“It’s none of your fucking business. It’s no one’s fucking business. It never was.” He pushes me hard and I let him, taking into account the flurry of emotions traveling across his face. His anger turned into sadness and back again. Two years worth of grief filtering through him in only a few moments.
“Hey.” My tone is soft as I put a steadying hand on his shoulder, something I learned in therapy that Pop’s used to do for me. I sense there is more going on here than me beating him at basketball or flirting with Olivia. This seems to help some of his anger subside as he releases his fists from my jersey, stepping away from me and running his hands over his face. “What’s going on with you?” I ask, trying to not cause him to spiral into another anger induced rampage.
“I just don’t want to talk about her. Not now, not ever. That part of my life is over and if Olivia ever found out… You don’t get it man. When you left, she was all I had.” He sits on the bench behind him staring at the ground.
I shake my head stunned. I try not to think about how I left Will hanging, left him to deal with everything alone. I refused to see that him jumping into a relationship with Olivia wasn’t him being a shit stirrer, but instead was him refusing to deal with his own emotions. I sit beside him trying to think through what I should do.
“I know this is shitty Will, but there are other people's emotions at play here.”
Will sneers. “You mean your emotions, right?”
I scoff, surprised. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb Ben, it’s so fucking obvious. I see how you look at her and I get it. Why wouldn’t you? Hell, the whole school looks at her that way. But at the end of the day Ben, it’s me and Olivia.” He stands throwing his duffel over his shoulder. “Do you understand what I’m saying? She’s mine, Ben. I won. So stop fucking with my life and move on.”
I feel my fists curl, unable to control the anger now a rising tide within me. To some degree I know he’s right— it is him and Olivia but the fact that he treats her like a trophy on his mantle, that is what my temper can’t seem to handle. I stand to my full height getting close to my brother and looking down into his eyes. He matches my glare but I sense his unease as he clenches his jaw.
“Understand this, Will. You may think you ‘won’ but as you saw today you only ‘win’ when I’m not playing.” I shove him a few inches backward. “If you don’t tell her, I will.” I spit the words out and he flinches.
“You wouldn’t.” He shakes his head incredulously.
“Wouldn’t I?” I feel the sinister grin spread across my face before it falls. “You walk around here treating her like she’s half the woman she is. You’re right when you said I look at her the way everyone else at this school does. Everyone at this school except you.” I shove him again, my anger building. “The only reason I’m not taking care of this for you isbecauseyou're my little brother. You need to handle your shit, Will. You want to beat your ‘big bro’? You wanna be the ‘big man’ on campus?” I shake my head at him as if he’s the most pathetic person I’ve ever seen. “Then fucking act like a man and handle it.” I finally shove past him pushing out the double doors into the autumn sun.
The parking lot is basically empty as the first cool gusts of autumn waft through the leaves. I take a deep inhale trying todwell the panic gurgling within me. My phone buzzes and I feel my breath hitch when I see the name on the screen.
Olivia
Still on to study Friday?
I take a long drag of the cool outside air, letting the breath coat my lungs.
Can’t wait.
12
Olivia
Climbing up the brick staircase, I feel my phone buzz in my bag.
Ben
Door’s open.
Definitely not a man of many words, at least not over text. I reach the third story of the brick building, relieved that the old world exterior does not extend to the interior furnishing. Not that I don’t love old world charm— Iama Nor’easter. I just appreciate an updated take on the 18th century. As I glance around, I notice that the wall sconces, while authentic, have been polished, but the crown molding has been swapped out and freshly stained a deep walnut shade. My eyes dart between the unit numbers on either side of the hallway, finally spotting314at the far end. The largest suite. Of course.
Standing in front of the door, I check the text again.Door’s open.Something about just waltzing into his apartment feels too familiar. I gently rap my knuckles against the door, the sound swallowed by what I now understand to be an original piece of infrastructure in this colonial brownstone.
Sighing, I turn the brass knob, pushing forward to reveal dark walnut floors that mimic the crown molding. The walls are a soft white, clean except for a few strategically placed art pieces.I did not take Ben for an art guy. I round the corner, escaping the narrow entryway, and notice that the spacious living room is equally as clean and bright as the foyer. Hearing a subtle whir, I whip around to see the kitchen. My eyes and ears track the whirring to a vacuum leaving its dock, clearly just beginning its scheduled task. I notice the tidiness of the kitchen and living room, the pristineness on full display over the kitchen’s glossy bar top, when a deep inhale has me registering notes of cedar and musk. I trail the scent deeper into the apartment, taking a left rather than a right, pausing on the fact that there is a leftanda right to take.I did not take Ben for an old-money apartment kind of guy, either. A sunny room takes shape to my right, lined on either side by two brilliant, beautiful built-in bookcases. The wall between the two is consumed by two nooks and two sets of french windows. The tiny slivers of wall not possessed by the nooks or the case are, like the rest of the apartment, a soft white. In the center of the room sits an oversized, deep green ottoman, creamy pillows scattered across the almost bed-sized expanse. The piece sits atop a simple ivory rug, waffled but seemingly plush. I’m scanning the books lining the walls when I remember why I’m here.
Annoyance pushes my curiosity far away when I realize I’m wandering around Ben’s apartment, un-greeted. The books and burning candle fumes hint that he’s near, so I release an audible huff and plop onto the ottoman that was, truly, beckoning me anyway. I slip off my flats, testing the plushness of the rug and hearing the creak of a door, I quickly slide them back on. Attempting to look as bored as possible, I gaze out the window.About time.
Summoning a tart smirk, I remark, “Don’t worry, your vacuum did a perfect job of greeting me.”
I pull my gaze up the solid, towering form that’s appeared before me, clad in only a bath towel secured by the hand on his hip. The quirk of his lips, struggling to stifle an amused smile, does quick work of my annoyance. It’s gone before I can reel it back, replaced instead by a flush of embarrassment and… something else. His chest is bare, revealing the hardened muscles I’d assumed were there. What stun me are the intricately tattooed lines, curves, and sketches that highlight the muscled terrain of his chest. They stop just above his bicep, which I’m guessing is why I’d never imagined him likethis.
Which I definitely haven’t.Not even after he made that comment about stealing me from Will’s dreams.
His hair, freshly tousled by a towel, lays and doesn’t lay every which way, quietly dripping water on the wooden floor.
