by Sunniva Dee
Luka: B safe.
Fuchsia Pink and Valspar Cream In My Coffee. These are Marie-Antoinette colors and not me, but I know what I need, drastic change everywhere. I also need to move forward at light speed if I’m to not shatter my career schedule. Sure, I feel like slate and charcoal, and probably will for a good while, but I want to feel pink and light. It’s why I pay the cashier for several cans of each color and dive back into the car.
The Mustang sinks under me, a slight rocking at my weight. It’s two years old, and Julian bought it right after the fall student loans hit our accounts that year. I remember our fight over it too.
“A brand new car straight off the factory line? What the hell?”
“Ah baby, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I didn’t take up a car loan, okay? And I added your name to the title too. I thought you’d be happy.”
“So it’s savings?”
“Uh-huh, and I’ve always wanted a Mustang. Now we have it.”
I shook my head, staring at my low-lidded boyfriend on the bed. Was this an Adderall moment? He sometimes bought the pills off fellow students in an effort to concentrate during cram time. That should have made him hyper, though.
“I don’t understand. We make decisions together, remember?” I said.
“I know.”
“How much was it?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four what?”
“Grand. What did you think? Hundred?” He smiled a lazy smile that would have been insolent on others. Coming from Julian, it melted girlfriend ice as he pulled me down to him and kissed the rest of my questions away.
I drive back to the Queen and head for the front door. The rain has stopped, so I walk slowly with my bags of painting gear. Someone lifts the flap of a curtain and peers out. It’s Luka. He turns, maybe planning to come out for me?
I’m on the second step when Nathaniel shows up instead. Smiling, he stretches for my bags. Mutters, “I’ll take that for you, babe,” and lets me pass so I can do what I want: head for the stairs.
“‘What’s with the ‘babe’ thing?”
“It suits you.” He follows me upstairs, shifts my bags into one hand, and opens the door to my room.
“James called me that too,” I say and wedge open the first can of pink. “You guys are weird.”
“You’re painting now?”
“Yeah.”
“O-okay. You want help?” His stare slides up a wall and meets the ceiling.
“No, thank you.” I tick out a tight smile. “I think I need to do this alone.”
The first strokes of pink over charcoal are painful. I feel like it’s early, like I’m erasing us even if I know that’s not the case. What we were/had/did is over. Julian and I belong in the past now. He’s a part of my history, forever imprinted on it. That’s the way it needs to be.
As the bright-bright fuchsia begins to invade my space, it cleanses my mind. At eleven, I’m done with the first layer. I’d like to start on the cream door- and window frames too, but I’m tired. Maybe this will be a good night.
I take a soda from the fancy mini-fridge Julian got us a year ago. Once I’ve downed it, I get ready in the bathroom. It has ancient white tiles and the same charcoal paint as our room. I should change it up in here too.
Julian’s toothbrush waits in a glass on the counter. Why is it still there? Jesus, he doesn’t need it anymore! I hurry up and swaddle it in toilet paper before stuffing it deep into the trash.
There’s a knock on the door, and my heart bounces. Maybe it’s Connor again. Damn it, I’m wearing another flimsy nightie. I’ll just tell him I’m fine, that he doesn’t need to worry about me. I throw on a robe before I open.
It’s Luka. A barefoot Luka in a white t-shirt and worn jeans. The V of his collar displays pale, smooth skin, and I detest him.
“Hey, Geneva.”
“What?”
He clears his throat, a small rumble in his chest. “I’m off to the club for a bit. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Sure. You do what you want.”
“A few of the other guys are home, but call me if you need anything.” He even asks, “You have my number, right?” as if I haven’t had it for the last six years.
I try to sleep. The stench of paint doesn’t make it any easier. I have the fan on high and the A/C blasting, but I’m starting to see what a terrible idea it was to paint before going to bed.
Toss. Turn. Fuck!
I burrow my face into the pillow.
It’s after midnight when I take the stairs down to the kitchen. The house is quiet, but as soon as I start filling a bowl with cereal, light footfalls carry Lenny downstairs too.
“No sleep again?” he asks, blinking slowly.
“Got that right.”
“Your room smells like paint.”
I let out a chuckle, because yeah. “So bad. I’m this close to bringing my blankets to the library.”
“To the Beast?” Lenny juts his head toward the narrow sixties couch that’s visible through the archway. It came with the house, and I’ve been meaning to get rid of it since I moved in.
I swallow a mouthful of Diego’s Cap’n Crunch. “Or on the floor. I’ve got an extra comforter.”
“You can sleep in my bed.” He waggles his brows playfully, and I lift an eyebrow. “No, come on. I’m only messing with you. Or messing with you about the, you know”—he waggles his brows again—“not about the sleeping-in-my-bed thing.”
I stop chewing. Lenny does have a huge bed, and with his skinny frame, he can only be occupying so much of it himself.
“There’s plenty of room for a little babe in my king-size.”
I side-eye him.
“Seriously. And also plenty of room on my king-sized...” He does a hip-thrust.
“Don’t be a dick.” I can’t help finding it funny though; this is the first sign of a Fratter being himself around me.
“Well, more like I—”
“—have one. Yeah, yeah,” I complete his sentence while he snickers proudly. “Okay. But no monkey business, all right?”
“Never. I only monkey when the monkey wants to be monkeyed with. And when she does, my monkey will monkey the hell outta hers.”
“Jesus Christ. That’s what you learn in school these days?”
“Well, I am special, they say.” He flashes me a grin. “Ready?”
I start to shake my head, but then I turn it into a nod.
Lenny isn’t playful anymore once we’re in his room. He dims the lights, asking if I want them on or off, and I say that I want them on. I point toward our room... my room. Tell him I’m going back for my duvet and pillow. When I return, he’s drawn the curtains, and there’s a candle burning on his nightstand.
“Lenny, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” His attention joins mine on the candle, and he puckers his mouth, displeased. “It’s nothing. What do you take me for? I just want it to be relaxing and nice in here.” He ruffles through his black-blue model-boy hair and waves toward the bed. “Go ahead, jump in now. Be my guest.”
I smile. “As long as you don’t waggle your brow on me again.”
“Never.”
I want to say that he’s big on promises tonight, but that would sound flirty. I don’t know what’s going on with me, though. I’m feeling strangely lighthearted.
A cluster of pillows welcomes me when I lower myself to the mattress. They’re mismatched, and I have a feeling he pulled them out of closets and borrowed from other Fratters for the occasion. His room has a warm licorice scent to it. I inhale and burrow into the sheets.
“On or off?” He pulls on his shirt. Lifts. Drops it. Bares a taut six-pack in glimpses as he does.
“Off is fine. If you’re okay with that. It’s not like we’re gonna—�
��
“Okay, yeah, I get it.” He groans playfully.
He cat-crawls into bed now, tattoo tigers and dragons snaking in with him. Exotic and sure of himself with that always-playful undertone, the man is pretty delectable.
“Night, Lenny.” I turn my back to him.
“Night, babe.”
Babe.
I shut my eyes, smiling a little, and sooner than I thought, I drift asleep.
I’m not going to lie and say I don’t have nightmares. They’re cryptic and mysterious and play on the horrors of the last nine days. In the end, I gasp into an upright position, and Lenny’s arm shoots out.
“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here.”
I let out an awful, heart-killing sob, and he turns me around so fast I don’t have time to think until I’m in his arms and he’s squeezing me close.
“Was it about Julian?”
“He was dying in front of me.” I sound crazy, but when imaginary bones break inside you and intestines bloat and tear, it’s hard to sound rational.
“Okay” is all he says.
I snuggle against him, my face wet, rubbing into his neck for comfort. He nudges me closer, and my whole body agrees and melts to him. Lenny is different too, not like Julian, and maybe that’s what I need. Licorice and smooth skin, no hair grazing me from a different body that forms tenderly around me.
Lenny kisses my cheek. He finds the corner of my mouth and kisses there too. I need it when his hand cradles my face. I turn to him until my lips meet his and we kiss like lovers do. It’s slow, wet, salty, and I don’t pull away. I hiccough and he answers my need, caressing my face while his tongue strokes mine.
He tightens his hold. My body is awake, dancing a slow wave with him. My stomach wants him, and my abdomen heats, feeling how he gets hard and presses against me.
With two fingers, he brings a section of my hair away from my face so he can look at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to control my breathing. Sorrow. Misplaced desire. I feel out of whack.
“Anything you want, babe.”
Anything.
“Anything and nothing. Whatever you need,” he adds.
I tuck my nose under his chin again, and he holds me until I stop shivering.
The last five days have been turmoil. I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. Each hour looks different. I hang out with Joy, who’s psychoanalyzing me, explaining what I should do and how to feel and all the yada. At night, some Fratter picks me up from school, because goddamn Luka has appropriated the key to the Mustang.
I don’t feel like doing anything after class these days. I’ve completed my last fellowship application, the one Julian and I worked on before he died. I erased his name and his credentials, which was not okay for my heart.
“You still love him, Geneva,” Joy says. “Hiding behind anthropological theory won’t change that. You gotta suck it up and deal with the grief.”
My turmoil isn’t limited to certain times, like class/lunch or hanging out with Joy/the Fratter du jour. And what’s wrong with me driving anyway? Every one of them is a stonewall when I point out that they should be chauffeuring his brother around, not me, that maybe it will keep Luka away from his own sudden overload of shitty extracurricular activities.
At home, even with my purple doorframes converting to cream and my walls shining a fuchsia pink, my insomnia doesn’t get better. I have a new sleep pattern now. I go to bed at eleven, pass out before twelve, and wake up at one. Sometimes it’s because of a nightmare, but mostly it’s my eyes opening and my body finding no reason to remain asleep.
I try to be quiet. Try to stay in bed, but someone always notices and opens the door to my room. It was Diego last night. He didn’t even say anything. He just slid into the bed behind me, under my duvet, and linked his arms around me so that my back nestled against his chest.
As it turns out, when you’re sad and lonely, you don’t feel like saying no to a friend when he opens his arms for you. Each night, it’s how I fall asleep. Until I wake up one morning in Connor’s arms again with my heart batting like it wants to escape.
What am I doing?
I get up. As per usual lately, everyone is in the kitchen for breakfast when I come down. Connor doesn’t have early classes, but he follows me, tank top haphazardly pulled over his head and man bun in just-slept disarray.
I look around the kitchen with new eyes. We’re all long-time friends, but it’s surreal to suddenly know the lines and edges in each one of the bodies around me. I look away so I don’t remember the plunge at the small of Nathaniel’s back. I don’t want to recall the firmness of Diego’s butt under my fingers. I even kissed Lenny, and I have no problem recalling every shift of his lips.
For the first time, I purposely let my stare rest on Luka even as Connor’s hand remains on my hip.
“Morning, Geneva.” His voice is morning-raspy like Julian’s.
“Morning,” I reply and can’t even muster a sarcastic tone this early.
I admit that it’s nice to look at him. Of the Fratters, he’s the only one who doesn’t come to my room at night, and I only know each dip of his body because they’re like his brother’s.
“How are you doing?” He scans my face, and since we’re all here, why don’t I tell them exactly what’s going on?
“Good. Thanks. I’m taking a break from classes.”
Deep green stares, black, blue, brown, and hazel. We got them all in the Queen. Now, every pair settles on me.
James speaks first. “A break? You’re not leaving the Valley, are you?”
I let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Julian and I were supposed to be off to Kenya tomorrow.”
“So where to, then?” Marlon rests on a hip, his arms folding.
“I’m going home to Portland.”
James’ brows furrow. “Hmm. You said you were going to tough it out so you didn’t get off schedule with your studies.”
“I know. I’ll just have to work harder from afar. I feel like I need to be away from the Queen for a bit.” My throat tightens; I’m not actually sure of anything.
Poet Boy embraces me and supports his cheek on my head. “I’m sorry, babe.”
I huff a laugh over the entire house calling me “babe.” I’ve gone from Julian’s girl to everyone’s babe. I can’t even process that right now.
Luka cuts the distance between us and wraps his fingers around my arm. Surprised, I pull in a breath; he hasn’t touched me since the night in my room.
Over the last week, Luka hasn’t been around much at all. He’s here in the morning, and he’s home in time for our collective dinners, but as soon as I retract to my room, he leaves. Sometimes, he brings girls home. Other times, he returns in time for breakfast, hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot. Yeah, he’s struggling, and I’m aware that I’m the only one who can understand his void after Julian. But I just can’t deal with him.
“No. You don’t need to leave.” Luka’s pitch is gravelly. “We can take care of you here. You’ll be fine. Tell me what you need, and it’s a done deal.”
I stare up into light eyes rimmed with pink. From a hangover or from tears, I’m not sure. Behind me, Connor lets go, and then it’s just Luka and me, staring, staring, and I can’t seem to let go of his eyes.
My chin quivers. His gaze flits to it, and with a blunt fingertip, he steadies it. “Seriously, what can be better in Portland than here?”
“My family. Mom and Dad are there. Aci too. Everyone I love, my old friends. I need some distance. I want to find a place where I can breathe something that isn’t pure fucking emptiness.”
“So running off is the solution, now?” He tosses it at me, curveball-like. “That’s how you’re gonna get over Julian?”
“Luka. Dude,” Lenny mutters. “It’s her decision.”
“Ri
ght, but she’s making a goddamn mistake. You can’t get back on your feet by fleeing.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing, Luka?” I ask. “Isn’t it fleeing to party around the clock, getting sloshed, fucking everything that moves, and dragging them home with you so it’s impossible for anyone else to sleep?”
His eyes are frozen on me, and I glare back. There’s so much hurt in them. It’s Luka though, and I can’t worry about him. He’s got his “colleagues,” his bimbos, all of the shit he’s chosen for his life.
“Guys.” I twist my arm free of him. “I appreciate everything you do for me, but I need to leave. It’s been a couple of wild weeks, and I feel like I’ve got no control anymore. I just need my family around me.”
“I understand.” Diego’s voice is warm with compassion. “Luka has a point, but as long as this isn’t you just scramming, I agree with you. It’ll do you good to be with your family.”
Dad picks me up at the airport. He hugs me like I’m tiny again. Then, we bustle my oversized suitcase to his Volvo and push it into the trunk.
“Aci at school?” I ask.
“Yep, she’s out at two today. She wanted to come with me to pick you up, but you know your sister. That girl’ll do anything to get out of class.”
I smile. It’s true. My little sister never was crazy about school. Dog groomer is her latest idea for a job after high school because she “lurvvvs” animals. Our father is a physician, and our mother is the star real-estate agent in our area. Needless to say, Aci doesn’t know how it will be to live off minimum wage.
“Neither do you,” Luka told me once when I complained about it. “Julian should know better, though.”
“You don’t study anthropology to get rich,” Julian said lightly while I sent Luka a cold side-glance. I didn’t comment on Luka’s way of earning money. It wasn’t my business. I sure as heck would rather have Julian be poor with me than rich from having sex with other women.
“Ha, that much is true,” Luka chuckled and actually rolled his eyes. I hated when he did that. “My li’l bro does what he enjoys. And so does the missus.”