If Only She'd Loved Him

Chapter 9

Friday 4:25 pm

Hands clenched on her steering wheel, Jean drove straight to Paul's apartment.  She couldn't report Megan as a missing person for forty-eight hours.  Even though she had been missing for forty of those forty-eight!  And to top it off, she had to report the whole thing to Campus security first.  Those morons weren't even allowed to carry real guns.  What kind of help would they be?! Jean swore as she parallel parked next to the curb, tapping the car's bumper behind her, but luckily not setting off its alarm.  Shutting off her engine, she ran her fingers through her hair and dug them deep into her neck.  The sun was already starting to fade out, typical Fall day.  Usually, Jean loved Fall.  It went with all her outfits, she liked to say, but today the red and brown leaves only reminded her that the trees were dying, that winter was coming.  Thoughts of snow and ice made her grab the sweater she kept in the back of her car.  Sliding it on, she climbed out of her car and went up to Paul's door, pounding on it hard.  No answer.  Again she hit at the door, then again, and again.  Where was he?  Where was anyone?  Short on sleep, worried, and feeling very much alone, Jean had had too much.  She sank down on the step and sobbed till the back of her eyes ached.  I don't know what to do, she cried to herself.  I'm sorry, Megan, I just don't what to do.  Head burrowed in her arms, she curled herself up in a tight little ball.  Only when she felt a pair of firm hands on her shoulders, did she look up again. 

"Megan?" she asked, lost in her memories.

"Nope, it's me," Matt, Paul's roommate said.  Taking a second look at Jean's blotchy face, he knelt down beside her. "Hey Jean," he asked, wondering what she was doing here.  It was Megan his roommate was dating, not Jean. "What's the matter with you? Are you okay?"

Jean stared up at him in gratitude.  His tone might be cool, but he was keeping his hands on her shoulders, and for her, at this moment, that was enough.  Filled with hope for a few seconds, she allowed herself the luxury of sinking into his hands.  Matt didn't let her linger.  Jean melted into his arms far too easily, and he'd heard stories.  He didn't want to be another lipstick notch, plus he wasn't all that interested.  Redheads just weren't his type, too unpredictable.  He preferred brunettes with shimmering eyes that sparked from across the room.  Ones that had hands of silk and steel as they slid down his body.  Brunettes like Kerolyn, his last girlfriend.  He pulled his shoulders back, letting his hands fall to the side.

Jean got the message.  Giving herself a little shake, she slid the rest of the way out of his arms.  "Matt, I'm fine." She straightened her back. "It's just been a really long day."

"I can see that but—" his gaze on her was firm.  Her eyes were almost as red as her hair; she'd been crying awhile. "It looks like it's a lot more than just a bad day that's got you down."  He stood up, pulling her with him.  "Do you want to come in and have a drink?"

Jean started to turn him down.  She didn't want to get Matt involved in this whole mess, but she needed someone to talk to, and he was Paul's roommate.  She changed her head shake from a no to a yes.  With half a smile, Matt reached into his pocket and took out his key. 

The place was a mess.  Empty cans formed a pyramid on the coffee table.  Textbooks and cheap magazines were scattered about.  Jean saw several stains she didn't even want to try to identify.  Smiling somewhat sheepishly, Matt shoved a pile of dirty clothes off one end of the sofa so Jean could sit down.  It was hot inside his apartment, so she took off her sweater, folding it neatly before she laid it next to her.   Matt disappeared into the kitchen.

"What would you like?" he called out to her.  "We've got water, coke..."

"Got anything harder?" Jean yelled back.