Hustle

by Ashley Claudy

  “Baby,” his fingers swipe at my cheek, “why are you crying? What's wrong?” He sinks down the mattress till he's level with my face, and he holds my head between his hands so I can't escape.

  There's concern in his wide eyes, but also stillness, a calm that I'm desperate for. I sink into it, into him. And my voice comes out steady. “I'm just exhausted from staying up all night and day.” I move my hand to his cheek. “I get emotional when I'm tired. You had to have noticed by now I cry a lot. Too happy, too sad, too angry…” I swallow down the last of my tears. “Too tired, I cry.”

  His eyes narrow and grip tightens, but it all dissolves with his release of breath, and he pulls me back into his body that's already heated the space under the covers like a furnace. “Then sleep.”

  My head nods under his chin. “You'll stay?”

  “As long as I can.” His lips press to the top of my head, and I close my eyes, escaping to sleep in his arms. This moment fading into a dream.

  * * *

  The rhythmic sound of rain against the window is interrupted occasionally by the sound of college students shutting doors and moving around outside my dorm. I'm content to stay like this all day, secluded in my now empty bed, especially since my shower this morning revealed bruises on my thigh and hip. But more concerning are the shadows of bruising low around my neck, the left side darker than the right.

  I already skipped my dance class and am prepared to skip the rest, but Drew said he'd come back after practice and class. I need to get it together by then, figure out how to deal with him. With everyone.

  Turning my phone back on is my first step. Immediately, the screen fills with missed texts, Rose's is at the top, and I click it, anxiety aching my bones because I hadn't thought of her and where she was. I'd been relieved to be left alone, but now guilt overtakes me.

  What if she’s with TJ? What if he’s still angry? What if he hurts her? What if he already has? Questions burst as I pull up the texts, but the phone ringing cuts them off again.

  “Rose,” I pick up the moment her name flashes on my screen.

  “Finally.” She's breathless, but happy. “Where are you? Can you get to our room, and get me out an outfit—something cute, but good for the rain. My black leggings and my green sweater, the long one with gold on it. You know the one in my top drawer?”

  “Right now? What's going on?”

  “Oh and a matching bra and panty set. Put it in the bag by my bed.” She talks over my question at first. “Yeah, right now. TJ's going to swing by after practice and pick it up,” she squeals with laughter as I choke on air. “He wanted me to stay. Maybe seeing Andrew change was the push he needed, too. I'm just—”

  “I can't. I've got class. I have to go.” I hang up on her, springing to my feet, her words lighting my fear into action.

  I don't bother changing out of my leggings and t-shirt, but I grab my largest hoody to pull over top. Checking the mirror, I make sure the thick fabric covers any marks, and it does—at least with the hood up and hair tucked in.

  It's not till I'm outside, walking in the steady, light rain that I think about where I should go. There's nowhere to go. So I walk to my English class, arriving late and sitting in the back without talking to anyone. This little bit of normal helps soothe me. Maybe I can pretend. Maybe it will all go away.

  But I still text Rose before class is dismissed.

  Get your things yet?

  There's no response by the end of class, and I can't work up the courage to go back to the dorm without knowing if he's already come or not. I contemplate going home, maybe I will. I probably should, although I'm terrified of facing my mom. She'll know. She'll know something's wrong, and I don't know how to tell her. I don't want to talk about it. I need to forget it all.

  The overhang of the building protects me from the sporadic rainfall. The library across the quad stands tall and the windows are lit bright against the grey sky. That's where I'll go.

  Walking in the rain is its own comfort; its own protection since it keeps people away—or at least it should. But all illusion of safety is shattered when Kyle steps to my side.

  “Are you all right?” He grips my elbow, water dripping off his hooded raincoat as he tries to pull me back under the cover of the English building.

  “Fine.” I escape his loose hold easy enough, but he speeds up his pace to cross in front of me, blocking me.

  “He didn't realize you knew for so long and hadn't talked, he thought you only just found out,” he speaks low and fast and close to me, getting closer with each word. “Did he hurt you?”

  My throat burns, the weight of memory pressing on my chest and squeezing my heart. I pull the edge of my hood lower, avoiding him as I pass by. “Nothing happened.”

  “Brook,” he calls after me, but I don't stop. “I'm sorry.”

  My rain boots splash in puddles as I hurry away, but I'm on the wrong path, on the path back to my dorm, not to the library, in my rush to get away.

  “Baby.” Drew traps me in his arms. It could be a hug, but it feels like a cage. “You feeling better?” He studies me under the brim of his hat, not letting me go even when I nod. “Wasn't sure if you were making it to class.”

  I evade his lips and his grasp, pulling myself away. “Only this one.”

  His stare causes a wave of nerves to roll through me, prickling under my skin, and then he lifts his eyes to look behind me. “What did Kyle want this time? Always seems to have something to say to you.”

  “Just the usual,” I try and dismiss it. “Where are you headed?”

  “I was on my way to your dorm to check on you…” his gaze narrows as he follows me on the soggy path. “What do you mean the usual?”

  I shrug, annoyed with everything, especially his questions. “We cross paths on our way different places. It's only small talk.”

  “Small talk?” He pulls on my arm so I face him.

  “That's what I said,” I'm all reaction, snapping at his suspicion. “Why is it such a big deal?”

  “Something's off. There's something you're not saying.”

  “You're what's off.” I pull away and take a step back. “You keep policing who I talk to, and I can't stand it. I should be able to have guy friends.”

  “He's not—”

  “I know he's not my friend.” I stomp my foot with frustration—at everything—and look up to the sky, wishing it would open up, but it only spits rain that gets lost in the tree branches above us. “I know I don't have friends.” I swipe his hand away before he can reach for me. “But I'll never have friends if you stop everyone from talking to me.”

  “I don't stop everyone. I'm only trying to help you,” he responds with an even, careful tone, and he watches me like I might bolt. I might.

  “And how does telling Scott to stay away help me? That was for you. He could be a friend.”

  “No guy can be a friend.” He throws his caution away with a harsh laugh. “That doesn't exist. Guys that claim to be friends are only patiently waiting for a chance between your legs.”

  “Not everyone's like you, Drew,” I spit out his name.

  “You're right. I'm honest about it, other's aren't.”

  I breathe in the wet air, feeding the anger burning in my gut. “Is that what you're doing with Tatum, then? Just waiting to…” The words trap in my throat, and I turn away from him before I ruin it with my tears.

  “No, it's not like that with her.” He snatches my hand and pulls me to him. “Listen to me. I've slept with her, you know that.” He raises his head like he's got to pray. “Jesus, I'm making this worse. I had a relationship with her, as complicated as it was, and I could still have that—but I don't want it, I want you.” His direct stare disarms me of my anger even as he removes his hat and slides it on backwards.

  I gasp in air, unable to decide what step to take. What to say. But my body caves to his slow pull.

  “I want you.” His hand slips into my hood and I fall into his lips. The rain mak
es it slick, but his touch gives warmth in the wet chill. He curls his other arm around me, until I stumble against his chest and he holds me there.

  In all the confusion, this is the one thing that feels real, honest maybe. The heat that travels through me with his touch. The natural pull his body has on mine. The way he pulls hope and desire and need and care from me in a heady mix that makes me not want to let him go. All of it feels real. It's all I want to believe.

  He lifts his lips from me with a few parting pecks to the corner of my mouth and cheek. “Can we go back to your dorm now?”

  I nod, but pause before pulling out of his arms. “I don't understand though. You say you chose me, but what does that make Tatum now?”

  He sighs a heavy sigh, but eases the pain of it with a kiss to my forehead. “She's someone I care about, but someone I need to distance myself from.” He drops his arms from my waist, picking up my hand to walk me back to my dorm. “Let's get inside, and I'll try and explain it better, to help you understand.”

  25: Not Enough

  He peels off his wet coat as he enters my room, draping it over the back of my desk chair. Then he drops his hat on the table, his damp curls dripping onto the neck of his t-shirt as he approaches me.

  “You're soaked.” He slides my hood down as I stand frozen with a held breath, it would be so easy to let him see everything. If I just stay still. “Take this off.”

  “No, I'm fine.” I turn away from him and sit on the chair at my desk. Showing him would be as bad as talking, and I have to keep quiet.

  He stands in the center of the room with that questioning stare, watching me as I slide off my boots and curl my legs under myself. My heart is cracking under the pressure of it.

  “I want you to explain,” I break the silence and meet his unnerving gaze.

  “Something else is going on,” there's an edge of anger in his accusation, but it's the hurt in it that makes my guilt rise into my throat. “What are you not saying?”

  “Don't avoid this.”

  “I'm not.” He swipes his hand through his hair, eyes lifting to the ceiling as he blows out a breath. “It's only, I need to think where to start.”

  “Start with Saturday.”

  His eyes snap back to me. “I already told you about Saturday.”

  “I've heard other things.”

  He sinks onto the edge of my bed, close to my chair. “I knew you would. Is that what's been bothering you?”

  I nod, gripping the half-truth.

  “Why didn't you ask me?”

  “It was before we started dating.” I can't drop my eyes from his, he holds me steady in his gaze. “And I want to trust what you said.”

  “But you don't,” the disappointment in his words crushes me.

  “I do.” I lean towards him. “That's why I didn't say anything until now, when you said you're willing to talk.”

  “What did you hear?” He rests his forearms on his knees, inches away from my legs.

  “That you two had sex.” The idea turns sour in my stomach.

  “And then I came to your dorm and took you back to my place straight after?”

  It's not really a question. And I don't give an answer. But I don't laugh like him; it all makes me sick.

  “Baby,” his voice is gentle and his hands are on me, sliding up my thighs. “I wouldn't—couldn't do that to you. That next morning, did I perform like a man who just had sex?”

  “I don't know.” His hands on me help and hurt. I want to cling to him, but I need to keep him away. I do nothing as his firm grip slides to the top of my thigh and squeezes, pulling me off the chair till I'm standing in front of him.

  “The answer's no.” His hands slide up my back, under my sweater, as he pulls me even closer.

  I keep from falling into him with my palms on his chest, but they tingle to move, to follow the curve of his muscles. “What did happen?”

  “Everything I told you,” he sighs and tugs me down, hand never leaving my side as I sit next to him on the bed. “I took Tatum to her room to calm her down. People assume they know what happened in there, but they don't. Thing is, I usually don't give a fuck what they think. I don't say or do anything to correct them when shit like this happens—because it's happened before and sometimes they'd actually be right.” He lets out a breath and lifts his eyes to mine, fingers flexing against my ribs as he holds on. “But not this time. This time, I only calmed her down, that's it. And then I got out of there, and I knew what they all thought, but I didn't correct them. It wouldn't have made a difference if I did anyways, they wouldn't believe it. They all think they know me. Plus, it would only make them ask more questions about Tatum.”

  All his frustration drops from his voice, and he grazes my chin with his fingers. “I care what you think though.”

  I lift my shoulder and scoot back before he can dip under my hair and pull it from being tucked into my hoody.

  “That night when I came here, I didn't expect what happened. I didn't know you'd give me your virginity the next morning. A part of me wishes I'd waited, so it wouldn't be tainted for you by the rumors of the night before. But, I couldn't. I couldn't say no. I wanted you then, like I want you now. Forget what other people say and believe that.”

  “I do.” I knew he wanted me. The question was always how much? “But what happens next time? You said this has happened before, what if it happens again?”

  “You don't want me to help her?”

  I press my fingers to my eyes as guilt washes over me, but it can't touch the jealousy that burns in my chest. “I'm sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing?” He pulls my hands away from my face.

  “You've known her for years, and obviously care for her. I've barely known you a couple of months.”

  “But you're my girlfriend.”

  “Exactly, and that's what I wanted, but all I do is ask for more.” It hasn’t even been a week, and I’m already putting more demands on him. I’m a horrible girlfriend.

  “What is it you're asking for?”

  “That you'll choose me,” I blurt it out and immediately try and explain, “I don't' mean you have to choose between us. I just don't want to feel like I'm always going to come second to her.”

  “That's how you feel? That she comes before you?” At my nod he closes his eyes. “Fuck, I'm sorry.” He focuses his deep green eyes on me, leaning closer with each word. “That's not the case. Yes, her and I have history, but we have something else.” His lips brush against my chin. “I don't know what this is between us, but nobody else compares.” He presses a kiss to my mouth, talking between pecks. “Nobody makes me feel like you.”

  I sigh into him and his arm wraps around me as his lips move against mine, opening them to let his tongue sweep into my mouth. My body sizzles, wanting more, wanting to press against him completely. But when his hand slides to my neck, I pull back, brushing my hair so it hangs in front of me, shielding my bruises.

  He traces his full lips with the pad of his finger, watching me as I adjust myself on the mattress, putting space between us.

  “My grandmother's a nice person, but she yells a lot.” He takes me off guard. I can't read his gaze, but the distance in it is intense. “Even before the Alzheimer's changed her, she was always snapping. We always argued. That's probably why I was in so many camps. When I wasn't in camps, I knew to stay out until dark. She said kids weren't meant to be inside during the day.” He shakes his head ever so slightly, but it dispels him of whatever memory he's in. “It wasn't bad. She may have sounded mean, but all her actions showed she cared.” He looks away then, staring at the sunset painting above Rose's bed. “Tatum was the same, but different. We argued all the time, but it felt normal. All that anger was because she loved me. I liked that she said she loved me. The girl I'd been watching half my life, loved me. Even if I wasn't sure how to love her back, it felt good.”

  “You didn't love her? You don't love her?”

  He shakes his head, and I'm crushe
d under sadness. If he couldn't love her, then I didn't stand a chance.

  “Maybe, in some sort of way, I do. But it's not enough. That's partially why I broke up with her before she left for college. But she was still back every weekend, and I'd let her back every time. It only got worse when I started college. The fighting, the drama, it all got worse.” He swipes his hand over his face. “It's different with you though. When you talk… it's never like them. You don't yell at me, even when I deserve it. When I've upset you, you let it show but you explain why. Fuck if it doesn't make me feel like shit, but at the same time, it makes me want to do better.

  “You're nice in more than just your actions, but your words, too. That's what I was drawn to in you. I thought at first that it's because you had this nice life and didn't know any different, never been hardened. But then you told me everything that's happened with your dad, sister, and school.” His jaw clenches, and his eyes burn into mine. “I realized the strength in you that's always been there. For you to face all that and still be so good. And I thought I was too late, until you showed up at that football field for me… That's when I knew, I needed to be clear with Tatum and end things for good, because I want to give this a chance.”

  “So that's what you were doing Saturday?”

  “Sort of. I mean, I wanted to, but then everything happened first. And she saw me arguing with Scott about you and started running her mouth. I tried to walk away and—I didn't handle anything right. It turned into a big fucking mess until I got her alone.” He closes his eyes on his flustered explanation. When he opens them, he meets mine with confidence. “I trust you.”

  I nod to acknowledge him, but I don't know how to respond.