It’s not him specifically. It’s contact I wasn’t expecting. And arms a similar size to Jason’s. My nervous system has something to say about that before I can get ahead of it. It’s all instinct.
Get away. Jason. Get away.
But I take a breath. He’s not going to hurt me. It’s Ryan. Friends hug in moments like this.
I make myself lift my arms.
When I think maybe this has gone on for a bit too long, he pats my back, and then he pulls back. “So,” he says, clapping his hands on his knees, unfazed. “I was thinking we could start looking for places this week. I still have a few of the contacts from before. I can see if they’re still renting.”
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Sounds good.”
He reaches over and grabs his laptop off the nightstand, angling it toward me. “I bookmarked a few.”
I look at the screen of apartment listings. They’re all fine. About what you’d expect from an apartment complex that rents to college students. No beer bottles, no guitars to trip over, no kitchen where we fuck more than we—
No. I can do this.
“That one’s decent,” I say, pointing at the third one. “The kitchen’s a good size.”
Ryan’s not a bad roommate.
He never stops talking, and that can be annoying, but I remember the alternative, suppressing a shiver at the roommate from hell.
Ryan is better than him.
He talks about his classes, a girl who was looking at him in class, and the football video game he’s been playing. I don’t even have to respond to most of it, as long as I make sounds of acknowledgment occasionally.
It works.
I’ve gotten more homework done in the last week than in the entire month of December, living with Mike. Turns out it’s easier to write a paper when your roommate isn’t trying to distract you.
When there’s no chin on your shoulder, or lips against your neck, that low voice saying take a break for a little while, please, taking your hand and putting it against his hard cock to show you how much he needs it—
Anyway.
I got a ninety-two on the paper I turned in on Tuesday, and I’m not gonna think about what I could have had instead. This is what my life is supposed to look like. Homework and a roommate who talks too much.
Maybe my arms feel empty every time I wake up in the morning because my subconscious is looking for someone who isn’t there.
But it’s only been a week.
I’ll be okay eventually.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
I’ve started going to the library now that Mike isn’t waiting for me at home. I still have forty minutes before my next class, and it’s quiet this time of day, empty other than the few miserable students trying to catch up on homework.
I’ve found a corner table near the window that has a good view of campus, working steadily when I hear them.
A group of voices, louder than the others, enough that the librarian shushes them, followed by a quiet sorry from a girl and a snicker that I would recognize anywhere.
They’re coming in through the main entrance across the library, far enough away that they wouldn’t notice me yet. There’s Damon, and a flash of pink, and—
Mike.
