48. Bash
Bash
I hate a frat basement. Too many guys shouting over music that isn’t even good enough to be playing this loud, and too many drunk girls trying to hit on you, forcing you to play polite when you just want to roll your eyes and tell them to leave you alone.
Somehow, I still ended up here. Mostly because Erik bribed me with some free pizza, wanting to hang out with the boys, and because Mason asked us to come hang out.
Sometimes it’s just easier to give in and try to enjoy it rather than explaining why I hate being around these kinds of people now since I’m clean.
At least we’re now out in the yard instead of stuck inside the house that smells like straight booze and easy ways to mess up your life.
I’m posted on the arm of an old couch, nursing a Red Bull. Erik is mid-story, being dramatic and gesturing with his hands like he does when he’s upset or passionate about something.
“She walks right past me every time we cross paths, like I’m invisible.
Not even a pity nod or wave. Not like we shared our entire childhood together or anything,” Erik says, running a hand through his hair.
“I’m starting to think this is my punishment for screwing up the only good thing I ever had. ”
I snatch the football from Mason and toss it at Erik. “Probably is.”
Erik catches it and laughs, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it, a little bit of real hurt. “Yeah. Probably.”
Mason reaches for his ball back, laughing. “Bro, you just gotta charm the girl and win her back.”
“Like you charm those referees into not flagging you?” Erik shoots back. “Truly, you do have a gift.”
The music shifts, and guys keep spilling out the back door in packs, talking too loud, and slapping hands with each other like it’s some frat ritual. I tip my can back, just trying to enjoy my friends and not be annoyed by how annoying everyone else around is.
A girl sits too close beside me, constantly touching on my leg before finally getting up and sitting next to another guy after getting the cold shoulder from me for long enough.
Erik playfully narrows his eyes on me, and I know he’s about to say something dumb.
“Alright, Mr. Chastity Belt, real question. When are you gonna actually start dating around here? You know, like…on purpose. So many girls shoot their shot and throw themselves at you, and you’re like”—he mimics a slow-motion volleyball set—“return to sender.”
I shrug. “I don’t know, not really a priority right now, I guess.”
“Translation, ‘I’m too cool, unbothered, and mysterious,’” he says in a fake-deep voice.
Mason grins. “He’s not mysterious. He’s just too picky.”
Erik points at me. “True. The only time I’ve seen his head turn is—what’s her name? Lydia?”
The name makes me want to react, but I keep my face neutral. “It’s not like that. I barely know her—”
Mason’s eyebrows jump up. “Lydia, as in Simone’s friend?”
“I think so,” Erik says. “Black hair, eyes that make you forget your name? The one who—”
“—the one who’s not your business,” I cut in. I don’t need her being talked about or dissected here with these guys.
Mason is still nodding. “Simone’s cool, people. Lydia’s always with her. She’s a sweet girl, keeps to herself a lot, though.”
A guy I don’t know well—tall, half-buttoned shirt, the kind of grin that looks sleazy—sidles in close enough, trying to insert himself into our conversation. “Why are you always bringing up that girl, Mase? She’s got a boyfriend. Let it go, my guy. You look love-sick when she’s around.”
Mason’s jaw ticks, but he keeps it even. “We’re just friends, Brett.”
“Uh-huh.” Brett takes a swig from his cup and then swivels toward me like he’s found fresh prey. “You said Lydia? Word to the wise, brother, don’t waste your time.”
Something goes cold in my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s…you know.” He lifts his eyebrows like that’s a complete sentence, and then still decides to fill it in anyway. “Everybody knows her. Especially around here. You show up at the right house, and she’s probably already there. Fun night if you don’t get attached.” He turns his head. “Yo, Chase—”
Chase, who’s been standing behind him looking like he wants to be anywhere else, cuts his eyes away. “Don’t, man.”
Brett laughs. “Come on. Didn’t you tell me how good of a lay she was? That it was the best sex you’ve had? That you would have married that girl just for the pussy—”
“Drop it,” Chase repeats, sharper this time.
I put my can down slowly. “Don’t talk about her like that,” I say calmly but not soft, not wanting him to get the idea that I’ll just let him talk about her like that.
Brett raises both hands, like he’s all innocent. “Just tryna help a brother out.”
“Help by keeping her name out of your mouth,” I tell him.
He snorts. “Relax, Pope Sebastian. I’m saying she’d probably let you hit, that’s all. Buy her a drink, find a room—”
I’m standing before I even realize it. Erik’s hand lands on my shoulder, trying to calm me down, but my body’s already in defense mode.
“Shut up,” I say, annoyed with this prick. “You’re disgusting. You probably don’t even get laid yourself because you’re more worried about every other guy’s sex life around here.”
Brett’s smile is gross, like he enjoys pushing people’s buttons, and he wants to find more. “You think you’re her type? That girl doesn’t want some church-boy savior. She wants a guy who’ll be rough with her, who will treat her like the whore she is. Isn’t that right, Chase? Didn’t you say—”
The switch flips.
I don’t think. There’s no speech about respect, no counting to ten, no intellectualizing why this kind of talk keeps girls unsafe. There’s just motion. My fist finds his face with a hard, flat sound, knuckles singing, the world snapping into a sharp, bright line.
Brett staggers back, hand to his lip, eyes huge with the shock of what consequence feels like. Everything stops as he stands there, staring at me…and then he lunges.
Two guys I barely know grab him before he can do anything, and Erik’s already in front of me, palms on my chest, pushing me back.
Mason steps between us, turning his attention to Brett with a lethal tone. “Don’t try anything,” he tells him. “Just let it go.”
“Your boy just swung on me,” Brett yells with blood running down his mouth.
“And you earned it,” Mason says so calmly that you can hear the threat behind it loud and clear. “Just walk away.”
“Mind your fucking business,” Brett spits at him, making Mason now look like he’s about to hit him, too.
Chase quickly intervenes, putting one hand on Brett’s chest. “Come on, man. Stop.”
Brett shrugs them off, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Whatever,” he mutters, wiping his mouth, and then backs away toward the door.
He mutters something under his breath as he turns, saying something about me being soft and how I don’t know how things work around here. I’m not really listening to him anymore; I don’t even care. My hand is throbbing where my knuckles cracked into bone.
I don’t even realize how heavy I’m still breathing until Erik tightens his grip on me, pulling me from the thoughts and the anger.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in close to the side of my face. “He’s not worth it.”
Mason comes over, scanning me, knowing how far my temper can go if pushed right.
“Let’s bounce,” he says.
We head away from the crowd of onlooking people and leave the house, knowing that if we stay, Brett is the kind of guy who won’t let his ego lose a fight.
“Want ice for that?” Erik asks, nodding at my hand.
I flex it and wince a little, then shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
Mason watches me. “You sure you’re good?”
I take a deep breath in and nod. “Yeah. I just…” I scrub a hand over my jaw, not wanting to lie. “I just can’t listen to guys like that.”
Mason nods like he understands, like he would have done the same thing. “Yeah.”
Erik turns around, walking backwards in front of us. “Dude’s a clown. I kinda enjoyed seeing you rock him like that.”
“I mean, it’s not even about who she did or didn’t—” I stop myself, shaking my head. “She’s a person. Not a story you tell to feel big.”
Mason glances back at the house before it’s fully out of sight. “Simone is going to love hearing about this. She would have decked him herself if she were there.”
That kind of makes me smile. “Yeah?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he says, and I can hear the pride in his voice over that girl before he tries to play it off.
Erik bumps my shoulder. “Want food? Or we can just go somewhere else and pretend tonight never happened?”
“Late-night tacos sound good right now,” I tell him, needing to cool off.
We head toward the street, and the night air has cooled, calming me down a little and helping my nervous system chill out a bit.
Halfway to my car, I catch my reflection in a dark window with the street light shining down.
There’s a glimpse of what I must have looked like to Brett—a guy who doesn’t drink, doesn’t laugh at the disrespectful jokes, talks about God, stands up for a girl he thinks less of, and swings when the right buttons are pushed.
Screw it, I can live with that.
We get tacos and end up sitting on the hood of my car.
Mason keeps trying to hide who he’s texting and pretends not to smile at his phone when he sees me catch him, and Erik is keeping the mood as light as possible with whatever he can find to talk about and make me laugh.
The night starts to feel normal again after that.
“Hey, can we swing by this party on the way back? My frat brother Tank texted me that he was wasted and needs a ride back to the Sig house.”
“Sure,” I tell him.
When we pull up to the house off campus, I immediately spot her sitting out on the front steps.
“Speak of the angel herself,” I whisper, not meaning for anyone else in the car to hear me.
Mason nudges me from the passenger seat. “Yeah, I see mine too.”
I shake my head and laugh a little. “You being obsessed with a girl who’s taken is so you, Mase.”
He tries to act offended. “I am not obsessed. Okay, yeah, I kinda am. But hey, people only know what they know…you know?”
I look over at him, confused and smiling. “No, I don’t think I do know. What does that even mean?”
Erik pipes up from the back. “It probably means that she’s miserable or her boyfriend treats her badly, but she won’t leave him…so Mase doesn’t feel bad about wanting her cause he could treat her better.”
Mason nods his head at Erik. “He gets it.” Then they fist-bump like children.
I hear raised voices, and we all turn to look at the house.
Lydia is now standing, yelling at both girls.
I can’t make out what she’s saying from this far, but I can clearly see the hurt in each girl’s face.
Just then, Tank bursts out of the house and leaps down the front steps, drunk, sprinting to the car.
All the girls’ heads snap in our direction, and her eyes immediately find mine, like they would be able to find me in any room.
I hold her stare for a moment until Mason nudges me again, telling me we’re ready to go.
I reluctantly turn to answer him, and then I steal one more glance at her, wishing I could help in some way, before reluctantly turning back and driving off.
When I finally get back to our dorm building, the hallway’s quiet hum is the only sound left. Everyone has thankfully settled down for the night. I rinse the sting out of my knuckles and hold them under the bathroom light. The skin is split, but not terrible. It’ll ache a little tomorrow for sure.
Back in our dorm, stretched out on my bed, I stare up at the faint glow of the smoke detector and let my breath drop into my stomach.
I think about all the lines, and who draws them, and how easy it is to move them when nobody pushes back.
I think about a girl who I only know because trouble keeps showing me her, and about the strange pull in my chest every time I see her in passing, like my soul recognizes something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
I know I want to know more about her. I want to know her. I just don’t know how that’ll ever happen when our paths only cross during chaos.