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Paul

W hat the fuck is going on with Brendon?

He’s acting weird, jerking away from touch, and got drunk the night before a game. I check the dining hall after the game but don’t see him. Running into Jeremy leaving the rink, we walk together.

“What was that with Brendon?” he asks me.

“I have no fucking idea.” And that makes me nervous.

Over the years, I’ve been able to piece together that some kind of trauma happened, but I don’t know what it was or when it happened. Did something trigger a memory?

“I haven’t seen you guys in a while. Movie marathon tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I hear myself say the word, but I’m not really paying attention to what he said. I’m too worried about Brendon and at this point, I’m not sure how Jeremy and Brendon’s relationship is, so I don’t want to say anything.

“I’m going to crash. Later.” I open my dorm and find Brendon getting dressed to go out.

“Hey, where you going?” I try to sound casual, but I’m kind of hurt he didn’t ask if I wanted to hang out or join him. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t.

“Frat party,” he says, and I turn around to look at him.

“Since when do you go to frat parties?” I unbutton my shirt while I watch him pull a clean T-shirt over his head. He’s got a massive bruise forming on his side that looks bad. “Holy shit, did you have that looked at?” I grab his shirt and lift it to see the mark. I trail my fingers over the darkening flesh carefully, following the edges over his ribs and around to his back. “You could have a cracked rib.”

“I’m fine.” He pulls the shirt from my hand and steps around me, careful not to touch me.

“What the hell is going on with you?” I demand. Since when does he not want to touch me? Did I do something? Is this his way to say he doesn’t want to mess around anymore?

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he snaps as he pulls on his shoes.

“Bullshit!” I step into his space and pull his face up to look at me. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “There’s something going on. Talk to me.”

Brendon wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls my hand from his face and pushes me away from him.

“Don’t touch me.” The even, almost cold tone of his voice is a knife in the heart.

Then he’s gone, and I’m staring at the door as it closes behind him.

What the fuck just happened?