College Ruled

thirty-five

35
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LIKE ME, Theo's truck does not like driving in the snow. The engine whirrs in anger anytime I try to go above twenty-five. The fifteen mile distance turns into a thirty-five minute drive, and by the time I pull up to the two-story apartment complex, my ass is numb.

Shaking in my seat, I call Christina. Once, twice, three times with no answer. Unease crawls over my spine as I sit there, staring at the apartment building I've never been to with the ex-boyfriend inside that I've never met.

      "For fuck's sake, Chris," I mutter. If I'd had my car, I could have grabbed the pepper spray I kept under my seat. I would have had something. Now, besides the loose trash at the foot of the passenger seat and the bundle of blankets shoved in the backseat, Theo's truck offers me no support.

      "It's fine," I hiss to myself, zipping my coat to my chin and climbing out of the car. "Dad would be kicking my ass if he saw me right now, but it's fine. Brian isn't a bad dude, he's—shit—" My foot slides on the wet, snowy apartment steps. "Jesus." I take a breath, feeling my pulse pound just above my collarbone. "Brian isn't a bad dude," I repeat. Because it's better than what I'm really thinking.

      I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna be here.

      Just before reaching Brian's door, I stop at the neighbor's doorstep and grab the decorative stone sitting by their welcome mat. To borrow. It's heavy and sharp and just small enough to fit into my pocket.

     Then, I knock.

     Brian is a stocky man, built like a wrestler. He answers the door on the sixth knock, takes one look at me, and nods over his shoulder.

"She's in the bathroom."

"Uh, right—Thanks," I say, shouldering my way in. A few steps in, with the hallway looming in front of me, I stop. "Uh, whe—"

"Second door on the left."

"Great."

I make my way to the bathroom. My palms are slick at my sides, my heart hiccuping in my chest, my skin crawling as the front door clicks shut.

The bathroom door swings open before I even knock. Before I can even get a word out, Chris grabs my arm and tugs me inside.

"Thank fucking god. What took you so long?"

"It's snowing and I—" I shake my head. "What's going on? Are you okay? Why are you hiding?" I narrow my eyes at her, at the tangled strands tugged free from her ponytail, at the stained makeup smudged on her cheeks. My hand twitches on the stone in my pocket, anger warming my veins. "Did Brian do—"

"Yeah. I mean, no. God no, I'm fine." She grabs the wet washcloth off the sink and starts scrubbing at a wet stain on her shirt. "Bitch spilt her beer on me."

"What?"

"Were his friends out there?"

"No," I say slowly. "It was just one guy. I assumed it was Brian." Shit. Was that not even Brian?

"Yeah. Yeah, it probably was. I think he sent them out to the deck. To cool down."

"To cool down?" My fingers twitch again. I should not have come here alone. "Chris, what's going on? Why are we hiding in the bathroom?"

"Nothing! Nothing, really. God," she groans, tossing the rag into the sink, "this whole thing was so stupid. I shouldn't have come. I mean, it was fine before they got here—when it was just us, y'know—but then his friends showed up and they were not happy I was here," she says. "Which was fine. I can handle people not liking me. But then Cleo called me a whore and I... punched her."