Forgive Us Our Trespasses Read online

  I don’t know what she did or said, but the results have been impressive. A few different days this week, when I got back from class, there were poems or different kinds of red flowers either taped to our white board, or stuck in our mailbox in the commons area. He and Will hung up and passed out flyers for Campbell’s concert. He even helped Carly study for her algebra test–the guy freaking knows math. I, however, have to use a calculator to figure out a twenty percent tip on a ten-dollar ticket. He has been a completely different person; the problem is, I don’t know which version is the one I should believe in. This change in him, though, actually has me excited to spend a little time with him tonight at the concert. The overabundance of pretty girls in one place will be a true test of whether this transformation is only skin deep or not.

  I frantically look at the time on my phone and then shove my style guide and notebook into my backpack. When I see how late I am for class, I let out a long groan and grab my keys. Jen took over the bathroom this morning, so I look a little less than stellar today. I just love being late for class, especially when I have to walk in with yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and my hair in a ponytail. At least after a half-hour of pounding on the bathroom door, I was finally able to get in long enough to brush my teeth.

  I consider her one of my closest friends, but you can certainly tell that she has lived a spoiled, privileged life, one that didn’t require her to think of mundane things like picking up after yourself or sharing a bathroom. Our parents knew each other when we were little, but her father moved onto bigger and better things, starting with being elected into the state Senate. The result: she is fiercely loyal and a great friend, but she could use some help in the roommate department.

  I rush through the door, throwing my bag over my shoulder when I notice Brooks leaning on the cinder block wall in between our doors. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to ditch class today,” he says, pushing off the wall and reaching for the straps of my bag. I allow him to take it off, and we both head toward the elevator. “Jen hogged the bathroom this morning. You didn’t have to wait for me,” I tell him, unable to hide my surprise that he didn’t take off without me.

  He laughs and pushes the button for the lobby. “I know I didn’t have to wait for you; I wanted to. We have walked together every day this week, why would I ditch you today? I was going to give you a few more minutes, then I was going to come knocking. I was just hoping that you didn’t leave early.”

  I pull my eyebrows together, offended that he would think I would stand someone up. “I wouldn’t do that,” I say, reaching to take my backpack back. He swings it away from me, not allowing me to have it.

  “I didn’t say that I thought you would; I just hoped that I didn’t miss my chance to walk with you.”

  I cool down, letting the last part of his statement sink in. “Sorry,” I mutter, leaning against the back wall, waiting for the doors to open. I close my eyes and allow my nose to enjoy the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It’s a mixture of sandalwood and apples; you can’t help but want to get close and smell him, but I’m pretty sure that would be frowned upon in most social settings.

  “It’s okay; I get it. You think that is something I would do, and you don’t want to be put in the same category. I don’t blame you; I haven’t exactly shown you otherwise.” He then turns away from me and looks up at the lights indicating the descending floors. Dammit, that is precisely what I thought, but hearing it out loud makes me feel like the biggest bitch imaginable. I don’t have anything to say that would help me to regurgitate my foot, and I see no point in trying to lie to him just to make him feel better. So when the doors open, I do the only thing that I think will help; I bump his shoulder with mine, propelling him slightly forward, and when he looks at me for an explanation, I smile and jerk my head in the direction of our lecture building. When he smirks and moves out of the elevator, I know that I’ve been forgiven.

  By the time we reach the courtyard outside of our dorms, we have less than ten minutes to get to our class that is a fifteen-minute walk away. We start with a speed walk, but our pace soon turns into an all-out run to get there on time. I suddenly don’t feel so bad about the yoga pants and sneakers. I consider myself in relatively decent shape, but when we reach the lecture hall entrance, I am sucking in air. My ribs feel like there are ninjas combating the forces of evil with swords on them, and my lungs refuse to adequately take in oxygen. I lean down, resting my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath. I look up at Brooks, whose appearance is pristine. There are no signs of fatigue, lack of breath…his damn collared-shirt isn’t even wrinkled, the bastard.

  He grabs my arms and gently pulls me down the hall, encouraging my feet to continue moving, even though they feel like they have been dried in cement. We make it to the lecture hall with a minute to spare, and I finally pull myself together enough so that I can at least sneak into the back of the room and hide behind my notebook for most of the hour.

  Brooks opens the door for me, and I’m met with only two available seats, one in the front row and one about halfway back. I typically don’t give a crap where I sit; but considering my appearance today, and our professor’s tendency to call on students in the front row, I absolutely care today. “Go ahead and take the seat in the back, Vivian,” Brooks whispers, handing me my backpack. “I’ll take my turn in the hot seat.” He winks and nudges me to the back of the row and then slides into his seat. I wiggle through the sea of chairs and dodge the awkward glances. I can read their minds, ‘What is this mess doing with that package of male perfection?’ Class today is turning into a major self-esteem booster.

  Dr. Vauldin glides into the room, throws his brief case on the lectern, and scans the room, no doubt searching for his victims of the day. His class is the most wretched thing to have to sit through–boring as hell and it is a struggle to stay awake. So, he punishes us all by randomly calling on students to answer questions. There’s no such thing as a raised hand in this room; everyone is eligible to be his prey.

  “Alright, guys, we won’t be here the entire fifty minutes today,” Vauldin announces in a low monotone voice. Hushed “thank fucks” and “yeses” reverberate through the room. I remain still and silent, not wanting to attract attention to myself. I remember Jurassic Park; T-Rex couldn’t see you if you didn’t move, and I’m hoping this dinosaur falls into the same classification as old Rex.

  “You there, in the Bronco sweatshirt,” he says, pointing in my direction. I point to myself and he nods, “Yeah, you, please come pass these assignment sheets out.” Nope, not T-Rex, he must be one of those damn Velociraptors.

  Like the sacrifice of the Lottery Rose, I sluggishly begin to move out of my chair. Here I thought I was going to just hide myself this morning and could get ready for the day during my break between classes; now I’m being called to the front of the class to my own social suicide.

  “Sir, I can pass them out,” Brooks shouts, bouncing out of his seat. He snatches the papers from Vauldin and begins passing them out before our professor can respond. Vauldin shrugs and continues on with his explanation of the assignment. I sink back into my chair, feeling something that I never thought I would for Brooks Ryan–grateful.

  Professor Vauldin quickly clarifies the requirements for our task, and we are released. Everyone files out, but I wait until they are all gone to leave. I don’t consider myself a vain person, but my mother taught me well enough to know how to be presentable in public, and I am not anywhere close to those standards. Brooks is waiting for me in the hallway, and I relax at the sight of him.

  “Thank you for doing that in there; I really do appreciate it,” I tell him, setting my bag down and adjusting my ponytail holder.

  “It was no big deal, really. It’s been a rough morning for you, and I said I was taking my turn in the hot seat. I’m pretty sure that includes passing out papers.” He bends down and takes my bag like before. It’s a small gesture, but it pulls at my heart a little. I can’t picture Brooks ev
en holding the bathroom door open for Sondra Slut McFunbags, but here he is carrying my backpack all over campus.

  “Well, anyway, thank you. Right now I just want to go back and take a long hot shower, and wash this morning off of me.” We step outside and begin the fifteen-minute walk back. I’m half-tempted to run again, just so that as few people as possible will see me in the condition I’m in, but the memory of rib ninjas is too fresh.

  “So, who are you going to write about for the paper?” Brooks asks about five minutes into the walk. The prompt is to write about someone that has impacted our lives so drastically that we are different people because of them, or the things they’ve done. I get that the assignment is meant to be a self-reflection on the type of people we have become and why–hell if I don’t want to do it though. My father’s death and how my mother has handled it all of these years, I know has been the root of a lot of my issues. I’m not so blind as to not see that. However, that doesn’t mean that I’m excited to tell the raptor all about it in a stupid three-page paper.

  “I don’t know; I guess I’ll have to think about it a little bit,” I shrug.

  Brooks is silent for a moment, staring at the ground as we walk. The arrogant shell that he’s usually encapsulated in seems cracked, if even for a moment. “Yeah, me too,” he says, still examining the sidewalk. He’s lying. He has issues, too and probably because of the same people in his life.

  “Fuck,” he sighs under his breath, just loud enough that I hear. When he finally looks up, his pace slows for a second, and then he starts walking at warp speed. I have to almost run to keep up. I follow his gaze to a girl walking towards us. I figure it would be safe to assume it’s another previous conquest. Her perfectly coordinated outfit, heels clicking against the cement, and her gorgeous flat-ironed blonde hair scream money. She notices us approaching and she straightens her back, flashing us a fake smile that would give Miss America a run for her money.

  She blocks our path, demanding that we stop. Now that I’m close enough, I see the icebergs in her ears that I guarantee are not Target knockoffs, and the white gold ‘S’ necklace around her neck confirms that she’s wealthy. The necklace also tells me that she’s in the Sigma Sorority. Jen had the opportunity to rush the sorority because she is a legacy; her mother was a Sigma. She refused to join though; she said they are rich and mean.

  “Brooks, it’s been a few weeks; where have you been hiding?” she asks, not bothering to even acknowledge my presence. I’m common folk in yoga pants, not worthy of her time. Jen was right, rich bitches.

  “Around.” His tone is clipped and uninterested. He refuses to give her the attention that she is seeking, and I am more than thankful. “Um, Amber, this is my friend Vivian. Vivian, this is Amber Jennings. Our fathers know each other from business transactions.”

  I try to remember my manners and hold out my hand to shake hers, but she gives me the once over like I might give her some kind of contagious infection and rolls her eyes. “Anyway, we need to get together again sometime; we have some unfinished business to attend to,” she says, directing her attention back to Brooks, leaving me with my arm outstretched. I snap it back to my side in an attempt to save at least a little dignity.

  “Yeah, well, we are late for our next class. See you around.” Brooks puts his arm around me and pushes past her. Her expression is a mixture of horror and disgust, and I absolutely take it personally.

  “I’m sorry she was like that to you,” Brooks says, dropping his arm from my shoulder when we are a safe distance from Amber, the sorority twat-waffle.

  “What do you mean? She was a delight,” I sarcastically retort. He laughs, but then regains a serious posture.

  “No, really, she’s a bitch. I only know her because of my stepdad. We kissed once and she thinks that it means we’re going to have a relationship. I’m sure her father would love that; it would be a business merger of sorts. But I have no interest in her, and my family already knows I have no intention of taking over the business.”

  “So what do you want to do then? Aren’t your parents disappointed about that?” I ask the question, but immediately regret it; it’s personal and intrusive. I never appreciate personal questions like that, and I feel like Brooks is similar in that regard. “I’m sorry; you don’t have to answer that. I’m being a little nosy.”

  Brooks abruptly stops and I look around, preparing myself for another brat pack bombardment. When I see no one near us, I look at him, waiting for an explanation. “Vivian, I understand that you don’t know me very well, and I don’t know a lot about you, but I hope to change that. No, I don’t share a lot with many people, but you’re not just anyone to me. Never apologize for asking me something, okay?”

  My shock causes all words to lodge in my throat, and I simply nod. No one has ever said anything like that. I’ve never gotten close enough to anyone to have any honest personal conversations. My roommates and Will probably know me the best, and even they haven’t ever heard everything about me.

  He nods back and grabs my hand. Though he doesn’t lace our fingers together like I’m expecting–like a boyfriend would do with a girlfriend–he holds my hand like a friend would. I look down at our conjoined hands, letting the tingling feeling in my fingers shoot up my arm until I feel those tingles in my stomach. “Come on, let’s get you back so you can clean up,” he says, squeezing my hand.

  Brooks drops me off at my door and promises to stop by later before the concert. I quickly shower before my next class, and go through the rest of my day with thoughts of Brooks, my reflective paper, and a phone call home I would need to make to complete it. All of it is plaguing me. It will take a good amount of guts to call my mother to have the discussion about my father that is long overdue, and it will take even more fun activities, and possibly alcohol, to revive myself afterward.

  Brooks

  This has been the best fucking day ever; well, besides the brief encounter with the she-devil Amber Jennings. Vivian seems to be opening up more to me, and I even held her hand. I know, big fucking deal; I’m not fourteen, and this isn’t junior high. But with Vivian, I’ll take what I can get, and to hold her hand felt so damn good. I’ve spent extra time this evening picking out the right outfit and making sure my hair is just right. Shit, I might need to worry less about Will and check my own vag-status.

  I’m running the last bit of gel through my hair when I hear a soft knock at the front door. I swiftly wash my hands and dry them on my shower towel to answer the door. When the door swings open, all of the light and fluffy feelings I had two minutes ago evaporate, and my heart drops in to my stomach.

  “I’m sorry, is Will here?” Vivian sniffles and attempts to hide her smeared mascara and rosy cheeks. Her efforts are fruitless; she is a total wreck. I scowl, thinking someone has hurt her and that she needs Will to beat someone’s ass. I peer into the hallway, looking for the culprit, only to find it empty. “What happened? Whose ass do Will and I need to kick?”

  “No one.” She tries to laugh through her tears. “I just needed to talk to someone, and the girls are already gone.”

  My jealousy and rage spike. I contain myself out of respect for her obvious fragile state, but I’m pissed that she came here looking for him, and didn’t bother to think of me. “He’s not here; he left early to help Campbell set up.” My tone sounds surprisingly calm, considering how my insides are vibrating from my disappointment.

  “Oh, that’s right; I knew that. Sorry to bother you.” Her eyes build with tears, and she looks down to avoid me seeing them. She turns to walk back to her room, and I stow away any of my damaged pride, realizing I don’t want her to leave. “Wait, Red,” I say, reaching for her elbow. “I know I don’t compare to Will, but I would really like it if you came in. If you feel like talking, great; if not, that’s okay, too. We can watch a movie or something to help you get your mind off of whatever is going on.”

  “What about the show? You look like you are all ready to go; I don’t want to ruin yo
ur evening.”

  “Vivian, for being one of the smartest people in our little group, you sure can be clueless sometimes,” I tell her. “The only reason I was going tonight was to hang out with you, and if you’re not going, then I have no interest in being there.”

  She pauses, evaluating either my offer or how I feel about her. Frankly, I don’t give a shit, as long as I can convince her to come over. I begin to fidget with my shirt, worried that she might actually decide it would be better to go home and be alone than spend the evening with me.

  Just when I don’t think I can take another second of indecision, she walks past me into my room. I exhale and give myself a second to figure out what to do next. I didn’t really think about what would come next; I was too worried about getting her to stay. I’ve never had a girl here. This is my safe zone, and she’s not here in a hook-up capacity, which makes this even more foreign to me.

  I walk back into the living room, expecting to see her on my couch having a complete emotional breakdown. Thankfully, she’s in the bathroom, which gives me a few more minutes to collect myself. I grab two glasses and a bottle of tequila and set them on the coffee table. I then review our collection of DVDs and pull out a few of our girliest movies. I end up with only one, Dumb and Dumber. I figure at least it’s a comedy, and it will make her laugh if nothing else.

  I hear her blow her nose, followed by the bathroom doorknob turning. I hustle to the couch and take a seat, hoping that I appear relaxed without looking overzealous. I pour us each a drink when I see her just standing in the hallway unsure of what to do next. I stand, taking it to her. “It looked like you could maybe use this,” I say, placing the glass in her hand.

  She offers a tight-lipped smile and takes a small sip of the liquor. Instantly she begins to choke, and her eyes tear up from the burn. I pat her on her back, but she waves me away. “I’m alright,” she chokes out. I grab her a bottle of water from the fridge and she guzzles the cool liquid to ease her throat.