by A. J. Pine
Hepatitis or not, I bang my forehead against the stall’s metal wall.
“What’s wrong with liking it, Jess? He seems like a good guy, and he’s totally into you. Nothing like those douche bags you brought home in the beginning of the semester.”
I’m going to have to sleep in this stall.
“Yeah, well, one of those douche bags is playing pool with Adam Carson.”
All I needed was a little dose of reality to snap me out of the flirting. And hoping. Instead reality whacks me across the head with a goddamn shovel. Got the message, loud and clear.
His voice plays back in my head. It’s Jake, sweetheart.
Zoe breathes out a long, “Shiiiit.”
I do my best to just breathe.
“God, Zoe. I didn’t expect anything from him, but we were friends.”
She raises her pierced brow.
“You’re not anymore?”
I shake my head.
“Not after tonight. He wasn’t supposed to learn about the real me, and I’m sure he’s learning a hell of a lot right now.”
Zoe grabs my wrist and drags me out of the stall and toward the door. I resist with every ounce of energy I have left.
“Shit, Jess! I don’t care what kind of an asshole that guy might be. I guarantee there’s no way he’d say shit about you if you were standing right there, so get the fuck out of here and go face your demons.”
Demons. Right. Jake is only the beginning.
She stands with her back against the door, holding it open for me to walk out.
Zoe’s appeal to logic might work. I don’t have to say anything to him. If the guy has any decency, standing there should shut him the hell up.
But when we get back out to the bar, Adam and Jake are gone. The other friend, the one whose name I don’t know, laughs silently to himself as if he’s in on some kind of joke as he nods his head toward the exit.
Shit. I look at two full shot glasses balanced precariously on the edge of the pool table, and without a thought, I drink them both. Lemon-infused vodka.
I can’t look at Zoe, not after doing that, so I run for the door, bursting onto the sidewalk.
Adam holds Jake up against the outside wall of the bar. He’s going to hit him. Jake is smaller and at a complete disadvantage, but when Adam sees me, he lets his guard down enough for Jake to maneuver from his grip.
“Adam!” But I’m too late.
Jake’s fist connects with his jaw in a sickening crack. Blood immediately trickles from Adam’s bottom lip, and I watch his knee give before he winces and rights himself again.
Jake smiles when our eyes meet. He told Adam everything, that I’m a “full-service operation.”
And Adam, the fucking gentleman, thinks he’s lying.
He clenches and unclenches his fist at his side, and when he moves toward Jake, he limps.
I fight the urge to run to him. I fight the urge to just fucking run.
“Adam, don’t.” My voice wavers. “Whatever he said, it’s true.”
Now Adam looks at me like I always feared he would, his eyes burning not just with anger but with betrayal.
“I’m sorry, man,” Jake says without an ounce of sincerity. “I tried to tell you.”
He shakes out his hand and strides back to the bar’s entrance, back toward me.
Jake rests a hand on my cheek, and I cringe as he leans in close. As quick as a breath, he whispers, “It was nice to see you again, sweetheart.” He glances back at Adam, his hand trailing down my neck. “You know, Carson, you didn’t give me a chance to highlight her talents. The girl can go down . . .”
He’s not quick enough. In one swift movement, Adam doesn’t just pull him from me. He throws Jake to the ground. Jake, who called me sweetheart and who still laughs despite his compromising position.
When Adam turns to him, Jake puts his hands up in mock surrender. He may be on his ass, but his smile says it all. He won this round.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Adam says through gritted teeth. He wipes the back of his hand against his mouth, streaking fresh blood across his tightened jaw.
Jake stands up, no worse for the wear.
“I was only saying good-bye to the lovely Jess. I guess that’s one more thing we share. Isn’t it, my friend?”
Adam stands, seething. “Fuck you. This is not the time to bring her up.”
Jake backs up through the door and back into the bar.
He’s right in front of me, but Adam won’t let his eyes meet mine. I sure as hell don’t blame him.
I reach my hand up to his face where the flow of blood from his mouth has slowed but not stopped. He flinches but doesn’t pull away as I rest my palm on his jaw.
I let out a long breath, knowing we can’t go back to where we were only twenty minutes ago.
“You wanted to know the real me,” I say. “Well, now you do, and look what it did to you. Look what I did to you.” My voice trembles, but my eyes stay dry.
I try to pull my hand away, but he puts his palm over it, holding it to his cheek.
“Jess,” he says as he closes his eyes.
How does he do that, turn my name against me? And the feel of his skin beneath my palm—tiny pieces of me break open, letting him in. Too far in.
He’s supposed to yell at me, call me a whore, or better yet, give me the same shit-eating grin his friend did and show me all he’s ever wanted is all any guy ever wants. But he doesn’t do any of that. He says my name in a way that makes me want to tell him anything I can to clear it. To clean the name of stains I’ve put on it.
He’s not angry, not with me, his touch contradicting what he should feel. He’s something else entirely. When he speaks I’ll hear it, and it will break me.
“Jess.” His eyes focus on mine now. “I need to know why. I never pushed things when it came to us. But fuck. Why him?”
My head swims, and I’m not sure how much of it is from the vodka and how much is from the pain I hear when my name falls from his lips.
“Why me?” I ask. “Why put yourself through any of this for me when I never offered you anything in return?” I turn my gaze toward the ground, not able to withstand his stare. I feel his jaw tense beneath my palm, warm and pulsing with an anger that has to go beyond tonight’s events, an anger that isn’t for me.
“That’s not an answer.”
I rip my hand from beneath his, pretending not to see him wince as my fingers rake across his battered mouth.
“Why do I have to explain myself to you? You’re going to judge me either way.”
I already saw it in his eyes, in his reaction to Jake’s words. Those same eyes darken now, and I brace myself for what I deserve.
“Jess, I’m not judging you!”
His volume escalates to meet mine, but I still search for the anger. Frustration, yes. Pain, yes. But he won’t make this easy for me, easy to say good-bye.
“Why, then? Why does what I do with any other guy matter?”
His fist clenches at his side.
“Because!” he yells.
I want to run. I could run, but I don’t move. Neither does he.
He takes a few slow breaths. Then his deep voice softens while the anguish in his eyes holds me in my place.
“Because all I’ve ever wanted is to figure you out, to get something real from you. You claim you’re one person with him, another with me.” He shakes his head. “It’s all you, Jess. You. I’m here, and I’m listening, and I want to know you.”
“No,” I whisper, the condensation of my breath visible in the streetlight. “You don’t.”
I look up expecting judgment, but all I see is confusion, the plea for an explanation.
“Fine. You want something real? Here it is. I bring guys like your friend Jake home because all I deserve is one night, so that’s all I expect, and it’s all I ever get.”
I want him to look away, to somehow release me, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t get it,” he says.
“You don’t need to.”
“Jess.”
Everything inside me twists.
“You’re beautiful and funny and smart and all of these things. How could you think you’re anything less?”
I have to look away because if I don’t, I’ll tell him everything, and the rest is not for him. Even now that he knows what he does, a tiny space inside holds on to a shred of something impossible. If I told him everything, he would pity me, but he wouldn’t want me.
“I don’t think it,” I say. “I know it. I’ve never woken up with the same guy twice, not for a long time.”
“And this . . .” he gestures back toward the bar. “This is why I got the whole ‘We can only be friends’ speech?”
“No!” I’m shocked by the power of my own protest and more by what I say next. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe the need to show him there is some truth to the girl he met, but I need him to know it’s not how it sounds. “I just . . . I need to be wanted. Even if it isn’t real, I need to pretend. For one night I get to play make believe. It’s bullshit, obviously. Guys like Jake don’t want anything more than I give him before we fall asleep. And god, I didn’t even sleep with him, Adam. I wouldn’t. It’s a line I draw that I know doesn’t change anything about tonight, but fuck. I need you to understand what I get out of it—someone’s arms around me. A morning where I don’t have to wake up alone.”
His eyes still question me, so I tell him the last of what I need him to hear.
“Jake was the last guy to spend the night.”
He lets out a long breath. “And when was that?”
“The night before I met you.”
***
I never go back in the bar, but finally text Zoe to come out. I trapped her in there after drinking two shots in front of her. She ignores me on the bus ride home, and I don’t blame her. It was a shitty move, but I needed everything to go numb or to at least dull the edges. I failed at both.
Adam rides with us, silent as well.
When the bus stops, Zoe doesn’t wait for me to walk home. Adam follows me down the stairs and starts the walk with me to my apartment.
His limp seems better, but he has a game in two days. He shouldn’t be limping at all.
When we make it to my door, I wait for him to leave, but he just stands there.
“Um, thanks for walking us home. Consider your gentlemanly obligation fulfilled.” It comes out bitchier than I intend, but I can’t handle the silence or being this close to him now that he knows about Jake . . . and others.
His response is an unexpected smile, and it’s one I’ve never seen before. He’s nervous.
Adam shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and he focuses for several seconds on his shoes. When he looks at me, he lets out a long exhale before speaking.
“You’re welcome, but that’s not why I’m here.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Fine,” he relents. “So I’m a nice guy and wanted to make sure you and Zoe made it home okay. But I haven’t left yet.”
“Duly noted,” I say. “But I’m assuming you know what’s best, now. So . . .”
He scratches the back of his head.
“I’ve been thinking about tonight, about what you told me. I know that wasn’t easy for you, Jess. And, frankly, this night hasn’t been much of a celebration. Please don’t take this the wrong way . . .” He pauses, and I’m nervous now too. “. . . but I want to sleep with you.”
As far as I know, there is no right way to take his statement. Angry heat rushes to my cheeks. I don’t know why I expected anything different once he knew.
“Wow,” I say, unable to hide the tremble in my voice. “I really am a fucking idiot for expecting you to be different. My mistake. But thank you for enlightening me, Mr. Carson. Lesson learned.”
I turn to my door, fumbling to get the key in the lock, but my hands shake more than my voice. I rest my forehead against the door and bang it once lightly. Please, Zoe. Open the door.
Adam puts a hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle, and pulls me to face him. The evidence of the pain I’ve caused him tonight is the only thing that makes me listen.
“That’s not what I meant. Shit. I said I wanted to sleep with you, Jess. That’s all I want to do.”
I lose my footing and stumble slightly backward and into the door.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.” The words sputter from my lips as I try to make sense of what he’s saying.
He tucks his hands in his pockets again, rocking back on his heels.
“If you say yes, if you let me do this for tonight, then when I get back from the game this weekend, I want to do it again. To just sleep with you. You can say no. You’ve explained a lot, and I appreciate that. I’m trying to understand you, but that doesn’t mean I’m there yet. There’s more to this than what you’re telling me, and I’m respecting your privacy for now. But Jess . . .” He pauses, and I need to look away before he sees how much I want nothing more than to wake up with him in the morning. But I’m pinned against the door, pinned by his gaze and the ridiculous words falling from his lips.
“You need to know. Any guy would be lucky to wake up with you on a regular basis. You deserve more than an asshole like Jake. Just as your friend, let me be that guy.”
My eyes widen. Deserve. After what I put him through tonight, I sure as hell deserve far less than his offer.
“You can’t mean that, Adam. There’s no way you could want only that from me.”
And then his arms surround me, pulling me toward him and against his chest. My hands firm against his back, I hold my breath, afraid to exhale, to make any sort of move that would end this moment. Because in Adam’s arms I feel safe. I feel trust. And the last thing I want is for those feelings to end.
He rests his chin on the top of my head, not rushing to let go, so I breathe. I breathe in the night air and the smell of wet leaves on the pavement. I breathe in the relief that he’s still here. And I breathe in the simple scent of soap and fresh laundry and him, Adam.
I’m in too deep, but I knew my answer the second he put his arms around me.
“Okay,” I say into his chest. “Let’s sleep.”
10
Zoe has the volume turned up so high I can hear her music through the door, and she’s wearing earbuds. I don’t bother knocking. She’s pissed at me anyway, so there’s no point in putting on any sort of pretense.
When I walk in, she’s only half on the bed. Her legs dangle off the side, toes brushing the floor. Her eyes are closed, but she’s awake, her legs bouncing to the beat. Zoe’s sketches and storyboards of graphic novels plaster her walls. Because I know nothing about them, I don’t know if the artwork is original or copies of what’s already out there.
This must be what she wants to do. Makes sense why she’d wake up at one a.m. to go to a con.
But once again, I never asked her anything about it. It’s nearly November, and until now I still had no clue what Zoe’s major was.
She knows what I do, knows everything about the Adam situation, and she came to a bar with me tonight after telling me why she doesn’t drink anymore. And I downed two shots almost in her face.
I lie down next to her, letting my legs dangle beside hers. The music coming from her earbuds softens, the only indication she gives of my presence.
“I’m sorry,” I say because it’s the only thing to say.
Zoe lets out a long breath and opens her eyes, but her focus stays on the ceiling.
“I love your drawings,” I continue. “You’re really talented, Zoe. Is that what you want to do? Be an illustrator?”
“Yes.”
I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling too, but I smile. If she’s speaking to me, she’s forgiving me.
“I wasn’t always so shitty at this.”
“Were you always this selfish?”
I shake my head, and tears prick the back of my eyes. I know better than to expect them to fall, thoug
h. My eyes gave up the ability to shed tears when I learned no matter how hard I cried, nothing ever changed. So I ignore the empty threat.
“No.” My voice breaks on the word. “I don’t think so.” But she’s right. The only person I’ve thought about tonight is myself, and look what it did? I threw Zoe’s pain in her face and almost cost Adam his first game back.
Zoe rolls to her side and scoots further across the bed so her knees come toward her chest. Her eyes meet mine, and then they close as she shakes her head. “Look,” she says, looking at me again. “I know you’ve got some shit you need to deal with, Jess, but whatever it is doesn’t give you the right to do what you did tonight, to treat me and everything I told you like it didn’t matter compared to your own crap.”
“I know.”
“Don’t fucking do it again.”
“I won’t.”
“And I didn’t mean it to be, like, all-encompassing. Calling you selfish. You know what you do at the hospital is good work, right? You’re just a little rough around the edges with the whole interacting with other people outside of work part. I could give you some pointers on that.”
She’s teasing me, which is a good sign. But I reflect on the compliment, on what I do for the patients I meet.
I shrug. My heart was in the right place when I chose my major, but now it’s my crutch. Helping others fills the spaces left open by my own loss. So in a way, it’s still selfish of me to do what I do. I may be good at it, but if I do it for me, then Zoe’s wrong. My selfishness is all-encompassing.
I face her, not sure what to say next, when we both hear the sound of running water coming from the kitchen.
“He’s still here?” she asks, the corners of her mouth quirking into a grin.
“He wants to sleep with me.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, waiting for her reaction. Her brows raise, but her smile fades.
“Jess, you’re not going to . . . after what happened.”
I let out a long breath.
“No. I’m not. He wants to sleep with me. That’s it.”
She sits up and removes the earbuds.