I don’t care if it’s only been a few hours, I miss you.
God, I need to be inside you again.
I’m about to leave class. Are you home?
You pass out on me baby?
He’s probably exhausted. We slept a grand total of four hours nonconsecutively. Or maybe his phone died.
These hopeful justifications aren’t settling the undercurrent of unease gnawing on my nerves. Win is notorious for isolating himself when he’s struggling. Was last night too much for him? He seemed happier and more relaxed than ever this morning, but was it just an act? No, I can tell when he’s masking now.
The girl beside me shoots me a peeved look.
My leg is bouncing again.
Focusing is impossible.
Fuck it.
I pack my laptop and sling my backpack on my shoulder, slipping out of the lecture hall. As I rush toward the parking garage, dark clouds accumulate overhead. It’s going to downpour any minute. I pick up the pace, head on a swivel between the sky and my phone screen—
Red and blue lights stop me in my tracks.
A barricade of police cars blocks the shortcut I typically take past the athlete’s dorms. Caution tape and news vans and reporters and upset residents and nosy students…
Two taps of my thumb and I’m dialing Andrea. She answers on the first ring. “Kinda early for Lolita’s—”
“Why are police surrounding the athlete’s dorms like it’s a fucking crime scene?” I interrupt.
“Not even a hi, hello or hey? Jeez, what am I? Chopped liver? A wet sock?”
“Do you know or not?”
She sighs, “Of course I do, I know everything that goes on around here. You remember me telling you about those attacks at the athlete’s parties? Turns out one of the victims accused two football players of drugging and assaulting him. I guess they beat him up, blew some kind of drug in his face and… yeah.”
The strobing lights blur. I can’t blink. Can’t move. My mind is whirling too fast.
“Who?”
She pauses. “Who reported them or—”
“Who were the football players?”
“To be honest it’s not surprising,” she scoffs. “I’m sure you remember Marcus Shultz and Grant Larson from Kingsbury. Total pieces of shit.”
Insects crawl beneath my skin. Blood roars in my ears, drowning out my best friend’s voice. Time slows and reverbs. Misshapen puzzle pieces finally click into place.
“Were they the ones who bullied Win?”
A sharp inhale.
Crackling.
Her silence is a howling scream.
Spinning on my heel, I take off at a sprint down the alternate route to the parking garage.
“Do me a favor,” I pant into the receiver as I reach the stairs— fuck the elevator, I don’t have time for that bullshit. “Be my alibi if I get arrested.”
