I’m so angry that I don’t even have it in me to wish I were in her place right now.
I cross the room on a mission, bumping into strangers holding cups ofsomething,spilling onto the carpet. I don’t stop until I’m right beside him, grabbing his arm and spinning him away from her.
He goes willingly, his eyes lighting up when he sees my face. “Roomie!”
Is this dude serious right now?
Clearly not. He smells like liquor, and even if he didn’t, I can tell by that smile, dopier than usual, and the way he’s swaying to the left that he’s already three sheets to the wind.
At seven o’clock.
“Can I talk to you alone?” I ask, keeping my voice steady, even though I’m pissed.
He sighs with his entire body, looking back at the girl with that pout before turning back to me. “I guess so.”
The kitchen isn’t empty either. Why am I not surprised?
The four men surrounding the counter, mixing some sort of alcoholic concoction in a bowl, look up when we come in, but don’t pay us any mind. I carry on like they’re not there.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, letting some of my anger seep through now that we’remostlyalone. It only escalates more when all I get in response is a shrug.
“Party, duh.”
“Are you seriously—”
My rant doesn’t even take off, because next thing I know, Mike is floating over to the guys at the counter, peering down into their mixture. “Mind if I try some of that?”
“At your own risk.”
They all laugh, and he does too, scooping up some with a plastic cup, while I stare at him in disbelief. Mike was a cool guy. The complete opposite of my old roommate. Even what Ryan said about him. I told him he was wrong. He seemed to be a perfectly well-adjusted person.
Now, I’m realizing, I couldn’t have been more wrong about him.
But that’s me, isn’t it? Always wrong about people.
“Mike,” I say, loud enough that it echoes through the kitchen, getting the attention of everyone, but I don’t even care right now. “I was talking to you.”
He laughs again, but it’s not the laugh that I liked. It’s different, and it’s directed at me.
“Dude, don’t you know who I am?”
I do now.
Michael Pierce.
Goes by Mike.
Drinks anything in sight. Does enough recreational drugs to kill a small mammal. Has enough sex in one week forall of Rosehill.
I don’t know what that first week was, but I dream of the days when my biggest problem was Mike being too friendly. These days, he doesn’t seem to notice me at all unless he’s torturing me.
At least it’s Monday.
After a weekend of the full extent of Mike, I’m looking forward to a quiet night in. I stopped by Nate’s and picked up a few of my favorite movies. I’ve got one in my laptop ready to hit play and my bowl of popcorn in my lap when I hear the front door.
That’s a little weird, considering Mike went to work earlier today, and he never gets home until morning when he has a shift.
I wait a second, listening for anything off, my body on high alert even though I knowhecan’t get me.
