Daring You

by Ketley Allison

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Astor’s door jolts me out of my hopeful fugue and I mutter, “Shit,” as Astor jerks awake.

  “Open up! It’s the RA!”

  Astor blinks, the fog of rest dissipating as she takes in where I’m standing, fully clothed, with my bag over my shoulder.

  “You’re leaving?”

  I swallow, giving myself time to think. “I had to get out early, to—”

  “Open up, Hayes!”

  Astor tugs her bed sheets up over her body, now avoiding my eye. “Just a second! Where’s my shirt…”

  “Astor,” I say.

  “Don’t.” She’s still not looking at me. “Your actions are making it clear enough.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Astor Hayes, open up this door immediately!”

  “God…fuck.” Astor gives up, wraps the sheet around herself and goes to the door. She avoids brushing against any part of me as she does so.

  “What, Marcia?” she says as she swings the door open.

  “We got reports of—oh. Ben Donahue. Hi. Hi.”

  The RA, Marcia, I guess her name is, flutters her porcelain doll green eyes at me as she steps into the room.

  “Hey,” I say reluctantly. “What’d you get reports of? Astor and I were kind of in the middle of something.”

  “Right,” Marcia says, taking her time assessing the sheet wrapped around Astor’s body. “Great game yesterday, by the way. I didn’t know you were here….anyway. Yes. Reports of weed. In this room.”

  “Huh?” Astor and I say at the same time.

  And right at that moment, at that terrible, black second of reality, I see the shadow behind Marcia.

  “Hue, buddy! How’s it hangin?”

  Dodge’s scrawny form steps out from behind Marcia. His face is worse for wear, but no worse than the rest of him.

  I unclench my jaw. This boy isn’t going to see any reaction from me. I say to Marcia, “You know what that kind of accusation does to a guy like me?”

  “I—like I said, I didn’t know you were here,” Marcia says. “You sure this is where you got the weed?” she asks Dodge.

  “You’re going to believe a guy like him?” I ask.

  I’m being aggressive, potentially frightening the girl, but I can’t think of anything else to get them both out of the room. Now. Before Astor speaks. Before Dodge is given time to say any fucking thing he wants.

  “More like, is she going to believe a guy like you?” Dodge says, smiling with pure evil. When his milky gaze slides to Astor, I say frantically, “Astor, whatever this dude says, he’s lying. Okay? He’s lying.”

  Astor’s hands are shaking as she clutches her sheets, but she’s looking at me like I have all the answers. “What’s going on?”

  “You did it, man. Congratulations. You did the dare,” Dodge says.

  A gong show could’ve happened in this room, and nobody would’ve noticed. Marcia glances between all of us.

  “Is there actually weed here? Or is this—omigod, it is! It’s one of your famous pranks, right Ben? I heard about this. The girls on this floor talk about it all the time. All the crazy shit you guys get up to on campus. I can’t believe…can I get a picture? Can we…” She trails off, finally considering Astor, frail and hunched over despite her height, cowering in white sheets. “Omigod. You’re the dare. You’re Ben’s latest conquest.”

  “She certainly is!” Dodge crows. “Well done, man. Tell me, did any of her zits puss while you fucked her?” He thrust his hips, having sex with the air. “Pop-pop-pop-pop!”

  There’s a camera flash. Marcia actually has the balls to take a fucking picture.

  “GET OUT!” I roar, and she drops her phone as she fumbles with fear. “Get the fuck out! Both of you!”

  Astor, finding some semblance of herself, grabs the phone off the floor, and after a few thumb taps on it, opens up the sole window in the room and throws it outside.

  “Hey!” Marcia says.

  “Go get it,” Astor says. “And take your little bitch with you.”

  “You talkin’ to me?” Dodge points at his chest. “That’s not right, considering you’re the bitch who only got fucked on a dare.”

  Dodge barely gets the last part out, since I’m tossing him through the door by his throat. He enjoys every second, laughing, spitting, guttural with mirth.

  “Well done, dude. Your secret’s safe with me,” Dodge says, but I slam the door in his face.

  “Astor,” I say.

  “You, too,” she says flatly, looking to the floor. “You need to leave.”

  “You’re not a dare. You were never—”

  “Here’s the thing. I’m well aware of what you guys do, since my brother is a part of it, and your disgusting point system that comes with it. Fuck TA’s. Fuck Professors. Fuck ugly girls.”

  I rush forward. “Astor, that’s not what this was.”

  She retreats, as if my very proximity repulses her. “I don’t believe Locke had anything to do with this. He wouldn’t do that. Not to me.”

  “Locke didn’t,” I say. “Because this wasn’t—”

  “But Dodge? I know how he’s trying to get in with you guys. How you enjoy initiating people who think they can be part of your ridiculous, twisted game ring. I can see Ash putting you up to something like this.”

  “Ash had nothing to do with it. They have nothing to do with this. Dodge is sick in the head—”

  At last, she lays eyes on me, but they’re flat. Emotionless. “Did Dodge ask you to screw me in order for you to gain something?”

  I hesitate.

  “Tell me the truth, Ben.”

  “He has something on me,” I admit, but follow up in a rush, “But I refused. I’d never put you in that kind of position—”

  “But you did,” she chokes out. Goddammit, her eyes shine with tears. “You put me in that exact position, and now there’s a picture of it.”

  “You deleted it,” I say dumbly. The time she spent tapping on Marcia’s phone before tossing it could only be because she’s quick enough to do something like that.

  “It’s called the cloud for a reason, asshole,” she spits, the tears doing nothing to snuff out the fire building underneath her cheeks. “You did it. Congratulations. You humiliated Acne Hayes. You can ascend to whatever throne you fuckers give yourselves. You’re nothing but college assholes, you know that? None of this shit flies in real life, so get your rocks off now before you’re seen as the pathetic, former boy wonders who couldn’t grow up and treat women with respect if we cut your balls off.”

  For once, I’m at a loss for words, at the exact point I need them the most. “Please, Astor. If we could sit down, I can explain.”

  “What does he have on you?” She looks me dead in the eye when she asks it.

  My mouth works, but fuck that fucker Dodge, I can’t tell her the truth.

  She slumps, and I hear the crack of her heart as if it had sound. “You won’t even tell me that much.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I try saying. “It’s a lot more complicated than you think.”

  “Let me simplify it for you then,” Astor says. She clutches the sheet tighter around her chest. “I’m not going to tell Locke about this, because he’d kill you if he knew. And if anyone’s going to murder you, it’ll be me. So get the hell out and don’t come back.”

  “Astor—”

  “Get out!” she screams, so loud and sharply, her voice breaks under the pressure.

  Staying here hurts her further. Filling up the space in the room with useless excuses only steals the little oxygen we have left. But what would help? What could stop this becoming so much worse? My leaving her alone. For good.

  Astor has it all wrong, but she’s come to the right conclusion.

  I nod, turning away from her as I do it. I can’t stand looking into those shattered eyes of hers anymore.

  “I’m sorry, Astor.”

  “Fuck you.”
>
  Her breaths are the last sound I hear, increasing in speed and sound as I open the door, and unleashed as a sob as soon as I shut it.

  4

  Astor

  Present Day

  When I find a neon green woman’s thong hidden in the toilet tank, I decide to call it finished.

  I squeeze the wet underwear in a fit of contained rage, droplets splattering to the bathroom floor. Then, when I realize what I’m holding and where it’s been, I storm out of the bathroom, into our walk-in closet, and fling it at my fiancé’s coveted Tom Ford, or Gucci, or whatever-the-fuck male designer’s row of freshly laundered suits he’d just had delivered.

  Then I wash my hands.

  Crumple against the kitchen cabinets under the sink.

  And weep.

  My skirt’s hiked up past my thighs, my ankles are lopsided in my three-inch stilettos, and I’m all too aware of how pathetic I look, how askew I’ve made myself, all in the name of keeping up appearances.

  Mike doesn’t love me.

  I’m not sure when I figured it out, but it wasn’t when I discovered another woman’s lingerie in my plumbing. It was long before, maybe when I first noticed the red-tinted smudges on his shirt collars, and then the hot pink ones. These women with perfect pouts and sexy stains who were touching my fiancé in all the ways I did. They ran their fingers through the same hair. Traced the same lines of muscle on his stomach. Licked his skin and moaned, spread their legs for him, just like me.

  Maybe even on the same night.

  It makes me wonder why I’ve stayed so long, but I can think of myriad of reasons that kept me in this apartment well after the excuses dried up. Mike is my law school sweetheart. We connect in all the right ways. Mentally, financially, physically. We’re terrific as co-counselors, amazing as opponents, and awesome in bed. He challenges my arguments and craves my legs. He eats my terrible cooking and edits my appeal briefs with a salient eye. He cares about my career, wants me to succeed, and supports all my late nights and pre-dawn mornings, all while I do the same for him. We’re a team. We’re partners.

  We’re perfect where it counts.

  So why does he cheat on me? Why aren’t I enough?

  These thoughts. These errant, driven, asshole insecurities won’t get out of my head as I’m curled up in our kitchen, wondering why it took me so long to realize Mike and I don’t work in the most essential way.

  I don’t need love. I gave that up a long time ago. What I need is loyalty, and Mike burying evidence all throughout our apartment while this underwear-free woman scampers out of our home before I jangle keys into our lock is…is…

  He thinks I’m stupid.

  Mike Ascott believes I’m dumb enough to let him to get away with this shit long after we’re married.

  I look up when I hear the elevator doors open in the hallway. Steel myself when I recognize the footsteps headed toward our front door.

  Mike can’t see me like this.

  Sniffing hard through my nose, I fix my heels, run my hands down my hair, and stand, shimmying all the wrinkles out of my skirt.

  Mike opens the door. “Hi, babe.”

  He smiles in that sleight-of-hand way he has, quick and deadly and completely missing my swollen eyes, the wetness on my cheeks. “Missed you at the meeting.”

  “What meeting?” I spin toward the sink, needing a few more deep, private breaths to collect myself.

  There’s the barest catch to his step as he sets his briefcase down, then loosens his tie. “The partners called us into the conference room. I thought you were on the email.”

  The steel I’m looking for travels to my stare, and I face him. “I should’ve been.”

  “Maybe you were and the email was buried in your inbox. You should check.”

  “What did the partners have to say?” I ask instead.

  Mike clears his throat. “Well, they’re looking at their top junior associates.”

  I angle my head, all innocence. “Then I definitely should’ve been there. We’re the top two earners this year. I’ve billed the most hours.”

  Mike doesn’t like the insinuation, but it’s true. I’m number one. He’s number two. Bastards can lie, but numbers don’t.

  “Like I said, check your phone. I was surprised you left early.”

  “Yet you didn’t try to stop me.” I push off the counter and cover any trembling by cocking a hip.

  “We have dinner reservations in an hour,” he says. “We can talk about it there.”

  I know Mike inside and out, and can spot his bait-and-switch a mile away. But I’m off my game this evening and unwilling to stay strong, when maybe this is the time I need it most. “What was it about, Mike?”

  Mike pretends hesitation, like it pains him to admit anything to me. “They’re looking at me, Astor.”

  I tip my chin up, covering my gulp. “Care to elaborate?”

  Goddamned lawyers. I love a good, wicked argument. I loathe hedging and leaving enough unsaid, unless I’m the one doing it.

  The muscles in his jaw move. Finally, I’m sensing some nervousness.

  “For managing associate. They’re gonna put me on the track to making partner.”

  This time, I choke on my swallow. “Partner? You?”

  His nerves shrivel into disdain. “Yeah, Astor. Me. Why are you acting so surprised? You know the hours I’ve been pulling, the clients I’ve brought in, that huge case I just settled—”

  “We settled, Mike. We.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” He throws his hands up. “I’m not in their heads, their private meetings. I don’t control their decisions.”

  “No,” I scoff. “You simply orchestrate them.”

  Stalking past him, Mike has to shimmy out of the way before I clip his shoulder. “Astor, don’t be like this. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  I whirl in the hallway. “Happy? Happy? First I find cheap women’s underwear that’s not mine in our toilet, and now you’re telling me you’ve been offered the partner track in a meeting I was conveniently left out of?”

  Mike actually has the gall to look surprised. “Wait—slow down, Astor. What underwear? What are you talking about?”

  I let out a hollow laugh. “You know what’s stupid? I’ve been willing to overlook it for a while. I figured it was your way of getting it out of your system before we’re married.” I flick out a hand. “That ridiculous bachelor affliction that gives you a ton of testosterone and not enough good sense. I figured while you jerked all your boyhood dreams out on other girls’ sheets, you’d at least use discretion. You wouldn’t bring these women into our home and among my things, rubbing it in my face.”

  I’m seething. My lips are peeled back and I might as well be a bull, shoulders heaving before a charge, but I can’t contain it. Mike’s unleashed something in me, a fury I thought I long ago buried.

  Mike doesn’t bother to deny it. He wouldn’t, knowing the evidence he’s up against. The furious fiancée he now has to soothe. “Astor, I’m sorry. It was one time, and it was a mistake.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” I spit. “It’s almost as bad as you saying nothing happened.”

  “She…it wasn’t…while you were in the hospital with Locke and Lily, you were gone for so long that I—”

  “Don’t you dare go into the specifics. Just pack your shit and get out.”

  Mike balks. “What?”

  “You heard me. Explanations are for those willing to hear it. Pack your stuff. And leave.”

  “No, you do not get to stand here and kick me out of our apartment that we both pay for equally.”

  “I sure as hell can. You lost equal status when you brought other women home and into our bed.”

  He shakes his head. “I never brought them to our bedroom. It was—”

  “God, Mike, just leave!”

  I’m screeching at this point, but I can’t stand the idea that he wants to tell me the details, like where he screwed other women, how he ha
d them, if they were wet in the shower or dry on the floor. I don’t want to know any of it. My imagination is enough.

  Mike’s frozen in place, his arms dangling limply, and for a moment of pure agony, he truly appears vulnerable, shocked and upset. “Astor, you can’t kick me out. Where will I go?”

  “To your parents in the Upper West. To your friends. To one of the many girls you’ve screwed. I don’t give a damn.”

  “No.” He paces towards me, arms out and landing on mine, squeezing. “We’re not over. We can’t be.”

  Mike’s almost a head taller than me, but I make sure I’m gazing at him levelly. “We are. I’m not doing this anymore, Mike. I’m not playing the pretend game while you get away with whatever you want.”

  “I didn’t—it was a mistake, Astor! Give me another chance. Please. I’ll stop with this, with all of it. It’s only you that I love. You’re the one—”

  “Oh, please,” I sneer.

  I twist out of his hold, but he grapples to contain me again. And when he spins me to face him, it’s like I’m gazing at a different man.

  Mike’s features twist, lines and creases forming into a grotesque version of the suave, good-looking guy in a suit that women—and men—would look twice at on the streets. His veneer has vanished, and in its place is nothing but despicable malice.

  “You, of all people, don’t get to act all high and mighty,” he snaps. “You’re just as bad as I am. We’ve been using each other, so don’t stand here acting like a victim.”

  Victim.

  That word, coupled with the sneer to his lips and the naked fury in his stare, has me buckling, but only for a second—one I hope he doesn’t notice.

  “Let me go, Mike.” And I hope I sound stronger than I feel.

  “No.”

  “Let. Go.”

  I try to tug out of his hold, but he keeps me firm. “Not until you tell me we can fix this.”

  “There’s nothing to repair. We’re finished. We’ve been done a long time, it’s just taken me a while to notice.”

  “I won’t allow it.”

  The statement gives me enough strength to laugh. “I’m not your stable horse, Mike. I can make my own decisions. And I’m choosing to kick you out. Go. Now.”