Blaze

Sixteen; James

"You okay?" Charlie asks, throwing the tennis ball across the room so it bounces off the floor, off the wall and back into his hand.

"Yeah, why?" I grumble, my eyes on the game. He tosses the ball again.

"You're just...moody." I smirk because he always thinks I'm moody.

"Shocker." 

"More moody than usual," he clarifies. I take a sip of my beer and grab the remote, turning the volume up.

"Nah, just into this game."

"You sure?" 

I sit there quietly stewing and reflecting. I have been moody lately.

"I found her," I finally say, "Or she found me, rather. Mystery woman."

He stops throwing the ball, thank God, and stares at me, his eyes and grin both widening.

"What do you mean she found you?" 

"Not that she found me, per se, but we ran into each other. Yesterday. At Scholars' Day."

"What, like she's a parent? Getting some M.I.L.F. action?" 

"No."

"Oh," he responds nonchalantly with a shrug.

"Oh...." he follows up, a second later, his eyes widening in understanding. "Oh shit, she's a student."

Then that asshole breaks into roaring laughter.

"I'm going to assume this young lady is a student somewhere other than Adair," he mocks me, throwing my words back in my face.

"Helpful," I deadpan.

"I assume, as a long time employee of the University, you are aware that sleeping with students is strictly prohibited," he continues, mocking my voice and mannerisms. This is a speech I've given him on more than one occasion. He is enjoying this too much.

"You done yet?" I know I deserve it, but I'm getting annoyed. He continues to howl in laughter, clearly amused by my predicament.

"Sorry, man, but do you have any idea how many times you've been on my ass about messing with students?" He's still laughing, but it's not funny. "Seriously, its just, let me enjoy this for a minute." He's still grinning, the little prick.

"Yes, by all means, mock my bad luck."

He chuckles again. "It's not that bad. Unless...wait, Scholar's Day? How old is she?" he asks, scowling slightly and narrowing his eyes.

"What? No," I respond, "She's not a high schooler. She's a transfer sophomore."

"How old?" he asks again.

"Nineteen." He lets out a low whistle.

"My general rule is upper classmen only. She's young," Thank you, Captain Obvious. "Those are the risky ones. Clingers, too."

"Which is beyond the point because she's a student." 

"Not yet. What if she decides not to transfer?" Its the first time I've considered it. I don't know what would be worse, seeing her on a regular basis knowing I can't touch her, or not ever seeing her again.  It doesn't matter, really, because she'll transfer.

"She's getting one of the transfer scholarships. A full ride. She'll take it, I'm sure." She doesn't know it yet, but the decision was unanimous, even without my vote.

"Then she's not a student yet? You could have a fun summer," he suggests. It's not a bad idea for someone like Charlie, someone normal, but its a bad idea for me. The more I get from her, the more impossible it would be to let her go. "Finally get over Carrie by getting under mystery girl? Or above her. Or behind, that's my favorite," he says with a grin and a wink.

"You're a pig." I respond, laughing and shaking my head.

"I'm just saying," he says, shrugging his shoulders, "You don't have to marry the girl. The thing with students is, they never want commitment. If they wanted a boyfriend they'd date some frat boy. The secret affair is just as fun for them. So have some fun for a few months and fuck her out of your system."

I flinch a little at his crude description, although I consider his strategy. It felt good to feel that attraction and desire. To feel something other than pain and numbness. A whole summer of that is tempting. But to what end? I'd just be starting something I couldn't finish with a woman who's already emotionally vulnerable. She deserves more than that, more than me.

"You do realize that women are human beings, right?" I ask. I'm wearing a half smile, but am completely serious. Charlie and I have a lot in common, but his view of women as disposable objects is probably our biggest difference.

"Please," he scoffs. "Of course they're humans. With brains and autonomy and free will. They know what they're doing. They know what this is. I'm not out there promising futures and tricking women into bed."

"And that works for you?"

"It works for everyone involved. Nobody is interested in relationships or commitment or love." He replies, cringing in disgust at the mention of the "L" word.

"Who hurt you?" I ask with a laugh. I intend it to be a joke, but the sudden shift in his eyes and tension in his shoulders suggests I've hit a nerve.

"As if I'd let a girl get close enough to hurt me," he recovers smoothly. He takes a slow sip of his beer, eyeing me so long the silence becomes awkward. "What did Carrie do to you? I mean, it's been two years, can I ask that now?"

I take in a deep breath, then release it, leaning forward and putting my head in my hands. "She fell out of love with me."

"That simple?"

I nod. "Pretty much."

I'm grateful he drops the subject, but the harm is already done.  I'm plagued with painful memories the rest of the afternoon. That night I dream of the beginning of my end.