Page 13 of Dirty Roulette

“What?” I shake my head and say, “No...”

“Did something happen between you two last night?”

How does she even sense how I feel? Unless she’s got some weird witchy sixth sense.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine” I roll my eyes with a fake laugh, wanting her to shut up already.

“Whatever, listen! I tell Ryder all the time he just needs to turn into a bad boy with no heart. Girls never go after romantics. I’d just hate to see him get hurt again.”

I stare at the tiny pebbles lining the car mat.

I imagine Ryder’s hands nestled in my hair, his heavy breathing, and him pushing me into a wall.

For a second, I thought he liked it. Something inside my chest hurts, and I shuffle the rocks to destroy the image.

My stomach sours. I guess that’s why Ryder didn’t bother to look me in the eye when I left this morning.

His text messages were bitter. God, I must be disgusting to him.

“Cut the shit. What happened last night?” She twirls keys in her fingers.

“Nothing, let’s just head back...” I say.

“Why do you always gotta be a soggy pop tart?”

“I’m not. I’m tired. It’s just starting to hit me, I guess.”

“Yeah...” she says.

We don’t talk much as she drives on the freeway. It’s not the usual jamming out to music like we always do. It’s silent.

Charlie drops me off at home and I finish packing up my room, then vacuum up crumbs from centuries ago.

When I’m done, I wrap up the cord and fall onto the mattress stained with sweat from the eighteen years I slept on it.

I can’t help but feel burned. I reach for my cell phone to stare at Ryder’s name and that stupid crab icon.

It’s like a knife cutting through my ribcage and I’m bleeding out everywhere.

Payton: Are you getting back together with Brittni?

Crab: ????

Crab: Why?

Payton: Charlie said she came over and you two...

Crab: lol okay.

Payton: I hate you.

The phone buzzes in my hand, and I let it ring several times before sliding the green arrow over to answer him. “Give me my underwear back!”

Ryder huffs on the phone. “Quit it.”

“Why? Why did you do it?”

“Would you rather it be Brody?”

I pause and don’t say anything. I lay there shaking my head, wanting to burst to tears because I feel utterly weird, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. It’s pulverizing my insides like a brain-eating amoeba.

“I’m not sleeping with her. I don’t even want to touch her. She came over to grab some stuff I found. That’s it. She was in and out in five minutes. I don’t understand your passive-aggressiveness. You, out of all people on this planet, know how badly she hurt me.”

“Yeah, I know... you were on a binge for a whole week straight.”

“That’s right, and who got me out of the bed?”

I laugh under my breath. “Charlie and I dragged you out by your feet.”

“Then you thought it was a great idea to push me into the pool,” He adds.

I chuckle at the memory of how aggravated he was with us, not letting him go – we had hauled him out of his bedroom and down the hallway.

He could have easily fought us both off with how muscly he is now, but he let us do it.

After he fell in the pool with just his boxer briefs, he didn’t hesitate to grab my wrist and pull me in too.

I can still feel the cold water hitting my face and running my fingers through his dark hair in my failed attempt to waterboard him for shits and giggles.

Ryder huffs and the phone shuffles on his end. “I think that was the hardest I’ve ever laughed with the two of you in the past three years.”

“My stomach hurt from that,” I say.

“And Charlie pissed herself...” he chuckles for a moment before it’s static again.

I continue to stare into space, not knowing what to say, but having the urge to ask him about last night, and if I really need to sleep with him or if that was it.

The embarrassing hump-fest keeps coming back to haunt me and I can’t shake it off.

At some point, it has to be brought up, but my brain screams at me not to mention it.

“You had orientation last week, didn’t you?” He asks, after clearing his throat.

“Yeah...”

“When are you moving in?”

“Tomorrow. My mum’s taking me over.”

“Cool. Look, on Monday your classes will be short. It’s mostly the syllabus and guideline bull, so they can give you time to settle in the dorms. Come over afterward... yeah?” He asks.

“Are you still going to be living in the dorms?”

“No, I’m rooming with Jared and Nick in a three-bedroom house. We’re five minutes off campus. I’m still unpacking, so I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Yeah... yeah, okay, umm, bye.”

“Bye, cutie.” He hangs up, and I lay there with time fighting against me.

***

The rest of the weekend was uneventful. It’s Sunday, hitting noon, and Mum drives me and two fat totes to the dorms at GCU. Curses fly out of her mouth every five seconds at everyone’s erratic driving on the freeway.

Any time a massive semi truck passes, it rattles her Mustang. Something about the hiss of its breaks and diesel fumes sends her spiraling thinking we are in the next Final Destination movie.

Parking was a bitch, but carrying the hundred-pound tote of music up three flights of stairs is a million times worse.

Doors open and close. Footsteps echo down the hallway as we search for my room number.

By the time we found my dorm, the weight of the totes broke the bones in my fingers and seared the skin off.

Sunlight streams through the blinds swaying on the window. The room is empty besides the two twin size beds sitting on opposite sides. There are two small desks at the corner of each bed and a closet for Charlie and I to share.

“I wish I went to college.” Mum circles with her arms folded along her chest.

“Why didn’t you?” I peel off the lid of one tote and pull out the one set of bedsheets I own. The embarrassing worn-in princess sheets screaming virgin.

“Your father never really supported me with it. So I didn’t try. I doubt you really remember – he was a fisherman. We were living on the east coast and that’s how men make money over there.”

“Oh...” I bite my bottom lip. She’s right, I don’t remember.

All I know is that she passed down her New York State accent to me, and I always called her Mum.

We really don’t talk much about dad. He used to call once a month, but then Mum made some remarks after I turned eighteen about him not calling anymore because he was finally free from her clutches and child support. “What would you have done?” I ask.

“Forensics. I always thought that was interesting.”

“It’s never too late to start.”

“I’m over fifty. That’s not something I can do now.” Mum spins in a circle like she’s not impressed with the dorm. “Well, call me if you need anything, yeah?” She checks the gold watch on her wrist.

“Yeah, I’ll call.”

She comes over, wraps her arms around my neck, and pecks me on the cheek. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.” She grips her purse and heads out of the room.