The Shameless Hour (13 page)

Another wave of laughter came from the table in back, and I just wanted to
die
. Rafe was so proud of himself for distracting me for an hour. But what was the point? Those fuckers at Beta Rho had framed my troubles for the whole world, and everyone at Harkness was going to see it.

And
know
.

My distress must have shown on my face, because now I saw Rafe eyeing the table in the corner, too. “Do you know them?” he asked softly.

I shook my head.

His dark brown eyes studied me warily. “You want to wait outside? I’ll get the food.”

He really didn’t understand. Outside wasn’t any better. There was
no place
to hide. “I’m good,” I lied. But then another guffaw burst forth from the dudes in the corner, and I must have stiffened. Because Rafe moved a little, changing the angle of his body, shielding me from view.

With a cold sweat breaking out on my back, I was counting the seconds until we could get away from here. In my whole life, I didn’t remember ever feeling this way — like I’d rather erase myself than hear another peal of laughter.

We’d discussed embarrassment in one of my psych classes. Embarrassment is just a construct you build for yourself. Nobody can
make
you feel embarrassed. Intellectually, I knew this to be true. But standing there in the deli sweating all over myself, it didn’t really matter.

My stomach was churning now. I didn’t even
want
a sandwich.

“So,” Rafe said, trying to distract me. “Your neighbor is a movie star. What’s up with that? I never see her coming in or out of the entryway.”

I looked up into Rafe’s calm brown eyes, and they steadied me. A little. “Lianne barely leaves her room. And she gets tetchy if I have music playing.”
Or loud men in my room
. Lucky for Lianne, there weren’t going to be any of
those
anymore. Probably forever. “Honestly, she’s a piece of work. I tried to be friendly, but it didn’t take.”

“Huh,” Rafe said. “Why doesn’t she live on Fresh Court with the other first years?”

“I think it’s a security thing. Anyone can walk into Fresh Court, but Beaumont has an extra set of locked gates, right?” I watched a guy behind the counter put two wrap sandwiches into a bag, praying that it was ours.

“That makes sense.” The man slid the bag across the stainless steel counter and Rafe took it. I turned on my heel and made for the door.

If Rafe was surprised I would be willing to
run
back to Beaumont, he didn’t say so. I even ran up the stairs, relaxing only when I’d made it back to the safety of my room.

Inside, Rafe opened the bag, handing me one of the sandwiches. “Drink some water while you eat this, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. I guess he wasn’t staying for lunch. I was disappointed, too, which was weird. Because I hadn’t wanted to see him at all in the first place.

“I’ve got a study session now,” he said by way of explanation. “But I’ll see you tonight?”

“Why?”

“We have to do some work on our project.”

“The one that’s due six weeks from now?” My tone practically dripped with attitude. Nobody had been nicer to me this past week than Rafe. But I couldn’t help mouthing off. Because I didn’t want his babysitting. And it bugged the shit out of me to even
look
like I needed help.

“I don’t do things at the last minute,” he said, his face serious. “That isn’t my style.”

I didn’t think before I spoke. “Rafe, I have proof that you sometimes act
very
impulsively.”

His face shut down, making me sorry I’d said it. “See you later. Maybe seven.” He left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Rafe left me alone with my sandwich and a thudding heart. He was gone so fast I didn’t get a chance to say thank you for making me go running. Or for making sure I didn’t starve to death in this room.

God, I was
such
a bitch.

After eating lunch I took a shower. I’d spent more time in the shower these past forty-eight hours than anywhere else. The ink markings were
almost
gone from my skin. But almost wasn’t good enough.

I toweled off, then dressed in a turtleneck and jeans. Not that anyone would see me. I didn’t plan on leaving my room again. I’d missed two classes already today, and the third was beginning without me.

But classes weren’t my real problem. In two hours, I was due to arrive at hockey practice, where the Brodacious photo would have already made the rounds. My friends were going to see that picture. Then they would wonder about the caption.

And
talk
about it.

There was no fucking way I was walking into that locker room today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.

I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed my fingertips into the corners of my too-hot eyes.

S
occer practice was
brutal that afternoon.

Coach ran us like greyhounds. And just before practice there’d been a little cloudburst, so the grass was damp and slippery. My knees were screaming by the time it was done, exhausted by the constant stop-start torque required to change direction as I dribbled the ball.

By the time the whistle blew, it was too dark to see the ball.

Bickley clapped a hand on my sweaty shoulder as we walked into the locker room. “What a lovely little stroll we’ve had this afternoon,” he said. “I feel so refreshed.”

“Coach was in a mood, wasn’t he?”

“That he was.”

My roommate and I went straight to dinner after showering, just barely making it into the Beaumont dining hall before closing time. When we got back to our room, Bickley threw himself on the sofa. But I gathered my Urban Studies stuff and headed for our door again.

“Where are you headed?” my roommate asked.

“Uh, upstairs. Bella and I are paired up on a project.”

“Reeeally.” He grinned. “That could be
just
what you require. She’s quite the slapper, I’ve heard.”

My blood pressure kicked up several notches on Bella’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bickley spread his hands. “It’s a shame that she prefers hockey players, though. Maybe she’d make an exception for a soccer player. It’s a similar enough game — we’re all trying to get the round thing into the goal. Maybe she’ll let you put your round thing into her goal.”

“Shut your mouth,” I growled, walking out and letting the door slam. If I’d stood there a minute longer, I can’t say what I would have done to him.

Fucking Bickley.

I headed upstairs and knocked on Bella’s door. I was more than a little surprised to hear her say “come in.” Pushing the door open, I saw Bella on the bed. She looked a hell of a lot better than when I’d walked in here a few hours ago. Wearing clean clothes and a slick of lip gloss, she looked more like the Bella that I used to see. “Hey,” she said, her eyes flickering up into mine.

“Hey yourself.”

“I just need to tell you something quickly, and then I never want to speak of it again.”

“Um, okay?” I chuckled.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and braced her elbows on her knees. “The reason I went into that frat house last Saturday night was that I needed to tell one of the guys something.” Bella took a sudden interest in her fingernails. “My doctor told me that I’d caught an, um, infection. Not a serious one. But contagious.” She looked up to meet my eyes for a fractional second. “I got it within a short time frame, though. So that means I didn’t have it when we, uh…” She crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

Bella opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she hadn’t expected me to say that. “I’m just telling you because you might hear all sorts of shit about me. But you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I understand.”

She clapped her hands. “Moving on. Now let’s talk about West 165th Street.”

I opened my notebook and sifted through the pages. My brain was still trying to catch up with what she’d just said — and what she
hadn’t
. If Bella had walked into that house on fraternity row to deliver some very unpleasant news, she sure stayed there a while. It was after seven in the morning when I’d seen her stumbling out.

With insults inked all over her body.

What the hell happened during all that time? It didn’t take nine hours to tell a guy that kind of news.

Bella misinterpreted my silence. “I’m sure you’re clean.”

“I wasn’t worried, Bella.”

Her face showed very clearly that she didn’t believe me. “Urban Studies,” she clipped.

“Yes ma’am.” I took a seat in her desk chair, which was free of debris. “I took good notes yesterday because he was talking about affordable housing. So we have to decide whether we want to use a voucher system, or whatever.”

“Okay.” She twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers.

I knew exactly how soft her hair was, and how it felt in my hands. Her happy smile was another perfectly formed memory. After everything that had happened to her, I wondered when I might see that happy smile again, and whether there was anything I could do to bring it back.

Whatever it was, I would do it.

“Vouchers are the simplest,” Bella was saying. “If we wanted to get fancy, we could do something with sweat equity. Or even better — a rent-to-own setup. How complicated do you want to make this?”

“I’m not afraid of the work,” I told her. “I really need to win this thing.”

“Why?”

“The prize.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Can’t you visit food trucks any old time? I mean, you can’t swing a pair of chopsticks without hitting one.”

“That’s not the point. I need to meet that guy in charge — the food truck guru. Our family restaurant could really rock one of those things. And I need to convince my mom that it’s a good idea. So if we win, I’d bring her as my date.”

Bella’s expression softened. “You’re like a walking chick flick.”

“Whatever. Just tell me what sweat equity is. And that other thing.”

Bella crossed her legs on the bed and began to explain. And for a little while, peace reigned in the kingdom. She looked like the old Bella, too, talking with her hands, her green eyes flashing. And I took notes so I could remember all the things she was telling me.

“Where’d you learn all of this?” I asked, scribbling furiously before I forgot what she’d said.

“I told you. Dinner table conversation. One-sided conference calls. Buildings are all my father ever talks about.”

There was a knock at the door. “Bella!” came a male voice.

Across from me, Bella flinched. She raised a finger to her lips, asking me to stay silent.

The knock persisted. “Bells, open up. Come
on
. I’m freaking out, here.”

With a sigh, Bella stood and crossed to the door. When she opened it, two men loomed in the doorway. When she backed away, they came inside.

The energy in the room changed in a way I did not like. The first guy in the door — a big blond guy — stared down at Bella, tension radiating off him. “Rikker said you weren’t at practice.”

Two pink spots appeared on Bella’s cheeks. She looked past her blond friend at the other guy. I recognized him — he was in about a hundred newspaper articles last year.
The First Out Gay Player In Division One Hockey
, etc. “You ratted me out?” Bella asked.

Rikker rolled his eyes. “We’re just worried about you, Bells.”

“That does not even
begin
to cover it,” the blond guy said. His jacket said GRAHAM on it. “What the hell happened? Who took that picture?”

Great
. “Not the question,” I muttered, wishing he would just stand down. A minute ago, Bella had been relaxed for the first time in days. Now she sat down heavily, looking for all the world like she’d rather crawl under the bed than sit on it.

“And who are
you?
” Graham demanded, his attention swinging to me.

“A friend,” I said testily. “The downstairs neighbor. The guy who
isn’t
talking about that freaking picture.”

Graham’s glance dismissed me. He sat down on Bella’s bed right beside her, putting an arm around her. “Seriously. Who did that? And what’s with…” He picked up her arm and pushed up the sleeve of her T-shirt to expose a few inches of her wrist.

Bella yanked her arm away. “I’m fine.”

“There is nothing fine about—”

“I’m FINE!” she yelled. Her face was a bright shade of pink, and her eyes glittered.

“Come on,” he pressed. “I need to know.”

“Not true,” she clipped, turning her face away from him.

Rikker sat down on the other side of her, so Bella ended up burying her nose in his shoulder. Rikker put his palm on her cheek and pulled her close. “Bella,” he whispered, and I watched her back rise and fall as she tried to hold herself together.

“I am
done
with guys,” she croaked. “Men suck.”

The two guys on the bed turned in toward Bella, gathering her in their arms. “No,” Graham crooned. “Some guys are awesome. We love you.”

Bella gave her head a single shake. “I just… The whole
team
saw it, didn’t they?” she gasped. “I’m
never
going back to practice.”

Rikker made an unhappy noise. “But then the asshole wins.”

“I don’t
care
.”

“Yeah, you do,” Graham said, rubbing her back. “We don’t let the assholes win.”

“I just can’t…” Her back heaved. “
Stand
this.”

My throat got tight, and the other two men held her even closer. They murmured soothing things while Bella began to sniff.

I don’t know how long it took me to realize I was no longer needed. It was hard to just walk out of the room, but I’d done what I could, even if it did not feel like nearly enough.

When I slipped out, she did not even look up.

H
ow mortifying
to end up crying in Graham’s arms.

I pulled myself together after a few minutes, wiping my face on my sleeve. “I’ll be okay,” I promised.

“Yeah, you will be,” Rikker said softly. “But we have to get that picture taken down. Who’s the asshole? We want to help you with that.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. There was no
way
I would contact him. Ever, ever again. And I wasn’t going to turn Graham and Rikker on him, either. How ugly would that get? My two gay friends, beating down the door of the football fraternity? That was the worst idea I’d ever heard.

“What they did must be against a whole lot of rules,” Graham said.

“Don’t be so sure,” I argued. “It isn’t a Harkness website. It isn’t even an official…” I almost said “Beta Rho website,” but caught myself just in case they hadn’t already made the connection. “It’s just a random spot on the web, where no names are given. Including mine.”

“So you’re just going to
ignore
it?” Graham yelped.

I pressed my hands against my hot face, trying to stay calm. “In a few days they’ll humiliate someone else, right? My picture will sink down on the page.”

“That is so fucked,” Rikker complained.

“What would be
so fucked
,” I said icily, “is making a complaint that doesn’t stick.” I’d thought about this for many hours already, and I was positive there was nothing to be gained by reporting Whittaker. “Humiliation is not against the law. And if marking up a drunk person was illegal, every frat in North America would be shut down. If I make a big stink, then anyone who hasn’t seen the picture
will
see it.”

“Sexual harassment is not okay,” Rikker said quietly. “The college is obligated to put a stop to it. I could have won a judgment against St. B’s if I’d gone after them. And I don’t see how this is different.”

“You’re right,” I said brightly. “It
is
the same thing. And you
didn’t
go after them in court, did you?”

“No, but…”

“But
nothing
. I’ve seen what happens when someone like me goes up against someone like him.”

“Like who?” Graham asked.

God, did he think I was that stupid? “Nice try, Graham. But I’m not exactly Snow White. Nobody cares if somebody says a few shitty things about me. Right now, my name is not on the front page of that newspaper you write for. If I report him, tomorrow it will be. How is that better?”

Graham’s eyes squeezed shut, probably because he knew I was right. His arms tightened around me once again. “I can’t make you turn him in. But I really need to know one thing. Was the ink the worst thing that happened to you that night?”

“No!” I spat, and his whole body stiffened. “The fucking
picture
was the worst thing that happened. Duh.”

He let out a breath, and I felt just
steeped
in misery and drama. As a rule, I didn’t do drama. I didn’t manufacture it or traffic in it. But now it was all around me.

What I
didn’t
tell Graham — or Rafe — was that I knew those assholes had put something more than alcohol in my drink. But that’s not what Graham had been asking. He’d wanted to know if I’d been assaulted, just like Rafe had tried to ask, too. In their minds, it was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. And maybe they were right. It’s not like I had any experience with that.

But I’d had enough experience with other kinds of assholery to know public humiliation was no trip to Hollywood, either. I wasn’t about to make my own life worse by making a complaint against the fraternity, because there was no way I’d prevail. The Beta Rho national chapter probably
wrote
their own slut-shaming tactical handbook.

“A lot of guys would want to help you.” Rikker gave my lower back a supportive rub.

I disentangled myself from the two of them. “I know.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”

“The hockey team knows you always have our backs. So we’re going to have yours.”

Now
that
was naive. Because it didn’t matter how many clean jerseys I’d handed out before practice, or how quickly I could organize fifteen hotel room reservations. If I walked into that locker room right now, those guys were still going to wonder:
What did she catch? I wonder who gave it to her?

I was
tainted
. And nobody was ever going to let me forget it.

“I’ll be fine,” I fibbed, rubbing the drying tears off my face. “Seriously. And I have a whole lot of homework tonight.”

Graham and Rikker exchanged a loaded glance. “Will I see you at practice tomorrow night?” Rikker asked.

“Sure,” I lied.

Graham kissed me on the eyebrow. “Will you come to Capri’s Pizza tomorrow night?”

Fat chance
. “Maybe.”

“All right.” Rikker stood up. “Call us if you need us.”

“I will,” I promised, just to shut them up. What I needed was for everyone to stop talking about it.

They left, and my room was silent again.

B
efore my life
went to hell, I used to sleep like a baby. Now? Not so much.

At four in the morning, I found myself tangled up in the sheets, trying to find a way out of my misery. Sometimes my mind would drift, and I’d end up thinking about normal things — the next Rangers game, or a psych essay that I’d read. But then a glimpse of the faded ink on my arm, or the memory of picking up that drink that I’d been served at the Beta Rho house…
Shudder
.

I lay there, working it through my mind, like a logical puzzle that might be solved if I could only find a way. But short of time travel, there was no solution at all.

If I’d only said no to the drink.

If I’d only told Whittaker over the phone…

A girl could go crazy this way. And whenever my brain veered any further down this path, I had to force myself to turn back toward the light. The memory of waking up on the floor of Beta Rho that morning was not a place in my mind I could visit without becoming fearful. So I tucked that away to think about sometime later.

Much later.

After tossing and turning for hours, I finally fell asleep again when the first light was in the sky.

Whatevs. I wasn’t going to class, anyway.

U
nfortunately
, it’s not easy to hide from the world when you have nosy neighbors.

Lianne walked into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth around ten in the morning. “Don’t you have class?” she asked.

I did, as a matter of fact. The seminar was an upper-level psych class with only a dozen or so people in it. But I would have had to cross the entire campus to get there, and I just didn’t feel up to it.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Lianne tried, even though I’d never answered her first question.

“Who eats breakfast?” I countered.

“Did you get coffee?”

Seriously?
“What’s it to you?”

“Want to hit the coffee shop with me?”

I couldn’t help but sneak a look at her in the mirror. Since when did Lianne make friendly overtures? Rafe probably put her up to it. “I’m good,” I said. “But thanks.”

She gave me a single, frustrated frown. Then she darted into her room and shut the door again.

If Lianne had picked any other day this year to be nice to me, I would have responded differently. But it was going to take a little more than coffee to extract me from the privacy of my room.

I wrote an apologetic email to the grad student who led my psych seminar and stayed home.

As soon as I settled on my bed again, my phone rang to the tune of “The Saints Go Marching In.” And as soon as I heard that little tune, I realized I’d made an error of epic proportions.

“Oh shit,” I said to the walls of my room. I answered the phone anyway, because ducking my own fuck-ups wasn’t my style. “Hi Mom,” I said.

“Bella, your sister—”

“I
know
. I’m sorry. I’ve been frantic, and it totally slipped my mind.” That was sure true. “I’ll call her immediately.”

My mother’s sigh was loud. “You’ve offended her, sweetie. The grant and the award are very important to her. How busy could you be?”

Well, the total implosion of my life has been surprisingly consuming
. “I’ll call right now. But you have to let me hang up with you.”

“Don’t you dare forget the banquet.”

Shit!
The fucking banquet. “I won’t forget.”

“I’ll see you then, sweetie.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Call your sister,” she couldn’t resist saying once more.

“Doing it now!” I hung up and inspected my ceiling again. But the task could not be avoided, so I dialed my sister.

And, lo! God smiled down and gave me her voicemail, which meant I could say my piece without groveling in real time. I opened with, “I’m so sorry,” and then I followed up with enthusiastic congratulations, followed by more apologies.

“That should do it,” I said to nobody, throwing the phone down and rolling toward the wall. I recommenced my hibernation.

But the world would not be ignored.

Rafe showed up next, and he was not so easily shaken off as Lianne. “Bella,” he said, knocking. “Open up.”

I decided opening the door would be the quicker method of ducking him. Seeing as I’d brushed my hair and made my bed, he might not call the authorities.

When I opened the door, he walked in wearing running clothes. He had a pair of those spandex compression shorts sticking out from underneath his running shorts, which somehow managed to highlight how muscular his thighs were.
Rawr
. The boy was practically edible.

Or rather, he would be,
if
I were still into men. Which I wasn’t.

“It’s time for our run,” he said, as if we were running buddies.

“I don’t run,” I reminded him.

“Sure you do. I’ve seen you. First we run, then we go to class.”

Lovely
. He thought he had me all schooled up. “And what if I don’t?”

“Same threat applies today.”

God!
You bossy…! I wanted to scream. “Look. I’m
fine
. And you can’t keep blackmailing me like this.”

“Funny.” He chuckled. “Hanging out with you is not the effortless payoff that blackmail implies. But I
will
tell someone if I think you’re not okay. And if you leave the building with me, then I know you’re all right.”

“You could just take my word for it.”

“Not happening,
chica
.”

With a curse, I got up to find some running clothes.

W
e jogged
a little farther than last time. By the time we arrived panting at our entryway door again, I was tremendously impressed with myself. But I sure wasn’t about to admit it to Rafe.

He looked at his watch. “You’ve got twenty minutes to get cleaned up for class. I’ll knock on your door.”

“I’ll just meet you there,” I tried, climbing the stairs slowly. My legs were shaky from exertion.

Rafe just shook his head. “We go together, Bella. I’m not falling for that.”

Christ.

I took the world’s fastest shower and then hopped into my nicest jeans and a fancier sweater than I’d usually wear to class. As if that mattered. As if anyone in the lecture hall would look at me and decide I wasn’t actually a filthy slut because I was wearing a cashmere sweater from Bergdorf’s that matched my eyes.

Rafe was maddeningly prompt, of course. When he knocked on my door, I followed him downstairs and outside. The closer we got to the lecture hall, though, the more my feet dragged on the flagstones. Urban Studies was a big lecture with at least sixty people in it. I did not want to sit there and wonder how many of them had seen my picture.

My feet stopped altogether.

Rafe drew up behind me. “By all means, move at a glacial pace.”

I whirled on him. “You’re quoting
The Devil Wears Prada
while I’m about to lose my shit?”
Whoa. Too much truth-telling
.

His big brown eyes went wide. “What’s the matter?”

I looked up into his handsome face and felt like punching him in the teeth. “What’s the
matter?
Just
everything
. And your only concern is a project that’s not due for an aeon.”

His face softened. “That is
not
my only concern. Let’s just go sit down inside.”

“No! I’m
not
going in there.”

I tried to duck around him, but he caught me around the waist. “Bella,” he whispered into my ear. “What’s the alternative?”

“Transferring.” The word popped out as if it had been waiting there all along. I needed to be somewhere else — a college where I wasn’t that mess of a girl in that picture. Graham had said I shouldn’t let the assholes win. But right now I was willing to hand over the trophy without a fight.

“Bella,” he said again, his voice low and steady. The sound of it cut through the clatter of the hamster wheel in my brain, the one that was running scared. He put his arms around me, and I hid my face against his soccer jacket. “We’ll sit in the last row. Nobody will even know we’re there.”

I doubted that was true. But, as he’d pointed out, what was the alternative? I didn’t really have a Plan B. There were seven months left of my college career. I used to think of myself as a person who could survive anything for seven months.

Obviously I’d thought wrong.

My heart thumped spastically against my ribs as I considered leaving school. But where would I go? If I showed up on my parents’ doorstep, they’d want to know why. That would be a fun conversation. This problem wasn’t going away, even if I ran.

All these thoughts battered around in my brain while I stood pressing my nose into my neighbor’s shoulder. Because that wasn’t weird or anything.

I took a tiny step back, even though I didn’t want to. “All right. Let’s go.”

With his hand at the small of my back, Rafe walked me into the lecture room. He didn’t let go until the second we took our seats in the last row. When class was over, I was up and out of there faster than you can say
later, suckers
.

“Going to lunch?” Rafe asked, practically jogging after me.