Pulse (Contemporary new adult/college romance) (Club Grit Trilogy) (10 page)

“What is this?” asked Skylar. “I haven’t see all our movies, you know. We got a lot of those at yard sales, thrift stores...”

“Yeah, I know what it’s like to get a bargain. You know, my parents didn’t have money until this last year, right?”

“Really? What did they do? Your dad sold a patent or something?”

“No...they won the lottery.”

“What? Get out of here, really?”

“Yeah, so, we had this stupid tradition...” and I explained to him about the weekly lottery tickets, about working for scholarships, about getting into UCBH and not being able to pay for it because I guess I just hadn’t pushed myself hard enough for them to want me bad enough for them to want to pay for me to go for free, and about how, on my birthday, my parents won
The Big Money
. I told him about how my parents didn’t know we should have set up an LLC to claim the ticket anonymously and although we thought the only people that would find out were our closest family, that soon, the entire town, fuck, the entire state, knew about the fact that my parents had won the Iowa lottery.

I told him my life story backwards. About how I wasn’t always this poor little rich girl. About how, in high school, I was teased and asked if I was going to prom on a tractor, and how I hadn’t drank Johnny Walker under the bleachers and smoked and had sex and how I hadn’t done those things not out of any moral obligation like him, but because I knew my parents couldn’t afford for me to waste our money on substances and birth control. I knew that the one thing we had nobody could take from us was our reputation, even though people would find anything to make fun of, from my name to my clothes, that they’d say I stunk like pigs even though we didn’t have any on our farm, that my mom had taught me to hold up my head and not listen to the haters and how I knew that she had to go through the same things at knitting club and at church, which she went to out of obligation and not for fun or for her spirit,  because she knew if dad wanted to make deals with certain people in town, she had to hob-knob with their wives, she had to have baby hats and socks ready for baby showers and had to make as many pies as possible for the PTA bake scales.

Although I had so much to say, all I could do was talk, not really speak, not really look Skylar in the eye as I told him about the girl I used to be and how I’d given that all up to come to UCBH, how being an Omega was the only thing that had ever mattered to me once I came out here, how I’d been having problems in my classes because nobody else in Omega House was a STEM major: they were all doing something at most as practical as finance, or something that only the idle rich could major in like gender studies. Where would a gender studies major work back in Iowa? I hadn’t switched my major because my whole life, I’d been working hard to become a mechanical engineer to get a job with John Deere, to make my dad proud even though he and mom said they’d always be proud of me, because I didn’t want to end up like my older sister, who cost my parents more money because she was a single mom still living with us and her loud baby who seemed to not be growing up at all, or my older brother, the one that helped dad on the farm during the farming seasons and worked construction in the off season, threatening to beat up any bully for me, along with my sister who, for all her faults, was far more diplomatic and willing to go straight up farm girl on any townie that gave me shit for the way I dressed or acted.

I just kept looking at Skylar’s sleeve of tats as I talked to him, but I knew he was looking at me, his fringe feathery against his forehead. It was weird how he could go from looking like a normal club douchebag for his job and then become this hipster artsy rock star wannabe with his bangs brushing his head the way I wished they’d brush mine. His tattoos were so myriad. They all swirled or blended or fit next to each other like an elaborate painting or mosaic or puzzle of art. I knew they all had some meaning to him. Of course, there was a heart with a scroll through it reading “MOM”, and of course, he didn’t have anything for his dad. I could guess why without asking. There was a rose and across it was written, “Jess”. Who was Jess?

I kept reading the world of his tats. There were some tribal parts that looked like barbed wire, a guitar, some musical notes.

And of course, there were those two Xs. Big, with thick lines and no shading, no drop shadowing, just a perfect + sign shape, tilted, each line intersecting perpendicularly with perfect right angles at the centers. They were two void marks, they were two signs to stop, which it seemed like I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop telling Skylar about what I’d been before, about how hard it had been to be in that small town and how I’d dreamed that California would be better, because the people on TV? They didn’t make fun of me. They had their own problems but they looked better than me. I could handle
The Hills
, I could handle living in
The OC
, I could imagine myself on
Laguna  Beach
and eventually becoming one of
The Real Housewives
. That was a life that I knew I’d never have, because I’d go to community college, transfer to state, and work for John Deer making a respectable seventy thousand dollars per year, half of which I’d send home to my parents. See, I’d had it all planned out.

My plans didn’t include us winning the lottery.

My plans didn’t include UCBH, not really.

They didn’t include Omega House or Club Grit.

Or Skylar.

Or the girl I’d become.

“What are the Xs for?” I asked. I wanted to get my life out of my head and learn more about him.

“Oh, I guess they might not have that kind of scene in Iowa...I’m a straight edge. It means I don’t drink, do drugs, or even smoke cigs.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I know people think I must, working at a club and all, but when they see those tats, the two Xs like the kind we put on people that are underage at the club, and the kind girls like you wash off! they know that we’re not going to drink or smoke or anything.”

“Have you ever?”

“After seeing what it did to my dad? Please. Hey, your movie’s ready,” he said. “
The...Princess Bride
?” Skylar raised a brow.

“Trust me. It’s good. Super good. If you don’t like it in the first ten minutes, we can change it.”

Skylar held me as we started the movie. We were such a fucked up version of Princess Buttercup and Wellsley. He was more Dread Pirate Roberts Wellsley than Farm Boy Wellsley: the bad boy who was secretly the hero of the story. I hadn’t seen this movie in a while and didn’t expect it to hit so close to home. We reached the scene where Wellsley/Dread Pirate Roberts was taking the poison he’d built a resistance to and I thought about how that applied to my own life, how maybe I’d been poisoning myself so much with drugs and alcohol that I too had built up an immunity, a numbness to the pain it caused, to the true harm it was causing me, but unlike Welslley, I didn’t have someone I was doing it for.

I had someone I couldn’t even stop it for.

His roommate came out, a young guy around his age, a bit fatter, and way more sleepy looking, in ratty pajamas. “Dude, that movie’s great. But I need to sleep, like, right fucking now. Can it wait? Also, nice friend, very cute.” He gave a thumbs up and I blushed. Fuck.

“Yeah, sorry. We should be going to bed soon,”

“Nice,” said his friend before shutting the door and before Skylar could call back, “It’s not like that.”

“So, you can stay the night, but the couch is kind of small, so I’ll take it, okay?” he asked.

“No, I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Fine.”

We went into his room which was surprisingly sparse except for a desk, covered in blank music paper as well as a few ink filled pages, and some clothes in the closet, and, of course, his bed.

“It’s a twin, so it’s going to be a tight fit,” he insisted. “You sure you don’t just want me to sleep on the floor or something?”

“Emma, wake up. Hey.”

“Skylar?”

“Hey, Emma. You’ve got class today, right? I’m sorry, I forgot to set the alarm, I usually don’t get up this early. It’s already...ten.”

“Shit.”

“I have that extra cab voucher. You going back home?”

“Yeah...there’s some things I think I need to take care of.” I had to confront the girls about what had happened last night, about what why they’d basically let DeAndre rape me. They’d known he was dangerous from the start and they’d lured me into the lion’s den, but why? “Strings need tying up.”

He understood. “I’m sorry I don’t have any women’s clothes here, but those look okay on you. What do you want me to do with your other stuff? I can throw it in with my stuff if you want.”

“Throw it away.” Last night, I reminded myself I needed to throw away the stuff from last night too. I didn’t want to wear that dress or those panties or those shoes or even that clutch again. I didn’t want to see them in my closet.

“Hey, if you ever need anything, call me, okay? I know that it’s not my job, but you’re one of the good ones, Emma.”

“One of the good girls?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“One of the good people.” There was that word again. People. Like I was really a person to him instead of just some blonde girl with a penchant for cowboy boots and flannel shirts even though they were out of season and the kind of clothes Omega Mu would never let me wear out of the house.

He waited with me for the cab to pick me up and the voucher worked, dropping me off at Omega House. It was late and I knew everyone was already up. I’d missed class.

But before I faced Samantha, Becca, and Kim, I needed some courage.

That’s why I popped the pills.

And some more.

And then I stopped, but only because I’d blacked out.

S
AMANTHA FOUND ME SLUMPED OVER in the shower and turned the water off, wetting a used towel in the sink and snapping it at me to wake me up.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. “It’s Monday not Thursday, get a calendar,” she said as she helped me into a robe and then up to my feet and got me back into my room. To help me relax, I’d taken some downers, but after the first two didn’t work, I took two more and before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep taking a shower. It was weird. It was pathetic. It wasn’t me but at the same time, it was all I was and ever would be.

The next morning, there was a bouquet of roses waiting for me from DeAndre that just said “sorry” on a card with a sad bear dressed as a clown on it. It was in a crystal vase I assumed he’d sent with it. The other girls smiled and giggled, said I should call him and apologize and see him so we could “talk it out”, so that he could “comfort” me about our “misunderstanding”. It was as if they forgot what happened last night, forgotten that they’d heard me screaming through the car and that they hadn’t opened to help me out, that out of everyone that could have stopped what was going on, only Skylar was there for me and he didn’t even like me that much. I didn’t give a shit. I lifted up the whole thing and threw it in the fucking trash. The glass shattered and cut the plastic trash bag into ribbons, the pieces disappearing into the water as if they were melting away, while the memories lay steadfast in my brain, unlike the card, the ink running down and making the bear clown even more grotesque and disgusting.

The only thing I wanted to see was Skylar, the only one who had actually cared about me.

I couldn’t eat, too disgusted by the fact my almost rapist had tried to apologize with a fucking bouquet of flowers. Everyone else did and after breakfast, Sam and Kim talked to me in the meeting room. The sorority president, Pearl, was there as well.

“As of this morning, you are no longer a sister of Omega Mu Gamma,” said Pearl. “Please pack up your things within the next twenty four hours and leave as soon as possible.”

“What? Why?” I had expected to get a warning about what had happened last night, but instead there was this.

“Is this about what happened last night?” I asked.

“What happened last night?” Pearl half asked, half said. I hated how everyone talked in double speak here, how the difference in intonation made things a compliment or an insult, an question or a command. “This is about the fact that your grades have fallen below a minimum of acceptable levels for this sorority. As of current, you have a two point nine grade point average. You have not booked any tutoring sessions in your courses and honestly, given the fact that the average is low across the board, I don’t think they’d help enough. We are going to be taking in another pledge instead.”

“But where am I supposed to go? This is my home!” I insisted. Sam put a hand on my arm and shook her head.

“I’m sure your parents can figure something out, easily,” said Pearl, coldly. It all made sense now. The only reason that they’d accepted me as a student in the first place was because somehow, they’d known about my parent’s money and wanted a chunk of that change for themselves. I had been told donating to the sorority was optional. I had been told getting accepted meant I was the best of the best, not the richest of the richest. I was wrong.

“You don’t belong here,” said Kim Lee gently.

“I did everything you asked,” I almost shouted, pushing my hands onto the table as I stood. I felt Sam’s hand on my arm again and I sat back down.

“That’s why you don’t belong. We don’t want pushovers. We want people who are strong and independent. You’re neither of those things. Would you have ever gone to Club Grit if we hadn’t invited you? Would you have ever said no? The fact you feel some need to please us, to grovel? That’s pathetic. That’s not Omega House behavior.” Her voice was now more cutting, but I knew what she said was true. She knew what people were really made of, capable of. That’s why she was in charge of pledge recruitment, and although maybe, she saw something in me, whether it was character or the fact my parents had won the lottery, she knew she’d made a mistake in letting me join Omega Mu Gamma. It wasn’t for girls like me.

So I’d become a girl like them.

I nodded and she and Samantha left my room, leaving me to finish packing. My house roommate knocked. “Come in,” I said. I didn’t care who saw what I was doing.