My mirror makes me look a little taller. It also makes me look like I’m about to cry, and I really don’t need that again. I put a smile on instead and rummage through my closet. I pick a black skirt and long black socks. My fingers glance over the pink blouse, and I pull back like it’s lava.
The memories are the worst part.
Jack’s smile, his voice saying I was beautiful, the way he wrapped his arms around me in his bed, his breath on my neck. His smell, mint and honey. His rare, sonorous laughter. Our conversations, our fights, our kisses, the way his hand grabbed mine under the fountain water for the last time –
I swallow nausea and bury the blouse under a hoodie. I pull on a slinky red shirt instead, and brush out my hair.
He came so close.
But in the end, he ran away. Like they all do.
I pucker my lips, applying pink gloss. It’s my fault, really. I was stupid for thinking Jack was different from any other guy in the world. They want things that are easy. They want girls who are cute and fun and experienced. None of this angry, bitter, sarcastic, virginal nonsense. Who I used to be was just too much work for Jack – for anyone! I don’t blame him at all for turning tail. I certainly wouldn’t want to be faced with the daunting task of loving someone that difficult.
So I changed.
Correction: I’m changing. Change doesn’t happen overnight, except when it does, and I’m trying my hardest to make sure it looks like it does. I can’t stand the thought of being that bitter, stupid girl one more second. I want to be easy. I want to be happy and have fun.
“God,” I laugh through applying another coat of lip gloss. “She was so stupid.”
I check my eyeliner one last time, ignore the fact my foundation doesn’t cover my dark eye bags entirely, and make sure no tags are sticking out anywhere, especially not on my new radical tiger-print panties. I grab my phone, and stuff a twenty down my bra in case I need to take a cab home.
My phone vibrates, and before I take it out I pray it’s a text message from a certain icy someone.
But it’s Mom. Calling. I brace myself.
“Hey.What’s up?”
“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”
“I’m…” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m a bruised skeleton with a bit of meat on her. “I’m fine. How are you doing? How’s work?”
“It’s just fine! I mean, it’s been slow, but I’ve been going every day. Dr. Torrand gave me these wonderful pills, and they’re doing just the trick. I’m sleeping like a baby again.”
Relief lets some knot twisted up deep inside me loose.
“That’s…that’s really great. I’m so glad.”
“What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t sound too good yourself.”
“I’m just glad, that’s all. For a while there I thought –” I thought you hated me. “ – I thought you would get worse. But it’s good. Sleeping is good. Sleeping is the best thing, really.”
“It is. I’m about to do that right now, actually.”
“Did you eat dinner?” I ask.
“Lasagna,” She chuckles. “Although, it was nowhere as good as Jack’s. I do miss that boy. Whatever happened between you two?”
I gnaw the inside of my mouth, a little hurt to distract from the big hurt threatening to swallow me whole.
“He’s dating someone else,” I force out.
“Oh, that’s too bad. He was quite the catch, but there are always better fish in the sea, sweetie, and you only deserve the best. Sweet dreams you. Don’t stay up too late studying.”
“I won’t. I love you,” I say.
“Love you too.”
I ditch my car to walk instead – the night is too cool and pretty to be stuck in a tin box. Mom is actually wrong – I don’t deserve the best fish. I deserve whichever one will put up with my bullshit the longest. Fish that actually understand and accept and care for me won’t look twice at someone so fucked up. Jack taught me that. He’s still going out with Hemorrhoid. Not that it’s any of my business. They look like a couple from a Gucci advertisement, and she clings on him too much for me to stare at them for very long.
I hope she’s happy.
I hope he’s happy with her, at least a little.
The Phi Omega house is a few blocks from campus. It’s a big blue multi-level house, old as dirt and probably full of history. And corpses. Hopefully both. I park, the music already booming across the toilet-paper strewn lawn. I knock, and a huge, dark-haired jock with green eyes smiles down at me.
“Isis! There’s my girl!”
“Kieran!” I squeal, and punch him in the gut in our customary greeting. He doubles over in mock-pain, and when he lifts his head I peck him on the cheek. “Where’s the booze?”
“Down the hall and to the left. Dancefloor’s boring without you. Get some girls grinding.”
I wink at him. “Will do.”
Girls and guys are already sloppy making-out on the couch, and the beer pong game is well into its seventh round. That’s how I know I’m really late.
“Isis!” Heather, a black-haired girl with the biggest lips ever, throws her arms around me the second I walk in the kitchen. She smells like tequila and reminds me of Kayla. “It’s about fuckin’ time! I was gonna text you to get your butt over here but…but I forgot my lock code thiny!”
“It’s 5429, girl,” I remind her. “Where’s Tyler?”
Heather sniffs. “Tyler and I aren’t talking. He’s a douchebag.”
“But you are sleeping with him tonight,” I say.
“Duh,” She rolls her eyes. “You were right. He’s hells my type.”
After one particularly gross make-out session with Tyler at another frat house in which Tyler tried to suck my lips off my face, I knew exactly who to set him up with – the girl on campus with the legendary lips. They’d been going out ever since with the fervor and rough visual resemblance of two crocodiles eating each other’s faces. I like playing matchmaker almost as much as punching jerks in the face. Almost. It warms my heart to see two people happy – even if that happiness is based on torrid and repeated sexual encounters versus, you know, an actual relationship. But who am I to judge? I’ve never had an actual relationship. Or an actual sexual encounter. For all my making out with random guys, I haven’t let them get under my clothes. I’m desperate to forget, not an idiot. I want to get better at being fun, and experienced, not better at contracting STDs. And it’s worked, so far. Every kiss has helped me become more confident. Every sloppy, throwaway, mindless kiss has helped me forget the important kisses that’ve seared tattoos on my lips.
Sometimes I wonder if they can taste him.
A song comes on with booming bass and Heather squeals and grabs my hand, dragging me to the wood dining room that’s been converted into a dance floor. I get lost in the music, laughing when Heather tries to pop-and-lock in six-inch drunk heels. She leans over and kisses a guy who isn’t Tyler, and it’s then I realize I’m not special. A lot of the people here - heck, maybe most of them - are kissing a guy, or a girl, to forget the kiss of someone else. We’d all rather be kissing that one special person, but for some reason, we can’t or won’t. So we’re here.
I’m not special. It just took me a while to come down to everyone else’s level, is all. It just took me a while to get desperate enough to forget. That’s all.
I wade out of the dance floor and pour myself a coke and rum, downing it as fast as I can. It burns. But, hell, everything burns nowadays. A headache blindsides me, so I go outside and sit on the steps where the cool air can calm my throbbing head.
“You really did a good job,” A voice says. Nameless, in a sweatshirt and jeans, sits beside me with a grin. “Losing weight, I mean. That was a lot of meat to lose. I’m impressed.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I snarl.
“Oh, we both know you did, Isis,” He chuckles. “It was hilarious – watching you fade away. Picking at your food in the cafeteria. We used to take bets on it – if you
’d eat the one single celery stick you picked out or not. You didn’t, most of the time. I lost a lot of money betting on you, piggy.”
I gnaw my lip to force myself not to run away out of habit. I’m not as weak as I used to be, and I’ll show him that. He can’t taint me with anymore darkness. There’s no light to snuff out in me anymore. I’m all shadow, now. He’s just hosing down a campfire that’s underwater.
“Remember when you fainted?” His chuckles get loud. “Oh, shit, that was good. It was in the middle of dodgeball, and you just –”
He goes stiff as a board and falls to the side, coming up laughing.
“Christ. That was funny. True humor. Are you sure you should be here in school and not like, doing stand-up? I’m sure they’d just start laughing at your face. Wouldn’t even have to say anything. Eassssy money.” He narrows his eyes at me, and shakes his head. “And who put that makeup on for you, your grandma?”
“What do you want?” I ask, steely.
Nameless shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. “Just wanted to say hello. I know Tyler, and I wanted some whiskey, so I came down. The girls here aren’t half bad. You’re a different story. You stick out like a stubbed toe.”
He’s lying. He used to be better at it, or maybe I’ve just gotten better at reading liars?
“What do you really want, asshole?”
He looks surprised, and starts clapping. “Oh, wow. Asshole. You haven’t had the guts to say my name for three years, let alone insult me. I’m impressed. My compliments to your shrink.”
“I never went to one. I didn’t need one.”
“I know. You just tried to kill yourself, instead.”
I look sharply at his knee, and he laughs, slapping it.
“Yeah, I know what that diet was really all about. You can’t fool me, piggy. Anybody with half a brain could see you wanted to die. And the best part? No one stopped you. Not even your shitty aunt.” He leans in and whispers. “They all wanted you to die. So why didn’t you?”
A volcanic vent oozes from my heart, spilling hot lava on my lungs, my stomach, my liver, and charring them instantly. Nameless smiles wider.
“It’s weird – I’ve been hearing rumors. About you. Not that you’re ugly, like usual, but something more…strange. Isis Blake is turning into quite the party girl. She makes out with anybody if she gets drunk enough.”
I try to breathe, to keep breathing and not let the memories overwhelm me. Nameless pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, and my heartrate skyrockets and all I hear is a high-pitched white noise. My hands start shaking, the scar on my wrist aching with a phantom burn. Nameless smirks, blowing the smoke in my face.
“What’s the matter? Did that stuck-up pretty boy refuse to fuck you? Is that why you’re throwing yourself at anybody with a pair of lips?”
I’m frozen, rooted to the steps as echoes of pain sear my skin all over again. The smell of cigarette smoke, the way it curls around my face and lingers in my hair – I want all of it to go away. To stop existing. I don’t want to be here. I want to stop existing, right now. I want to black out. If I hold my breath long enough, I’ll black out and everything will stop.
Nameless chuckles, my silence all the affirmation he needs.
“See, Isis, I knew he wouldn’t. He’s a smart, talented, handsome guy. Someone like that would never want someone like you. It’s just the rule of nature – beautiful people don’t date ugly people. They just don’t. You tried to step above your status, and he put you back in your place. What a great guy. My opinion of him has done a total one eighty.”
He leans in, and the bile in my throat moves to my mouth.
“Or maybe…maybe it’s more than that. Maybe you told him what happened between us. And maybe he just doesn’t want to fuck a ruined girl. Because that’s what you are. You’re ruined. Trash. Dirt. No one else is going to want you. Not after –”
“Isis? What’s going on out here?”
The horrid black spell cracks, and I can move again, think again. I turn, Kieran’s huge frame blacking out the door. Nameless smiles at him, turning on the charm full-blast.
“Oh nothin’. Just a little talk between old friends. Do you know where Tyler is?”
Kieran glares at him, then jerks his thumb. “Upstairs.”
Nameless pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
When he’s gone, Kieran sits on the steps with me.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah,” I clear my throat, the pain fading. “Old friend.”
“You don’t look very friendly with him.”
“It’s…nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Kieran lets out a breath. “Well, look. Me and Ulfric and a few of the girls are going into town. There’s a club that’s got a rave night. You wanna come?”
Kieran might be big and on the wrestling team and flunking all his English classes, but he’s got cute dark eyes, like a puppy, and he’s weirdly sensitive. He knows exactly what to say and do to help a person feel better, and he’s got a sixth sense slash invisible insect antennae for how people feel in general. He’s like Wren, in that way. He can tell I don’t want to be here anymore now that Nameless is around. I nod.
“Yeah. Sure. Who’s driving?”
“Me,” Kieran smirks. “I’m the DD, but you may call me Sir Chauffer. You get shotgun.”
“I wish I had a shotgun,” I grumble as I follow him to his PT Cruiser. Two girls in form-fitting dresses and a massive blonde guy who looks slightly like a bloodthirsty Viking are waiting by it.
“Oh yeah?” Kieran laughs. “What would you do with one?”
“Go on picnic. Start an indie band. Kill people.”
“We’re killing people?” The girl in the red dress claps her hands. “Let’s start with Professor Summers. We’d be doing the world a favor.”
“He’s not even that bad,” Kieran rolls his eyes and starts the car, backing out.
“He looked up Tessa’s skirt with a mirrored pen yesterday, I totally saw it.” Red-dress girl nudges green-dress girl, who must be Tessa, because she meekly withdraws into the seat. Red-dress flashes a smile at me. “Hi, I’m Livy.”
“Isis,” I say, and look at Tessa. “Did you report him?”
Tessa shakes her head, not meeting my eyes. Livy scoffs.
“You know campus won’t do shit about it. They take reports and then file them away in a huge cabinet that no one ever touches. I’ve seen it. You might as well go scream at a brick wall.”
Tessa finally looks up, voice meek. “Even if I do, they never believe girls. They’ll ask me what I was wearing. It won’t be his fault. It’ll be mine.”
I ball my fists. Kieran sighs in a weary, resigned way.
“Das not fair,” Ulfric, with his distinctly Swedish(?) accent, frowns. “In Denmark, my old university fire all creep.”
He punctuates the word ‘fire’ with a savage karate chop to the air.
“Yeah, well, welcome to America,” Livy shrugs. “Land of the free to harass girls and home of the brave on the outside, cowardly on the inside.”
“Professor Summers, huh,” I whisper. Kieran flashes me a warning look.
“Don’t you dare.”
“What?” I play innocent.
“I know it was you who put the spaghetti in Sarah’s purse last week,” he adds.
“You did that?” Livy leans forward and laughs. “Holy shit, Tess, she’s the one who messed up Sarah’s purse!”
I gasp. “How dare you accuse me! Slander, slander I say!”
“You smelled like sauce for four days after that,” Kieran offers irrefutable evidence. I smile.
“When you put it that way, you make me sound so bold. Possibly even…saucy.”
There’s an awkward silence in the car. Ulfric groans.
“You like pranking people who you think deserve it,” Kieran says. “And you’re thinking of pranking Summers.”
“What kind of outlaw do you peg me for, sir? Look at me! Th
ere’s no way I could ever think up something brilliant like rolling dung bombs under office doors or coating toupees with Crisco or putting spiders in desk drawers.”
There’s another silence.
“Or eyedrops. Replaced with pepper spray.”
Livy makes a thoughtful, approving noise. Kieran sighs and pulls into the parking lot of a flashy club with a neon sign that reads The Back Door, and we all pile out. Livy grabs Tessa’s arm and skips ahead. Ulfric looks at me like I’m a hungry tiger.
“You are very scary woman,” he says.
“Coming from you, Leif Candecapitateyouwithmyforearmson, that means a lot,” I pat his arm.
He looks appropriately offended. “I have never decapitate any people!”
“You should try it. It’s very relaxing.”
“When you’re done planning rampant murder,” Kieran drawls. “Let’s get some drinks.”
“How could we forget our Viking priorities?” I slap Ulfric on the back. “Booze first, blood second, boobs third.”
“Boobs first, booze second, blood never,” Ulfric corrects.
“Ahhh, don’t be such a stickler, Ulfie. The gods demand revelry! Onward to Valhalla!”
Like all people who’ve had the extreme luck to meet me in this lifetime he looks bewildered, but he follows me anyway into the booming club. We flash the bouncer our IDs, and he looks at Tessa’s a little longer than he needs to, and then he squints at one of my (many) fake IDs.
“Vanessa Gergich?” He asks. “And you’re thirty-three?”
I start to sweat. This is the one downside of twelve fake IDs.
“I’m very healthy?” I offer. “I eat my vegetables. I moisturize. I moisturize constantly.”
“She’s with me,” Kieran leans in. The bouncer glances between us, then sighs.
“Alright, Kir, but if she fucks up I’m telling the cops it was you.”
Kieran flashes him a smile, and pulls me past the bouncer and towards the bar.