Now that I’m seeing the words in black and white, it’s all too fucking clear. When I started at BU, I declared Communications as my major because I had no clue what I actually wanted to do with my life and a bunch of guys on the hockey team said that was a good way to go. But then JT and I became best buds, so when he scheduled his classes, I grabbed my computer and did the same. That’s what I’ve been doing ever since.
I guess I never actually changed my major to Exercise Science, though. I meant to. Hell, I probably even made the appointment, and then promptly forgot about it.
Fuck. My. Fucking. Life.
There’s another knock on my door and I hear Leo’s voice carry through the wood. “Time to go, Mick.”
Shit. I’ve got practice. And I’ve also got teammates who know I have to be reminded of every little thing because my mind is fucking mess and I can’t take care of my own damn life. And yeah, they make meds for ADHD, but I hate them. And they don’t really work for me. And I always forget to take them.
Leo knocks again, so I throw on some shorts, a hoodie, and some slides in record time. I grab my bag and head out into the hallway, then I circle back, and shove Barb’s letter in my desk drawer. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I’ve got hockey practice.
“Is this a bad time?”
I turn my head to see Viv standing just outside my room, and I can’t help the smile that lights over my face. It’s never a bad time for Viv to stop by, but now is the best time. I got back from practice half an hour ago, and I’ve been staring at my desk drawer ever since. I haven’t opened it because it’s like there’s a snake in there just waiting to sink its venomous fangs into me. The venom is in the fangs, right? Or is it in their tongues? No, it would have to be the fangs. That’s how they get you.
Right?
Before I can look it up or lose my damn mind—because those are my only two options at this point—Viv drops her bag by the bed and plops down on the couch next to me.
Instinctively, I reach for her, and we get into position. Viv and I like a lot of different positions, but when we watch TV, this is one of our faves. I’m sitting on one side of the couch while she’s sprawled out on the other, with her feet dangling over theside and her head cradled in the pillow on my lap. The pillow is key. Not only is it a must for comfort, it’s also a necessary barrier. Look, I can’t help it, okay? The girl is hot as hell and when she’s cuddled up on me in her teensy tiny pajamas, I react. Well, my dick reacts. And I’ve got to keep that monster under wraps, so a thick, fluffy pillow is a necessity.
I hand Viv the remote and she clicks her way through the screens until she gets toDiary of a Killer, the show we were watching last semester. I drape my arm along the back of the couch, lean my head back, and wait for the theme music to start.
But it never does.
“You feel like watching something else?” I ask, tipping my face down to look at her.
She shakes her head back and forth. (See, I told you that the pillow was necessary. And we haven’t even got to the scary parts yet. That’s when she gets really cuddly.)
Viv’s eyes are wide as she looks up at me. “It’s still on episode five. That’s where we left off before Christmas break.”
“Yeah, I know.” My memory might be like a slice of Swiss cheese for some things, but I do remember exactly where we left off in our favorite show.
“You didn’t watch the last three episodes?” she asks.
“Hell, no. I wasn’t going to watch them without you,” I answer. The smile that blooms on her face does funny things to my heart.
Viv’s still beaming when she hits Play. “You, Brannon Patrick Mikalski, are a gem.”
I’m a fucking mess is what I am, but if Viv wants to see the best in me, I’m not going to stop her. Hell, in a couple months, it won’t matter that I’m a wreck. Yeah, we’ll still see each other when we both visit Maggie and JT on the West Coast, and we’ll both be there for Calla’s birthdays and recitals and stuff. But we won’t see each other on the daily anymore, and as crappy as thatis, at least that means I won’t be forced to look at Viv and admit what a loser I am. I won’t have to see her reaction when she finds out I’ve got to stay in school for an extra year, or that I dropped out because what the fuck am I going to do with a degree in exercise science anyway?
The thoughts in my head are so loud, I’m surprised she can’t hear them. But I’m also glad.
The show starts and we descend into a comfortable silence. Some people would tell you that I’m not capable of being quiet for more than about two minutes at a time, and those people might have a point. But I’m not feeling much like myself tonight, so instead of bugging Viv with my usual slew of questions she can’t answer because she hasn’t watched the episode yet, either, I keep quiet and watch the show like a normal person.
The screen is filled with images of the murderer’s bedroom and all the creepy pictures he took of his victims before and after he killed them. Viv pauses the show and I’m expecting her to point something out, like a clue or something. She’s smart like that. She turns back toward me and puts her hand on my cheek. I’ve got a few days’ worth of scruff going, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Everything okay, Mickey?” she asks, her voice soft in the darkened room.
“Huh?” It takes a second for her words to register. She didn’t stop the show so she could sleuth out a detail. She stopped it because I’m not acting like myself.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good.”
“That’s a load of bullshit,” she replies matter-of-factly.
She’s right, but I just can’t spill my guts right now, especially to Viv. She’d never judge me, but still. The girl has got her shit together in ways I never will. I don’t get it. She’s as explosive and energized as I am, but she’s not failing at life. I’m in awe and jealous at the same time.
“I just…I don’t know,” I say. “Nothing’s really wrong, but nothing’s really right, either. I’m just not feeling like myself today. It’s like all my energy has been drained. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. I guess I just need a little time to recharge. Sorry. I’m probably bad company. I?—”
