by Jay McLean
As soon as the girls showed up at our house, Bradley called me down so I could help Andie while he and Milky went to the store to buy condoms—a conversation that could be heard from miles away. She hasn’t brought up what I told her the other night, when my emotions got the best of me, and I’m grateful for that. For her.
Andie finishes separating their clothes and dumps a pile in the washer. “What now?” she asks.
I reach over her and grab the detergent, hands shaking—their way of letting me know they’d rather be touching her. After she pours in the scented liquid, I show her what to press, vocalizing instructions only when I have to.
The front door opens and slams shut, and Milky’s voice echoes off the walls. “You’re fucking insane!” she shouts. “Can you believe this guy?”
I assume she’s talking to us because there’s no one else here, so Andie and I swivel our gaze to our never-sexually-satisfied roommates.
Milky yells, “We’ve screwed forty-one times, and he thinks he can tell me what to do!”
“What are you talking about?” Andie asks her.
“He wants me to quit stripping.”
“It’s not safe!” Bradley shouts.
Milky rolls her eyes. “What do you think, playboy?”
I clamp my mouth shut, knowing it’s not my place.
“See?” Milky points to me. “Even he thinks so!”
“I didn’t—” I start, but Andie’s hand on my arm cuts me off.
“Don’t even give them the satisfaction,” she tells me, then looks at her sister, removing her touch too soon. “And forty-one? Are you counting?”
Milky points to Bradley, throwing in another eye roll. “He’s counting. He’s literally etching notches on his bed post,” she says, using her finger to scratch the air.
A shit-eating grin forms on Bradley’s face, and I know it’s true. “Come on.” He takes Milky’s hand and drags her toward his room. “Time for forty-two.” There’s no fight in Milky’s step as she follows him in, another door-slam added to the many.
Andie laughs. “Holy shit. Forty-one! That dude’s got some Olympic-strength stamina.”
Shaking my head, I start the washer for her and say, “It’s not stamina so much as years of buildup. Trust me.”
She snorts. It’s adorable.
I add, “They’ve only been going at it for, like, two weeks. That’s an average of...” I start to do the math in my head, but Andie beats me to it.
“Three a day.”
My eyes widen at her quick response, then it hits me. “Right. Mathlete.” I forgive my hand for poking her side, teasing.
Her smile widens. “Says the guy who digs science for fun.”
“Oh fuck, Brad! Yessss!”
“Noooo!” Andie cries, pawing at her head, wild and wondrous curls floating through the air. “I need bleach for my ears!”
With a chuckle, I take her hand, not realizing until too late that I have, and lead her up the stairs and to my room, where I close the door to block out the sounds of her sibling’s pleasure. “We can hide out here until your washing’s done,” I say, gaze locked on the carpet between us. If I thought the laundry room was bad, there’s now the added pressure of a fucking bed. Good job, idiot.
“Cool” is all she says.
And then, in a lame-ass attempt to alleviate the awkwardness, I stumble around my room and open one of the cabinets under the kitchen-type counter and point to the bar fridge I have hidden away. “I have drinks,” I announce. Because I’m a fucking four-year-old. Then I move to my bed, drop to my knees on the floor, and pull out the large plastic container filled with chips and other snacks. “And food!”
Sigh. I’m a loser begging for friendship.
The giggle that sounds from above me makes me wince with embarrassment. “You have an entire survival kit hidden in your room. This may be my most favorite place on earth, Noah.”
And now she’s talking to me like I’m four.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
I do a mental check of what’s in that room—if there’s any incriminating evidence of my late-night self-satisfying debauchery caused by thoughts of the girl I’ve caged in my room. After I conclude that it’s clear, I say, “Sure,” and stand on wobbly legs to lead her to the room.
When the door closes between us, I relax for the first time since I saw her in my house and sit down at my desk. The laptop screen flashes a cursor against the empty, white background, and I’m reminded of the homework I had to do before she showed up. Before her presence pushed away all other thoughts, all other commitments.
“You have a bath!” she squeals, stepping out of the bathroom.
Facing my body to her but my eyes to her feet, I nod.
“I haven’t had a bath in years. We have a shitty shower—which you’ve seen. But, man, what I’d give to soak in a tub.”
“You can use it,” I say, picturing her naked in the tub. “Whenever you want.” Shit. “Or now.” Fuck my life. “I mean...” Jesus, help me. “If you want.” Are you there, God? It’s me, Noah Morgan. I try to make eye contact and move my gaze up her body, past her legs, to the curve of her hips, the slight dips of her waist, and stop at her breasts, then look away—ashamed—when I realize what I’ve done. Footsteps approach, and my shoulders tense. “So... what do you want to do?”
I shrug.
“Feel like day drinking?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t have any alcohol.”
She quirks an eyebrow. It’s insanely sexy. “No?”
Looking away, I feel the heat return to my cheeks. “Not twenty-one, remember?”
“Right,” she says. “Well, lucky for you, I am.”
We go to the store, she buys the alcohol, I pay, and we end up back in my room, Hozier playing through my laptop speakers to drown out the noise of Roommate Romp Part Two. “This song was playing at the diner that night,” she says, and I smile, uncapping another beer and handing it to her.
“Why do you think I chose it?”
We’re on our second beer each, her on one end of the sofa, me on the other, because any closer and I wouldn’t be able to control my emancipated hands. Two beers turn to three, and I’m drunk on desire when I lift my gaze to the girl causing the slow burn. My heavy, lidded eyes meet her lazy, smiling lips, and I ask, “Why aren’t you in college?”
Her smile falls, gaze shifting to the nothingness between us. Then she sighs. “I could tell you, Noah,” she murmurs. “But it would kill your buzz.”
I nod, confused, but not wanting to push her. “You know, I haven’t had a drink since that night? When Christa…”
“Really?” she asks, head tilted. “After you told me what happened, it took me a while to process it,” she says, slowly, hesitantly. “It just, it seems like you lived a different life, you know?
“I did.”
“But then your sister…”
I nod, chew my lip, wondering if it’s worth giving her another piece of me. I decide it’s worth it. Because right now, Andie feels like the only thing worth anything. “We lived in a small town, so after it happened, everyone knew. Everyone talked. School—it wasn’t the same. I felt like everyone was staring at me, judging me. I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack every time I walked through the halls. People whispered, talked about me as if I wasn’t there. One time, I heard someone say something about how I was messing around with some girl while my sister tied the noose.”
“That’s fucked up, Noah. I’m sorry."
“I hated going to school, hated everyone. I shut off from the rest of the world. Baseball felt like the only thing I had left, so I focused on that. For Christa, for my own sanity. I hoped that it would save me, which is pretty stupid. A ball, a bat, a field—it can’t save anyone. But I wanted it to. Needed it to. Our first game back was at night, thousands of people were there, watching, waiting. I was on the pitcher’s mound when the lights cut out. And the lights… the darkness… it brought me back to that m
oment. All I could see were her legs dangling, the stool on the floor, and I froze. Shut down.” I’m saying too much, giving too much of myself to a girl I barely know. It could be the alcohol. It could be her. “Next thing I know, Bradley’s standing in front of me, shaking me. The whole crowd was silent, and I felt like all eyes were on me. I couldn’t have known, though; I had my eyes shut tight. I didn’t want to open them because I didn’t want to know what images the light would bring.” I blow out a heavy breath, fiddle with the label on the beer bottle. “Bradley walked me off the field. I’d never been able to walk back on. Not until recently. I couldn’t go back to school, back to those halls. My parents—they barely looked at me. Barely said a word. I found some information for online home-schooling, and I got my diploma that way. I never left the house. If Bradley didn’t come around almost daily, I would’ve never had contact with the outside world. It wasn’t that I hated people or anything; I just couldn’t deal. So I studied, got into college, and here I am. I didn’t realize how badly being in isolation for two years could affect me socially. It’s like I had cabin fever, I guess. I don’t know. I just know that I wanted to get the hell out of that house…” I blink hard, realizing how much I’ve just exposed, and tentatively lift my gaze. Andie’s eyes have been on me, and I wonder how she sees me. I offer a tight smile. “So that’s me. That’s my life…” I trail off, trying to find my balance again. “Now you know more about me than almost anyone, and I feel like I know nothing about you.”
Her gaze drops, and with her voice low, she says, “I’m a girl with an infinite amount of regrets. A girl who used to believe in chance and in fate but doesn’t anymore.” She offers a half-hearted shrug. “I’m a girl who sees the world in black and white and different shades of grays, but barely ever in color.” Her voice cracks, and I grasp onto each of her words like liquid sadness clings to her lashes. “I hate that I struggle to see the beauty in most things, but I see it in my family, and I see it in you.”
“Me?”
She glances up at me with raw emotion, before looking back down.
My heart falters a beat. Two. Then cracks when her gaze meets mine, tear-filled eyes a contradiction to her dialogue. “I see beauty in you, Noah. In how you’ve dealt with your past. In the way you act, the way you protect, the way you love.” She laughs once, the sound of hope and heartache. “The way you speak.”
“Speak?”
“Even when your heart is breaking, you have this way of talking, so eloquent and poised, every syllable is enunciated to perfection, and I love hearing you speak.”
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing, focus on my hands.
“Noah?” she asks, and I lift my gaze. “Say something beautiful?”
My response is instant. “You.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noah
Five days of no Andie and I don’t know how to feel about it. Maybe I revealed too much? Maybe I’m too much. I never should’ve opened my mouth.
From my infatuated semi-stalking, I know she gets home from night classes just after ten. We exchanged numbers the day we spent drinking, when her laundry spent the night in the washer, soaked and forgotten. I told her to call me anytime she wanted or needed—if her door got stuck, whatever. But she hasn’t called, and I wouldn’t even know what to say if I actually found the courage to do so myself.
But now she’s here—1 am on a Friday night/Saturday morning, and going by the look on her face, it’s not what my half-conscious brain initially thought: a booty call. One can hope, right?
“There’s a mouse,” she says. “In my house.”
I wipe at my tired eyes and force myself not to stare at her nipples poking through her shirt. “Is it wearing a blouse?”
“What?”
“Does it have a spouse?”
She busts out a laugh, and I’m rewarded with the sound of it. “I’m serious. Put on a shirt and help me find it!”
“A mouse?” I say. “In your house?”
“Stop it!” The girl’s wild coffee-curls move from side to side. “Seriously. Put on a shirt and help me.” I don’t know why she’s so adamant on the shirt, but I do as she asks, and the moment I’m close enough to her, she tugs at the shirt and drags me down the steps and toward her house.
“Find it,” she orders. As if a mouse in a house is the same as a cat in a hat.
“Did you actually see it?” I ask, rubbing at my eyes again.
“No, but I heard it... its creepy little claws tapping on my floor.” She curls her fingers in front of her and mimics the action she just described, and if I weren’t such a fucking pussy, I’d kiss her. Right here. Right now. Because dammit, she’s sexy as hell.
“Where did you hear it?”
“In the kitchen... somewhere.” Her head tilts to the side, taking me in. “You’re not wearing a cap.”
I shake my head, unwashed and overdue-for-a-trim strands falling over my lashes. “I don’t sleep with one on if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her lips purse. “I’ve never seen you without one before,” she says, stepping toward me.
I take a step back, my ass hitting the back of her couch.
“Can I touch it.”
“My hair?”
“Yes.”
“Um.”
“Please?”
“...I guess.”
Bare feet shuffle across her rug as she approaches, and I’m suddenly more alert of everything around me. The ribbon of smoke caused by the incense lit in the corner of the room; the black, lace bra resting on the coffee table; the blankets on her couch. She sleeps on the couch? Before I get a chance to ask, her toes touch mine, and she looks up at me.
I don’t breathe.
Can’t.
My hands flex at my sides, their need to touch her causing a rush of blood to places I’m unable to hide with the fabric of my boxers alone.
Andie’s hands reach up, soft fingertips against my temples, and she doesn’t take her eyes off mine. Her fingers move higher, lacing through my strands, and my eyes drift shut, a moan too loud forming in my throat. Then she yanks on the ends. Hard. And releases one of her hands only to use it to cover my mouth, muffling the sound of my “Whadafuk?”
“Shh!” she snaps, one hand still on my mouth, the other pulling at my hair, forcing my head back. “Did you hear it?”
“Eerwha?”
“Shh!”
Grasping her wrists, I slowly pry her hands away from me.
“The mouse,” she whispers, looking toward her kitchen. “Did you hear it?” I shake my head. The only thing I heard besides her voice was the pounding of my heart. “Do you think it’ll still be there?”
“Mice are pretty fast,” I tell her, the steadiness of my voice a contradiction to the weakness of my knees. “It probably ran away when you spoke.”
“So what do I do?”
“Set up a trap.”
“I don’t have any traps,” she hisses as if I’m crazy for even suggesting it.
“I’ll go to the store and buy you some in the morning.”
“Really?” She faces me, her hands clasped beneath her chin as she moves from side to side, eyes on mine. “You’re my hero, Noah.”
I almost scoff.
I’m no one’s hero.
True to my word, I head out early the next morning and buy traps to set up in the girls’ house. Andie opens the door, her locks piled high on her head, different to how she wore it last night. Her index finger to her heart-shaped lips, she indicates to what I now know to be Milky’s bedroom. Without a word, I go through the task of enabling the traps while she cuts the cheese to lure in the rodent. Once they’re all in place, she leads me out to the yard, sliding the door shut behind her. “How much do I owe you?” she asks, her voice cracking with sleep, probably the first time she’s used it all day.
“It’s on me,” I tell her, and she shakes her head.
“I don’t have any cash on me, but I’m heading out now so I can ge
t some. I have to pay you back, Noah. Promise me you’ll—” Her words bleed into a yawn, one so long and loud, I can’t fight the smile that pulls on my lips. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t sleep until Milky got home... I kept thinking Mickey or Minnie was going to attack me in my sleep.”
I nod, shove my hands in my pockets and stare at her toes. “So, I’m spending the day at the campus library, but if you need anything... or whatever... just call me, okay?”
I spend half the time at the library glancing at my phone, waiting and hoping Andie will call. She doesn’t. And when I get home at around seven, her car’s not parked where it normally is. For hours, I wait it out, unable to deny that I’m looking forward to seeing her again. But when my eyes no longer have the energy to stay open, I reluctantly give in to the fatigue numbing my entire body.
Knocking startles me awake, and without a second thought, I stumble to my feet and open the balcony door. “A trap... it went snap!” Andie rushes out, teeth clattering as heavy rain forms a background to her shivering body. “I heard it, then looked in the kitchen cabinets, and it was under the sink all...” Her eyes cross while her head tilts to the side, her loose tongue hanging from her open mouth, and I’ve never been so in awe of a girl in my life. After straightening her features, she says, “What now?”
I shrug. “We throw it in the trash.”
Gray eyes go wild. “We can’t just throw it in the trash.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“Bury it.”
“Okay. So I’ll come round tomorrow and bury it.”
“I’m not sleeping in a house with a dead mouse!”
“You want to bury it now?” I ask, glancing at the constant drops of rain falling from the sky.
“Yes,” she says simply.
She’s deluded.