Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
I stay up all night thinking and rethinking his words. Thinking about his sad eyes and his arms that held me so desperately. I don’t know which is more galling, the mystery of his ominous words or the knowledge that I want to feel those arms around me all the time. I wanted to lie down beside him, to stroke back the tousled hair that fell over his forehead and get lost cataloging every tiny detail of his perfect face. But I couldn’t—I shouldn’t. Before leaving the room for good, I took a few minutes to scrutinize that powerful body, laid out helpless on the mattress, completely defenseless. I touched his forehead, let my hand slide over his cheek, on to his chin and, without realizing it, my thumb came to rest on his lips. I don’t know what was going on in my head, perhaps it was the knowledge that he would never know? That it would remain my little secret.
I moved closer and gave him a gentle, closemouthed kiss, enjoying the softness of those lips. It was only then that I realized how much I had missed them. As soon as I pulled away, I felt an instant sense of loss. And a frightening truth revealed itself: Thomas has somehow, in some way still unknown to me, managed to creep inside me, and no matter how hard I try to believe otherwise, I don’t want to drive him out.
***
By the time my alarm clock goes off, I have been awake for several hours already. I turn it off and stare at the ceiling and just keep touching my lips, which still taste of him. I take a deep breath and go start a shower.
The water has been running for a while already, but it’s still ice cold. I’m shaking like a newly hatched chick.
“Mom!” I shout, hoping she’s still at home.
No response. I get out of the shower, teeth chattering. I wrap myself in a towel before scurrying downstairs.
In the kitchen, I find a note on the refrigerator: The water heater’s broken. I’ve already called the repairman and he’s coming this afternoon. Be home by five o’clock.
“Damn it!” I curse, crumpling the note in my fist. I throw it in the garbage and go back upstairs to get dressed.
I open my closet and stand in front of it contemplatively. I am about to grab my usual clothes, which Tiffany would call dull, but suddenly I change my mind. I look at myself in the mirror and, for some strange reason, I want to feel more attractive today. I decide to wear a fitted coffee-colored skirt that ends just above my knees and perfectly cradles my backside. I forgo my usual shapeless sweater for a blouse that I leave a little open at the neck, and on my feet, I have my ever-present Converse.
I get into Thomas’s car and, since I am early, I decide to meet him at his dorm to return the keys. As I’m walking toward the building, two hands land on my shoulders and squeeze.
“Hey, Nessy. How’re things?” Matt falls into step beside me, and we walk together.
“Hi, Matt. They suck, how about you?”
“Great, as always.” He smiles smugly. “What happened to you?”
“The water heater is out at home. I couldn’t take a hot shower. Mom is at work, and I’m here with no car and no hot water,” I explain, getting angrier as I do.
“Ah, good ol’ Murphy’s Law,” he replies calmly, pulling a little packet of mints out of his jacket pocket.
I think for a second. “Whose law?”
“You know: ‘anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.’”
He throws a mint into the air and catches it in his mouth.
“Oh, yeah. Murphy’s Law.”
“Thomas really didn’t want to leave the bar last night. I couldn’t do anything about it. Did he cause any problems?” he asks, concerned.
“Don’t worry about it, he didn’t bother me,” I reassure him.
“I shouldn’t have taken him there when he was in that condition.”
I put a hand on his chest to stop him.
“Wait, was he already drunk when you guys got there?”
“He’d already had some shots of Jack, yeah.”
“Does he do that a lot?” I frown at him.
“What, drink?”
I nod, clutching my books more tightly to my chest.
“We’re guys, Nessy. You know how it is.”
“Yes, Matt, you are guys, but you also have brains in your heads, I hope. Having a few beers to celebrate is one thing, but getting wasted every time you get the chance doesn’t seem wise,” I admonish him in a tone that brooks no argument. He looks away from me with a hint of shame on his face, and I immediately feel bad for putting him on blast like that. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you, I just don’t like seeing him like that,” I explain quietly.
Matt rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, how about I make it up to you with a shower at my place?”
I raise an eyebrow, confused. “What?”
“I have class until the afternoon and practice after that. I’ll give you my keys and, after you finish class, you can go take a nice hot shower without anyone hassling you. You won’t even need your car, it’s a five-minute walk off campus,” he turns, pointing toward the fraternities.
“But you don’t have anything to make up to me.” I give him a smile.
“I feel a little responsible for last night.” He shrugs.
“Don’t worry. Thomas is an adult, he should be able to handle himself. As for your offer, um, I don’t know…”
“Come on, Nessy, I insist. You can’t go a whole day without bathing.” He teases me by pulling a disgusted face. He’s not entirely wrong, though. My shift at the Marsy starts at six thirty, and the repairman comes at five. I have no idea how long it will take him to fix the water heater, but there’s a good chance I won’t make it in time.
“Okay, but aren’t all your frat brothers there? I don’t want any nasty surprises.”
“Not a problem, I’ll let them know. You should still lock the door, though.” He walks backward away from me and throws me a ring of keys as he does it. “Purple’s the front door key. Green’s my room. Make yourself at home.”
I stick them in my bag and check the time. That little chat with Matt took me longer than I’d thought. I have class in about five minutes, and I really can’t miss it. I’m going to have to give Thomas his car keys in class. Or maybe now, since he’s just a few feet away, chilling in the entrance of the building. His back is turned, and he’s wearing sweatpants and a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head. Even from behind, I can see that he is agitated as he argues with Leila. They both look very nervous. I am too far away to hear what they’re saying, but when I see Thomas haul off and punch the wall to the right of him, I rush over to them.
“Hey.” I gently touch his arm, in an attempt to calm him down. He shies away from me like a mad dog. I stay by his side and look at him, his expression furious, so I turn my attention to Leila, whose eyes are glittering and red.
“I’ve already told you, I’m not coming,” he rages at his sister, ignoring my presence.
“This could be the last time. He would like to—” she presses.
“Have you already forgotten what he did to us?” He reaches out toward her in a furious gesture, but Leila doesn’t seem at all intimidated.
“Please, if you just—”
“I said no !” Thomas is about to unleash another punch at the wall, but this time I grab his arm with both hands and stop him. Only at this point does he seem to notice my presence.
“Thomas, calm down. We are on campus,” I remind him. He twists out of my grasp and leaves without giving me a backward glance. I watch him walk away as I try to put the pieces of this puzzle together, but I can’t figure it out. I turn toward Leila, who looks as astonished as I am.
“Vanessa…I’m so sorry,” she whispers, running her hands over her face in an exasperated gesture.
“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay? What happened?” I ask, a little uncomfortable.
“It’s impossible to reason with him!” She slams her palm against the wall in front of her. The Collins siblings have a serious problem with anger management.
“What were you trying to reason with him?”
She sighs, massaging one temple. “Our father is not doing well. Our uncle got in touch with us. He’s trying to reunite the family, a family that fell apart long time ago.” She leans her back against the wall and looks up at the ceiling.
“Is that why he’s so angry?”
She nods. “He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to hear anything about it…” She shakes her head, dejected.
“Why?”
She looks hesitantly at me, as though debating how much to tell me. “It’s complicated.” I hate that word. I hate it with all my heart. Typically people use it when they’ve done something wrong and don’t know how to come clean.
“Leila, I’m just worried about him. Yesterday we were together all afternoon and he was fine. Then in the evening he came to the bar where I work, got drunk, and started babbling nonsense… He said… He said he was grieving,” I whisper, looking around to make sure no one is listening. Leila seems to freeze.
“He told you that?”
I nod, my heart in my throat.
“Listen, this isn’t a good time for Thomas. Not really for anyone in our family, but for him in particular. He’ll get over it, but maybe it’s better if you stay away from him for a little while.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask defensively. I don’t like at all the idea of having to back away from him again. Especially if he is going through an emotional time.
“Because I know that you guys are friends, or whatever you are trying to be. And I know that my brother, when he’s at his worst, destroys every good thing around him.” I’m about to protest but her miserable look stops me.
“I don’t know about…”
“I’m saying this for your own good,” she cuts me off.
I lower my eyes mutely. “Okay…” I murmur in surrender.
Leila looks hastily at her wristwatch. “I have to go now, but I’d like to see you again. Under better circumstances, if possible.” She smiles sweetly at me.
“Of course, I’d like that.”
Thomas doesn’t show up for art history class. I spend most of my time staring at his empty chair and reflecting on the fact that this the first class I’ve had without him. Even when we weren’t talking to each other and he was sitting in the back, I still knew that he was just a few feet away from me and that knowledge was enough for me. I hope he’s not getting into trouble. He was pretty angry earlier, and Leila’s words were not at all reassuring.
When I leave the classroom, the only thought in my head is that I have to find him. I have to give him back his car keys but more importantly, I want to make sure that he is okay.
“Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?” Tiff asks, as she and Alex try to halt me at the exit.
“I need to see someone, sorry,” I answer hastily, not even stopping.
Arriving in front of his dorm room, I suddenly feel nervous. I take a deep breath and try to shake off the feeling. I knock but no one answers. I knock again. I press my ear to the door and hear noises inside, then his voice cursing.
I bang more energetically on the door. “Thomas, it’s me, Vanessa,” I call. After a few seconds, the door opens. I can tell by his drawn features that he’s in no mood for visitors. If I were smart, I’d probably get out of here quickly. He stands at the door, silent, his jaw clenched.
“Will you let me in?” I know it’s a gamble. Although clearly reluctant, he moves out of my way and closes the door behind me. The room is silent. The leaden sky outside the windows gives it a gloomy air. There are a few empty beer bottles scattered on the carpet, and I’m pretty sure that smell I’m getting is weed. I look around, staring at Larry’s door.
“Are you alone?”
He nods and walks further into the room, leaving me behind. “I’m gonna tell you this before you get going: don’t stress me out with a bunch of bullshit questions,” he blurts out, not even looking me in the face.
“I wasn’t going to,” I lie, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.
“So what were you going to do?” he asks with arrogant disregard.
I take his keys out of my bag and throw them at him. He catches them on the fly, puts them on the table, and sits down on the couch. “Anything else?” He slumps against the sofa back, shakes out a messy lock of hair and lights a cigarette. On closer inspection, it’s not just a cigarette.
“What is that? A joint?” I ask, irritated. I set my bag down on a chair.
“That’s what they call it.” He lifts it toward me. “Want a hit?”
I raise my eyebrows. “It’s ten thirty in the morning. Doesn’t that seem a bit early?”
I walk into the kitchen and lean against the counter, my arms crossed over my chest.
Thomas, holding the joint between his thumb and forefinger, takes a drag and then watches the cloud of smoke dissolve. “Never too early for weed.”
We look into each other’s eyes for a few interminable moments, during which I struggle to suppress the urge to ask him what is wrong. Finally, the intensity of his gaze forces me to avert my own.
Uncomfortable, I let my eyes wander over the rest of the room and I linger on the door to his room. Just a few hours ago I was sitting on his lap, he was touching me longingly…kissing my warm skin… Suddenly I feel short of breath. I turn around and fill a glass with water. I drink it all in one gulp.
He was drunk, Vanessa. Nothing he said or did was dictated by his rational mind, but instead by sheer desperation. I, on the contrary, was fully conscious of what I was doing, every fiber of my body was. And every fiber of my body wanted it like crazy.
“Isn’t that skirt a little short?” he asks impassively.
I almost choke.
I swallow hard. “Seems perfect to me,” I manage, trying to sound self-confident.
“On your ass, it sure is.” I keep my back to him so he won’t see my burning face. “Did you do it for him?”
“What?” I ask when I decide to finally look at him.
Thomas glances at my neckline, before focusing on the skirt. “You don’t usually dress like that.”
The little voice in my head keeps pointing out that I did want to get noticed by someone, yes. But that someone is not Logan. I’d be lying if I said I’ve thought about him for more than two minutes since he left. Which perhaps makes me a bad—very bad—person.
I shake my head. “How could I? He’s not even in Corvallis.”
Thomas remains silent and continues to smoke, watching me. “Where is he?”
“He went back home for a few days.” Despite his serious expression, I catch a fleeting flicker of satisfaction cross his face. I hasten to change the subject. “Why didn’t you come to class?”
He takes one last drag and stubs out the joint in an ashtray on the small coffee table in front of him. “Wasn’t in the mood.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He gets up and joins me. Correction: reaches into the refrigerator next to me.
“Did you miss me?” he asks with a cocky air that makes me roll my eyes.
He grabs a beer, brings it to his lips and downs it in a few drinks, never taking his eyes off mine. His eyes are the same as last night: reddened, sad, and empty.
“No, I was just worried.”
“About me?” He lifts one corner of his mouth in a mocking fashion. “Don’t be, I’m fine.”
“Fine?” I echo in amazement. He nods and gets another beer. Oh yes, this is definitely typical “fine” behavior. “Is this what you intend to do all day? Lock yourself up in here drinking and smoking?”
Thomas sets the bottle down on the table, annoyed, and advances on me. “That’s the idea.” He pronounces each word with an unbearable arrogance. I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin.
“Well, let me just say: your idea sucks.”
“No one asked you.” Another step toward me. Only inches separate us. The room, previously spacious, seems to have suddenly shrunk. I am forced to tilt my head back slightly to get a better look at him.
“But if you have a better idea…” He strokes my neck with his index finger, moving down to my cleavage. “I’m listening.” He stares greedily at my mouth. “Maybe you want to pick up where we left off last night, Ness…” The deep rasp of his voice lights up all my senses. “Or maybe, you’d rather go from where you left off…”
I look up at him, blinking like a scared doe. “Wh-what?”
He approaches my face and twists a lock of my hair around his finger. “Did you like it?” he whispers, warm and raspy.
I’m breathing heavily. “I-I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do…” He brushes my earlobe with his lips and then takes it gently between his teeth, making me gasp. I feel my cheeks flush and my body shiver at his touch while a warm feeling flares between my thighs.
“Thomas…” I croak in a vain attempt to stop him. But he pushes me back until my backside collides with the kitchen cabinet. He rests his hands on either side of me, caging me in. “You owe me a kiss, you little sneak,” he grunts, pressing his body against mine. I look up at him, overcome by his renegade charm and his intoxicating scent. His mouth is touching mine. And he’s so close I can smell the mingled scents of weed and beer. My stomach tightens, and I feel almost dizzy.
“No.” I push him away with a determination that surprises me and stuns him. Thomas frowns in annoyance. I put my palms on his chest, and for a moment it seems like I can feel his heart beating faster. “Don’t try to seduce me just to run away from your problems. Talk to me. Whatever is hurting you, don’t let it make you into…this.”
His eyes narrow into two slits and I realize that I’ve said the wrong thing. The atmosphere changes dramatically, suddenly icing over. Thomas heaves a sigh and takes a step back. “Fuck, Vanessa. You just can’t help yourself, can you? Always have to look for the deeper reason for everything, Jesus Christ!”
“No, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you!”
“Nothing.” He runs his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture.
“Nothing? You call this ‘nothing’?” I point indignantly to the empty beer bottles and the full ashtray.
“What’s wrong with it? Relax, you sound like my fucking mother!” He snaps back, his face hard.
“Just because I think it’s a bad idea to numb your pain with alcohol and drugs? You’re suffering, but you’re dealing with it in the wrong way.”
He lets out an unhappy laugh. “My pain. What, now that your little boyfriend is gone, you need to fill the void by playing Sigmund Freud with yours truly?” he says contemptuously. I know he’s just trying to embarrass me, but I won’t fall into his trap.
“I’m not playing anything, Thomas.” He brings the bottle to his mouth again and gives me a challenging look. Overwhelmed by a surge of anger, I snatch the bottle from his hand and throw it into the sink, spilling the contents.
He frowns and points a finger at me, threatening. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“Or what?” I challenge him.
He stares at me furiously for a few seconds, until his mouth curves into an evil grin.
“I pity you. Look at you, coming here convinced you were going to what? Lift poor Thomas’s spirits? Patch up my wounds? When are you going to get it into your little head that just because we hooked up, that doesn’t mean you matter to me?” His mouth spews poison, but his eyes are filled with sadness.
“You are suffering. You don’t really mean what you’re saying.” I want with all my heart to believe that’s true. Otherwise, yesterday would have been just another lie. Still, I can’t ignore the little voice in my head that insists on reminding me of the saddest truth: he doesn’t form attachments to anyone. My eyes begin to burn, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from falling.
“Do yourself a favor. Get out.” He waves a hand at the door. I know very well that I should have left long ago. In fact, I shouldn’t have come here at all. But in spite of everything, this is the only place I want to be. With him. Even if it means fighting. Even if it means suffering. Even if it means weathering his wrath, the worst of him.
“I’m not leaving,” I murmur.
“Should I throw you out?” he growls, leaning into me.
“You wouldn’t do that.”
He reaches me in one step and, for a moment, I fear he might actually attack me. I stiffen with fear and back up, crashing into the cabinet. When he is just inches away from me, his expression turns into one of pure bewilderment. He takes my face in his hands, a desperate, needy grasp, just gentle enough to let me know that he won’t hurt me. He presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. “Why are you being so difficult, huh? Why?”
“I want to help you,” I whisper, so close to his lips.
“Why do you want to do something stupid like that?” He grips my cheeks with more force.
“Because,” I murmur with shining eyes. “Because I’m your friend. And friends support each other.” I offer him this half-truth, convinced that I am reassuring him, but he pulls away from me instead, his eyes bloodshot. And I quickly realize that, for the second time in this conversation, my words have only made the situation worse.
“Get out,” he orders.
“What?” I widen my eyes in confusion. Our conversation is interrupted then by a couple of knocks on the door. A shrill voice calls Thomas’s name and makes my skin crawl. There’s only one person who can hit that unmistakable high note: Shana. I turn toward the door and then look back at Thomas, who stands motionless in front of me, never batting an eyelash.
“Thomas, open up. I want to be with you.” Shana stops knocking. “I know you’re in there. I heard voices.” She knocks again. “Come on, don’t make me wait. Please?”
“Well? Aren’t you going to let her in?” I ask indignantly.
Thomas shakes his head. “No, I don’t need another pain in my ass.” He pronounces each word clearly and cruelly, looking me straight in the eyes. “But apparently none of you understand that. You in particular.”
And it’s as if he had punched me in the stomach. “ Me in particular .”
Even I have my limits.
I push him hard, grab my bag from the chair, and beeline for the door.
Thomas lets me go and lights a cigarette. “And while you’re out there, tell her the same thing,” he continues maliciously before dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
I look at him, deeply saddened. “Fuck you.”
He leans his back against the table, crosses his legs, and stares at me. His eyes are alight with anger. “Maybe I’ll fuck Shana instead. That’s what she’s here for, after all,” he says with a sinister smirk.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. Tears spill over my eyelids, but I turn away before he notices. I close the door forcefully behind me, putting all my pain into the movement.
Once outside, I come face-to-face with Oregon State’s biggest bitch, who is looking at me with an expression that is both surprised and mocking.
“Uh-oh, look who’s sneaking out of Thomas’s room.” She strokes the long smooth hair that falls over her shoulder. “I’ve always said that the ones who pretend to be angels are the worst of all. You’re just a little whore.” I feel an anger boiling up inside me, so intense that I could rip that annoyingly perfect hair right out of her head. I advance on her and stare brazenly into her eyes.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” She blinks in astonishment. “But at least I didn’t have to beg him to open the door for me,” I point out contemptuously. She remains motionless as she stares at me, taken aback. She tries and fails to hide the humiliation that shines in her eyes.
I give her a murderous look and walk away.
With shaking legs and a churning stomach, I get into the elevator, and I don’t look back. I should have listened to Leila. Whatever is troubling him, it is rotting him from the inside out. And there’s nothing I can do to save him.