The Play
“It only happened once,” she blurts out. “Just one time, I swear.”
My stomach roils again. I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m done.
Gulping hard, I spin on my heel and stomp toward the door. Nico chases after me, his pleading voice echoing through the small apartment.
“Demi, please, stop! Let me explain.”
“Explain what?” I roar, whirling around. “You cheated on me with my friend! And then again with some other girl at the party! Who was she? How many goddamn women are you screwing?”
“I didn’t cheat on you. She’s lying—”
“Hey!” Corinne flies forward. “I am not lying!”
I flick my gaze her way and glimpse a flash of outrage. It’s directed at my boyfriend.
“I’m not lying, Demi,” Corinne says quietly. “It happened.”
And I believe her.
“Pippa,” I say in a wobbly voice. “Get me an Uber. Now.” I’m fighting tears, because my phone’s dead and I’m trapped here in this stupid apartment with my traitorous friend and my cheating boyfriend and I just want to crawl in a fucking hole and die.
“On it,” Pippa tells me.
“Demi.” Nico tries to grab my arm.
On instinct I swing my other arm and clock him in the face. His head rears back, a bitter curse ripped out of his mouth.
My fist caught him on his left cheekbone. With a wounded expression, he cups one hand over it. “You hit me.”
“You bet I fucking did, and you deserve a whole lot more, you fucking asshole.”
“Uber’s two minutes away,” Pippa announces.
I jab my index finger into the center of Nico’s chest. “Do not follow me,” I warn him, and then I run out the door.
17
Hunter
It’s Friday night and my roommates and I are playing an inane board game called Zombies!™ Exclamation mark included.
Hollis is home for the weekend, which means we get to listen to him and Rupi bicker over the latest development in the game. Hollis just drew a Sacrifice card—this requires him to sacrifice someone in our collaborative group in order for the rest of us to get closer to safety. Only problem is, the most advantageous move would be to get rid of Rupi. If she dies, we don’t lose much. Everybody else is too valuable to the group. There are two crossbows in my arsenal, for chrissake. What does Rupi have? Nothing.
“Dammit, Mike, finish her off,” Summer bursts out, and damned if I don’t crack up hearing someone as angelic-looking as Summer advocating for the fake killing of one of our friends.
“Summer!” Rupi gasps in utter betrayal.
“What?” she says defensively. “The whole point is to get the most people to the research station. There’s only one Sacrifice card in the deck. Only one person in the group is gonna die and it has to be you.”
“Has to be you,” Brenna agrees, taking a sip of the hot chocolate that soon-to-be deceased Rupi prepared for us.
“Mike,” Rupi warns. “If you kill me, I swear to God…”
“Babe,” he says.
“Mike.”
“Babe.”
“Mike.”
“Babe,” he sighs, and then places the Sacrifice card in front of her pile.
Rupi shrieks loud enough to shake the coffee table. “I cannot believe you did that!”
“I had no choice,” he protests. “It was best for the group.”
“What about what’s best for me?”
“You’re being very selfish right now, babe.”
“Why? Because I want my boyfriend to protect me from harm? I don’t believe this! After we’re done with this game, I’m going to—”
“You are done with the game,” Brenna interrupts dryly. “He killed you.”
Rupi huffs and flounces off in traditional Rupi fashion. The girl is a drama queen.
Luckily, she found true love with a drama king. Hollis stands up and throws his frazzled arms up in the air. “Do you see what you made me do?” he accuses the rest of us. “This is why I never play board games!”
He hurries after Rupi.
“And then there were three,” Brenna says indifferently, flipping through her arsenal cards.
“We can’t go on without him,” I tell her. “He’s the only one who has the antidote for the second mutation. Oh, and the only one who can skin a rabbit.”
“We’ll redistribute all the assets,” Summer suggests.
“Nah, I think the game’s over.” I drop my cards on the board and lean back against the couch cushions.
“We need to stop playing games with them,” Brenna remarks as she picks up her mug.
“Definitely,” Summer concurs. “They’re the worst.”
I reach for my own hot chocolate and gulp it down. My head wasn’t in the game, anyway.
For the past five days, Demi Davis has consumed my thoughts. I feel like shit for snapping at her, but if my severe tone wasn’t bad enough, I followed it up by info-dumping my dismal relationship with my father on her. I could practically see the gears in her brain working over all the things I’d told her since the semester started, trying to discern which ones were true.
Sadly, the majority were. I embellished a few details, to be sure. Dad generally isn’t cruel to my mother, nor does he speak to her with the same disdain I used during the fake therapy sessions. I was trying to exaggerate certain narcissistic tendencies to make it easier for Demi.
But all the events I described occurred in real life. I did catch my father banging his secretary when I was fourteen years old. I did tell my mom, and she did tell me to not interfere in their marriage. Just be a good boy and stay quiet because Daddy takes care of us and what kind of life would we have without him.
That was the day I realized my mother has no self-worth and my father has too much of it.
Still, an angry trip down memory lane was no excuse to take it out on Demi. I knew there was a chance she wouldn’t believe me when I told her about Nico. I shouldn’t have mocked her about getting her head out of the sand, insinuated she was a naïve fool.
She called you a fuckboy.
Ugh, true. She was as much of a dick to me as I was to her. We’re both dicks.
Fuck. I should try to clear the air. I look toward the side table where I left my phone. But no. Texting is garbage. A text conversation about this would feel too impersonal.
“You know what.” I hop off the couch. “I have to go.”
Summer glances over. “Are you sure? We could start a new game.”
“Nah, I think the zombies can have this one. I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you going?” Brenna asks.
“To see a friend.”
“Ha!” Mocking laughter rings out. “I knew the celibacy wouldn’t last.”
“Not for sex,” I clarify. “It’s the girl I’m working on that project with. We got into an argument the other day, and I want to smooth things over.”
“You know you can just text her,” Summer says helpfully.
“You know you can mind your own business.”