Page 25 of Nicki's Fight

“I know. And I’m notreallygiving him shit over it. I just have fun teasing him. I think he has a crush on Cameron,” I said.

“Well who wouldn’t? Did you see his picture? Mmmm!” Bishop groaned.

I continued toward the library as we spoke, a strange itching sensation building at the base of my neck. I felt like someone was watching me, but I didn’t see anyone paying me any overt attention. A couple of students were walking to or from the buildings around us. I saw a girl with long brown hair getting into a car in the parking lot. Then I saw him: Mark waved at me from a bench outside the door to the library. Shit. He looked pissed.

“Hey Bishop, I see Mark, I gotta run,” I said. We said our goodbyes and I headed toward my tutor like the condemned heading for the guillotine.

My tutoring session with Mark didnotgo well. I decided I had some kind of block when it came to the material, and just could not seem to comprehend it. I would be following along with his explanation, then boom! It was like he was speaking a different language. When our time was up I eagerly made my escape and headed home again. I didn’t usually make this many trips back and forth to school in one day, but I’d had to run home so Bran and Anna could pick up Gracie.

I sat at my desk in my bedroom and struggled with my calendar. I was scheduled to work the next three evenings in a row at The Belt. Tomorrow was the first day of the bookstore grand opening. I had three two-hour classes at the dojo on Friday, Saturday and Sunday as well. Our weekend classes were extremely popular with our students. My next scheduled night off was Sunday evening because that was D&D night in the Devereaux household. Attendance was mandatory if you were in town, and none of us wanted to risk the wrath of the moms.

I sighed as I glared at my calendar. I didn’t see any time on there that I could get any additional sessions in with a tutor this weekend. I blocked myself a mandatory six hours of sleep each night, because I knew without it I would be a complete wreck. Less sleep, and I was likely to do something really stupid… like fall asleep at the wheel when driving, or get the whole party killed during D&D.

I usually headed to the club at around 8 p.m. and didn’t get home until three or four in the morning, since we had to clean up after we cleared the last of the patrons out. I typically worked forty hours at the club, plus another twenty at the dojo. I was taking three classes during summer session: Differential Equations, Art History, and a Pop Culture elective. The classes met three times a week for ninety minutes each. Fortunately, I only had the one paper due for Dr. Tate now. I still needed to study for my Art History final, but I’d already turned in my pop culture project so that was finished.

I sighed. I had to start cutting back, but I wasn’t sure how or where. I would have a few weeks off once summer session was over. I was thinking of taking Dr. Tate’s advice and taking some time off and just having a stay-cation until school started. I’d been hoping that Sammie would be able to hire a new bartender for the club, but so far there had been no movement on that front.

I needed a minute to figure it out. Fatigue weighed on my eyelids, and I struggled to keep them open. Maybe I’d just take a brief, brief nap…

5

Nicki

“…Nicki? Nicki, honey, drink this,”I heard a voice speaking to me, as if from far away, but I was having a hard time focusing on it. I blinked and shook my head in confusion, the room slowly coming back into sharp focus.

My brain felt foggy, as if someone had wrapped it in cotton, causing all sensation to feel distant and strange. Dad had given me a concussion once when I was sixteen, and I’d woken up in the hospital after collapsing at school. I’d felt like this back then and was really hoping I didn’t have another concussion. I’d hated the nurses waking me up every hour all night long just to make sure I was okay. I didn’t want to go through that again.

My eyes began to focus on the cup of coffee in front of me, and I realized suddenly we weren’t at the restaurant anymore. We were seated in the kitchen at the Dunwoody’s house.

I glanced around frantically, feeling Vivian’s arm wrapping around me as I heard murmured words of comfort whispered against my head. Seated in front of me was Vivian’s mom, Arabelle Dunwoody, and holding her hand was Vivian’s dad, Dr. Isaiah Dunwoody.

“Um… I began, starting to stand. “…I— I have to go…”

“Nicki, you’ve had quite a shock tonight, I don’t think you should go anywhere,” Mrs. Dunwoody said, reaching out to take my hand in hers. “We are so very sorry for your loss, sweetheart,” she said.

“Loss? What—” Memory came crashing back in tearing a sound from my throat that was part gasp, part sob.

“Oh, god, I— I have to—” I froze with the realization that I had no idea what I had to do. What did you do when your mother died? When the woman you had suffered and bled to keep safe, didn’t need you anymore?

“Dominick,” I heard Dr. Dunwoody say, and I looked into his pale blue eyes.

“Son, the only thing you have to do right now is drink that coffee. The caffeine will help,” he assured me.

I obediently took a sip from the steaming mug, and felt the hot, sweet blend slide down my throat. It was just the way I liked it, which made sense. I’d been coming to the Dunwoody’s kitchen for years now. They knew me better than my own father did. He was right, the hot liquid did seem to help clear some of the fog from my brain.

“I— I just… I feel like there’s something I should be doing,” I whispered. “Someone I should be telling.”

“Who? That asshole you call a father?” Vivian asked sharply. “He never deserved your mom in the first place, much less you.”

“Vivian Diane Dunwoody!” her mother rebuked her sharply.

“No, he’s—” I started to defend my father automatically. It had been my job these last few years to be the perfect son, present the perfect picture.

Literally, at times when he ran for re-election. Anything that threatened that perfect picture threatened the safety of my mother. But that didn’t matter anymore. She was safe from my father now. He could never touch her again.

I dropped my head into my hands, tears spilling from my eyes. It wasn’t the harsh, tearing pain I’d experienced earlier. It was more like a great, aching emptiness that threatened to consume all that remained of me.

Mrs. Dunwoody squeezed my hand again.