit with him a little, try not to be so transparent, but I don’t have time. “You seen Carl around?” I ask as we make our way back into the party.

  He eyes me sideways, and I doubt he’s buying my attempt at nonchalance one single bit. “Saw her earlier. That costume, dude. She is fucking something, huh?”

  Yeah, she’s something—she’s fucking mine is what she is. But I don’t say that. I just swallow down my bitter, possessive growl, and try to keep my cool. Because she isn’t mine. Not anymore.

  “You know where she went?” I ask instead.

  Ben stops walking, so I do the same. His brow furrows and I wonder if he’s onto me. “You knew her in high school, right?” he asks.

  I’m not sure how he knows that, but I guess it isn’t really a secret. “Yeah.”

  “Is there something I should know about, Green? I mean, I haven’t hidden the fact that I’ve been looking to take her out. But if you have a thing for her—”

  “No.” I cut him off. “No thing. Just some history. But it’s over and done with. I had a question about a team project we’re working on for a class, and I was wondering where she went off to.” So much for not being a liar.

  Ben nods, placated. I’m not sure he actually believes me, but he doesn’t really care. He only offered to back off because he knew I wouldn’t take him up on it.

  “Well, I don’t know where she is,” Ben says. “We were talking, and then we saw you walk off with Courtney, and we started taking shots. She got a phone call and went outside to take it, and when she came back she was all upset and looking for her friend—the roommate. Girl shit, I assumed, so I left them to it.” Ben’s report only sets me more on edge, and I have no
fucking choice but to ask Devin what the fuck is going on. Because like I said, I am apparently incapable of just letting her go.

  Letting it go. I meant letting it go.

  Devin is still standing in the living room with Max, flirting heavily, and I wonder what the fuck kind of friend she is standing around looking to get laid when her friend is supposedly upset.

  “What’s up, Brighton,” I interrupt them.

  Max grins brightly, his eyes heavy with drink and gleaming with lust. I don’t really blame him; Devin is an attractive girl.

  “Green. Or should I say Teller,” he slurs, and I roll my eyes at yet another reference to the Sons of Anarchy character I barely even resemble. “You know Devin?”

  I try on a smile. “Nice to meet you.” Technically I know who she is, but this is the first time I’ve been introduced to her.

  “You too. Green, is it?” Her smile is surprisingly almost kittenish, and I guess that she’s just one of those girls whose default mode is flirty.

  “This is Tucker,” Max interjects, slapping my back as his lopsided grin stretches wider. “Team’s new badass defender.”

  I force a laugh. “Thanks, man.” Max starts to say something else, but I interrupt him and look to Devin, who’s still smiling at me. “Do you, uh—know where Carl is? Ben said she got a call and was upset. He’s worried about her.” And the lies just keep on coming.

  Devin’s chocolate eyes narrow playfully and her smile turns coy. “He’s worried, is he?”

  I don’t have fucking time for this. “Do you know where she is or not?” My tone relays my impatience.

  Devin sighs and rolls her eyes. “She had a family emergency. We’ve all been drinking so I was going to take a cab with her, but there were none available for over an hour with Halloween and everything. Anyway, she got a ride.”

  “The fuck do you mean she got a ride? With who?” I’m the only person on campus Carl didn’t just meet for the first time a matter of weeks ago.

  “Dude. Take it easy.” Max glares at me, but I ignore him.

  Devin blinks at me like she doesn’t understand why I’m overreacting. “She didn’t say,” she says a little defensively. “She got a text or an e-mail or something, and said she got a ride, and she got picked up like five minutes later. I offered to go with her but she insisted I stay. She had it under control; she’s a big girl.”

  If Carl was texting or e-mailing with whoever picked her up, then at least it wasn’t someone she just met tonight. It should pacify me at least marginally that she didn’t just get in a car with a drunken stranger, but I can’t escape the feeling that something might be seriously wrong. I can’t guess what her family emergency could be, but Carl’s love and loyalty for her family—even for those who don’t deserve it—is relentlessly fierce, and I learned the hard way she sets it above all else. So the idea that she would take a risk with her safety, whether knowingly in her desperation to reach them, or unconsciously—distracted by panic—isn’t exactly implausible. And if she’s as wasted from those shots with Ben as I suspect…

  Fuck.

  I need to keep a cool head, because losing my shit won’t help either me or Carl. But I can’t stop myself from shooting Devin an irritated scowl before I leave them how I found them.

  Carl’s judgment might have been compromised by her distress—and Ben’s goddamn liquor—but what the fuck is Devin’s excuse? She should have known better than to just let Carl get in a car with someone without at least letting her roommate know where she’s going. Don’t girls have systems for this kind of shit? Devin should have gotten a fucking license plate or something, or at the very minimum asked Carl who her goddamn ride was.

  I look around the party, and it doesn’t take long to realize that everyone I’ve known Carl to hang out with is here. So who the fuck texted her and picked her up? The campus is only about thirty minutes away from our hometown, but almost all of our friends are away at school, and even if someone happened to have gone home for Halloween—not fucking likely—it would take them longer to get here than five fucking minutes.

  I have no choice. I have to do something I’ve resisted doing since the day she obliterated my heart. I have to fucking call her.

  But her phone goes straight to voicemail. It doesn’t even ring. Like it isn’t even on. My heart pounds like a snare drum. It isn’t a bad sign in itself—Carl is constantly forgetting to charge her phone. But coupled with her family emergency and her mysterious ride, it has me on the verge of panic.

  I try calling two more times with the same result, and on the fourth attempt, I surrender and leave a voicemail.

  “Carl. I…fuck. Just—call me. And charge your fucking phone!” I growl into the mic.

  I rub my temples, trying to soothe my suddenly raging headache. Then I try calling her again. Same result.

  I storm through the living room looking for Leo—a freshman second stringer who doesn’t live in the house—to demand a ride. He got stuck being sober driver tonight, and he’s supposed to be hanging out on the first floor waiting for people who need a safe ride. But he isn’t here.

  I shoot him a text and find out he got stuck at some drunk girl’s dorm when she started puking after he walked her to her room. He promises to be back within fifteen minutes, but I’m starting to freak out. Anger, anxiety, fear—it’s a potent combination and my blood is thick with it, every muscle tense. I head out the front door to the porch, where a few smokers shiver in the autumn chill. I make my way down the walkway to wait on the curb, where four hours later according to my internal clock, but only twelve minutes according to my phone, Leo pulls up and I jump into the passenger seat before he even comes to a full stop.

  “Stuyvesant Hall,” I order him. I overheard someone mention which dorm Carl lived in a few weeks back. Though I don’t know why I’m going there now. It’s unlikely she’s there if she’s dealing with a family emergency. But I don’t know what else to do.

  Leo doesn’t move. “Why you wanna go there? Everyone’s out partying and anyone else is only there because they’re too drunk to be any fun.” He smirks. “Or they’re the perfect amount of drunk, depending on—”

  “Stuyvesant. Hall,” I repeat through a clenched jaw. I’m really not in the mood for his motherfucking date-rape jokes. My tolerance with his bullshit has already been wearing thin, and tonight’s the night I just might fucking snap. Then I won’t have worry about Zayne’s class ruining my GPA and losing me my scholarship, because I’ll be expelled for ramming this douchebag’s face into the goddamn dash.

  Leo finally gets that I’m not in the mood and takes off east toward campus. I don’t even bother thanking him as I make my way through the courtyard to the front of the building. Leo was right about one thing—it is dead tonight. It’s just after midnight and everyone is out having a good time. And here I am, standing in front of my lying ex-girlfriend’s dorm—a lying ex-girlfriend I can’t stand—with absolutely no idea what to do next.

  I check my phone again. Crickets.

  I text her to fucking call me back.

  Still nothing.

  Only residents of the dorm have the key fob to get in, so I search the directory for her room, and buzz the ringer five times before I accept that she’s not there. Anyone else I know who could possibly let me in is currently at the party I just left.

  With no other options, I settle myself on a bench near the entrance that Carl will have to pass when she gets back, and resign myself to wait.

  * * *

  I must have fallen asleep, because dawn is already breaking when I’m woken up by the idling engine of an obnoxiously loud sports car. The sound jars me awake and I jump into attentiveness. My back is sore as fuck from falling asleep on this stupid wooden bench that I now hate with every cell in my body, and I blink the grogginess from my eyes as they try and locate the source of the noise.

  A glance at my watch tells me it’s almost seven in the morning, and the small courtyard is already beginning to show signs of l
ife—a student heading out for a jog, another enduring a particularly grueling post-Halloween walk of shame, dressed in the remnants of a very skimpy cat costume.

  And then I blink again—this time in disbelief—as Carl emerges from the souped-up Mustang idling at the entrance to the walkway. My gut churns as I take in her weariness. She’s changed out of her costume and into sweats, but a man’s jacket is draped over her slumped shoulders. I don’t recognize the car. I’m about to head over to her when the driver’s door opens and out climbs—of all fucking people —our professor. Fucking Zayne.

  What. The. Fuck.

  He comes around to her side of the car and I watch them as she smiles sheepishly and he rubs the back of his neck. He murmurs something and she nods. He shrugs, smiling now, and Carl returns it, but hers is forced, and it gets my hackles up.

  I start marching toward them but they don’t see me, and Zayne squeezes Carl’s arm and then just gets right back in his car and drives off. Carl walks with her head down and doesn’t see me until the last second.

  “Tuck?”

  “What the fuck was that?” I growl. I don’t mean to come off so accusatory. She looks stressed, and exhausted, and I don’t want to make it worse, but I’m fucking tired, too.

  Carl responds to my tone the only way she knows how. She straightens her back and narrows her eyes, and I wonder if it’s just my tone that’s got her on the defense or if it’s guilt.

  “What the fuck was what?” she snaps back.

  What the fuck happened with your family, and where have you been, and what’s going on? “Did you fuck him?” And that.

  Carl’s eyes widen indignantly. “Did you just ask me if I fucked our professor?!”

  Well, you did just get out of his fucking premature-midlife-crisis-mobile in different clothes than you were wearing last night. I raise my eyebrows expectantly.

  Her mouth gapes open incredulously before her eyes narrow again. “Yes, Tucker. I did. You know, I was at your Halloween party and while you were busy with that skanky redhead I just thought to myself, Hey, I’ve only ever been with one guy in my life, what better idea than to have a one-night stand with my fucking teacher. Because I’m just such a fucking slut. And, you know, he was all for it. Because screwing some random student is totally worth losing your job, and—”