Page 75 of The Way I Used to Be

“My darkroom. I turned my bedroom closet into a darkroom. You know, to develop pictures.”

“Oh, a darkroom.” Literally.

“Right.”

“Right.”

“So?” he asks.

“So...,” I repeat, “what?”

“So, do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Come over.”

“Oh.”

“No?”

“No, I saidoh,” I tell him, louder.

“Oh. So, yes then?”

“Um...”

“What?”

“Fine.”

“What time?” he asks. “I don’t know, whenever you want, I guess. I work mornings, so... I don’t know, maybe, like, in the afternoon?”

And this is why people don’t have conversations at parties like these. I finish off what’s left in my cup. Goddamn talking. “Hey, Steve?” I smile sweetly, manipulating his wholesome little heart. “Would you mind getting me another drink?” I’m going to need it.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. Yeah, I’ll be right back.” And he happily disappears with my red plastic cup into the sea of faces.

“Hey, looks like you need a drink there?” says a guy who just sauntered up and is leaning against the wall next to me, holding a brown beer bottle in each hand.

He’s not particularly attractive. But then again, he’s not particularly anything. And that’s kind of exactly what I’m looking for. “Maybe,” I answer.

“You don’t live in this building, do you?” he asks as he hands me the bottle.

“No.” I take it. It’s opened, though. I hope I’m sober enough to keep remembering not to drink from it. Although he wouldn’t have to drug me to get me to leave with him; I’m ready to go right now.

“Didn’t think so, I’d remember seeing you.” He smirks as his eyes travel down. I’m definitely sober enough to see what this is all about. “Where do you live?” he shouts, reluctantly meeting my eyes.

“Off campus.” Which is not a lie.

“Listen, I can barely hear you.... You wanna go down the hall... there’s a room....”

I take a huge sip of the beer he just placed in my hand.

Next thing I know, I’m following him down the hall, him dragging me along with a limp, dead-fish grip on my hand. He leads me into one of those suites like you see on TV with a common room and then separate bedrooms off to the sides. There are all kinds of people everywhere, laughing, shouting, making out on couches and chairs and coffee tables. We go into a room that has aRESERVED FOR RACHAEL—ALL OTHERS WILL BE TOWEDsign on the door. There’s a lava lamp casting creepy purple and blue underwater shadows over everything. Rachael could be back anytime. He takes the bottle from my hand and sets both of our beers down on Rachael’s computer desk.

Stepping closer, he runs a couple of fingers down my arm, “So, uh, what’s your major?”

“We don’t have to talk,” I tell him, kicking my shoes off.