In Pieces, page 9
Oh my God. Liz. I just saw her. Friday night at Toolies bar. “Is she…is she okay?” I ask shakily.
“I don’t really know how to answer that,” Torrence admits.
“Right. Of course not.”
“All I heard was that she came home to the sorority house when most of the girls were still out, but Kari Marx—she’s in my women’s studies class—was home studying or something and saw her. She came in all messed up and disheveled, or whatever, and Kari kept asking her what happened, and finally she admitted a guy attacked her.”
I shiver. I know the news I’ve just heard is probably making me paranoid, but I still have that feeling that I’m being watched. Of course, that’s probably because of Brody’s stalky behavior before we became friends.
“Do you know who it was?” I ask.
They both shrug. “Yeah. She knew the guy. He’s a senior, but new on campus. I don’t know his name.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, my subconscious whispering the name that only just floated through my mind. Brody. But I know better. I may not know him all that well, and I may be naïve when it comes to guys, but I know he wouldn’t do something like that.
Still, even as I assure myself that there are hundreds, maybe thousands of transferred seniors on campus, I recall Liz flirting with Brody at Toolies Friday night…
What if they met up the next night? What if they went out, and Brody…No. I halt my train of thought. I told him we were friends, and I owe a friend the benefit of the doubt. Especially with something as abhorrent as this.
I mutter some cursory platitudes about how awful it all is, and make my way onto the deserted quad, the shadows of the ancient maples setting my already jittery nerves on edge. I swipe open my phone, but before I can open one of the many unread texts, it buzzes in my hand. David calling.
“Hey,” I answer. I’ve already figured that he’s been trying to reach me to tell me about Liz, and probably to use her as a cautionary tale to be more careful around campus. But how careful can one really be? If Liz knew the guy, chances are he didn’t just assault her on the street, right? Are we never supposed to trust anyone at all?
“Bea? Where in the actual motherfucking fuck have you motherfucking been?”
Jesus. His hysterics make me giggle, and I hear him huff through the phone, unamused. “I was…just having coffee.” With Brian. But David doesn’t need to know that yet. Not while he’s in such a state. “My battery was low. I turned my phone off so I’d have it for the walk home.”
David’s excitable breathing is audible through the phone. “Good. That was smart. Good,” he says almost to himself.
“David, are you okay?” I know he’s probably upset about Liz. They are friends, after all.
I spot Brody between Standman C and D, smoking with his head down, so I guess the quad isn’t completely empty, after all. I throw him a wave, and he gives an uncertain one back. I wonder who he’s visiting when he comes here, or if he lives in one of the other buildings, and I make a note to ask him. He looks agitated, and he takes a step like he wants to speak to me, but right now I need to get to my dorm to charge my damned phone, before it shuts down mid-conversation and David really loses it.
“Bea, did you hear what happened Saturday? To Liz?”
“I just heard from a girl in my Shakespeare class. I can’t believe it.”
“Well I fucking can,” David growls, stopping me in my tracks. “I told you, Bea!” He says furiously. He’s angry with me, but I don’t understand why, or what he’s even talking about.
“W-what did you tell me?” I ask hesitantly.
David senses my reaction and sucks in a deep, calming breath. “Your fucking stalker. Brody,” he spits.
The phone shakes in my trembling hand and my throat tightens until it’s hard to breathe. My instinct is denial. Because Brody wouldn’t do that, would he?
But of course I don’t know what he would or wouldn’t do. I don’t really know him at all. All I know is some sob story about his mom—a story, I now realize, he could have easily made up.
“Where are you?” David asks frantically.
“In the quad,” I croak.
And then I remember he’s here—Brody—smoking in the alley between the two buildings, and I glance over my shoulder to where I’d seen him.
But he’s not there anymore. No, he’s marching toward me, in obvious agitation, and it takes too long for my brain to get the message to my feet to fucking move.
By the time I’m running toward the door to my building, fumbling for the security key fob, Brody has nearly caught up to me. Fear surges in my gut, constricting my chest until I’m gasping for each breath, my heart racing for its life.
Why is he chasing me? What does he want?
And why is he not locked up?
I try to rationalize and tell myself if he was going to do something to me, he’d have done it already. But then, he’s never had me alone, and right now there’s no one around. I peek back and find him only fifteen feet behind me, his features held in a glower that sends chills down my spine and churns my stomach with dread.
Tears blur my vision as I hold the fob up to the sensor, and I trip over my own feet, barely righting myself as the door buzzes open.
“Beth!” Brody calls.
But I’m through the door in a heartbeat, pulling it closed tightly behind me. Brody can’t get in here without a key fob, and even though rationally I know I’m safe, I don’t feel it with his frustrated glare shooting daggers at me through the wall of glass—all that separates us.
I suck in deep breaths, only vaguely aware of David’s muffled voice shouting frenziedly from the phone I dropped into my bag when I got my keys.
And then my heart stops beating as Brody slowly reaches into his pocket and retrieves his own key fob.
I know they’re all identical no matter where on campus you live, but as he holds it out toward the sensor, I stop breathing entirely. Idly I wonder why I’ve never considered that he might live in my own building, especially after seeing him around here those times. But by the time the door buzzes its access I’m already flying toward the elevator, slamming my palm on the call button.
In a rare bit of luck, the elevator is already idling in the lobby, and the doors slide open immediately. I throw myself into the car and desperately hit the button for the fourth floor, watching in horror as Brody’s long, purposeful strides cover the distance too quickly, still glaring at me with unfathomable intent.
Terror is a living, breathing thing, crushing my lungs and roiling my stomach. But God must be watching over me tonight, because the doors close just before Brody can get a hand between them, and he’s calling my name as I’m lifted to safety.
The stairs.
The realization strikes me in the gut. Four flights. But with his size and physique, it isn’t the obstacle it would be for someone like me.
Does he know what floor I live on? If he’s the stalker David accused him of being, then he probably does, and my heart skips dangerously as I struggle with the key to my room.
“Lani?” I call as my shaking fingers try to jam my key into the lock. But I’m greeted with silence, and I know she isn’t home.
The familiar loud creak of the oil-deprived stairwell door resonates down the hall, and I know it’s him without even turning to check. But I’m through my door and locking it before I even hear him call my name.
Brody continues calling for me through the door I’ve slid down, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to catch my breath and staunch my tears. Violent knocking rattles the door and vibrates down my spine, and I jump farther into the room, putting as much distance between Brody and myself as possible.
“Go away!” I sob.
His voice is muffled through the door, but I can make out, “…just want to talk…please, Beth…”
I wonder if he’d told Liz he just wanted to talk. Nausea rises in my gut and I fall into a chant, begging him to “go away, go away, go away!”
I’m still chanting when I realize my voice is the only one filling the room. That Brody’s voice is gone, and his knocking has ceased.
I quiet.
I listen carefully, not daring to take so much as a step toward the door. And then I hear the distant sound of a voice that reminds me I’m not alone.
I hurry to the bag I dropped when I stumbled through the door, and grab my phone. The screen displays David’s name and his Facebook photo, a particularly handsome shot of him wearing his trademark lopsided, roguish smirk. The timer on the screen indicates that the call has lasted only twelve minutes.
How? How can only twelve minutes have passed since I answered his call?
The phone shakes in my hand. “H-hello,” I rasp. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I don’t tell him what happened. Why I don’t beg him to help me.
Maybe because, deep down, I know he’s already on his way.
“Bea? Bea? What the fuck! Where are you? I’m on my way to Standman,” he confirms.
“M-my dorm.”
“Fuck, Bea, I’m losing my mind over here! Are you okay? Who was shouting?”
“It was him.”
“I fucking knew it! Damn it, Beth, he’s dangerous!”
“I know!” I cry. “He followed me! I didn’t—”
“How did he get into Standman?”
I pause, my voice tiny when I say, “He lives here. In my building. I didn’t know.”
David rattles off a string of colorful expletives, their familiarity in his deep tenor calming my nerves. He sucks in a settling breath. “Is he gone?” he asks.
“I think.”
“Look through your peephole.”
I approach my door warily, as if the moment I reach it, the shouting and banging will start up again. But when I look through my peephole, no one is there. “He’s gone,” I confirm.
David sighs. “I’m gonna hang up—”
“No!” I cry. It’s irrational, but having him on the phone makes me feel safe, like more than his voice is here with me, ready to take up for me like always.
“Bea, he’s gone, and your door is locked, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to hang up, and you’re going to call campus security, and report him. Right now, okay?” He talks slowly and carefully, as if to an hysterical child—I suppose that’s what Brody has reduced me to, and the thought has resentment brewing in my chest.
It morphs into anger, and then resolve.
I am not a helpless little girl, and I will not be victimized by someone I’ve shown nothing but kindness.
“Why is he even free? Shouldn’t he be in jail?” I ask.
David sighs again. “Yeah, he motherfucking should. Supposedly they brought him in for questioning, but released him ‘pending investigation’,” he spits bitterly.
“He denied it?” I gasp.
“Well would you fucking admit it?” he says harshly. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know all the details. I only spoke to Kari—she’s one of Liz’s sorority sisters. But you know how these things go. He said–she said and all that shit. He denies he was even with her, so they’re investigating, I guess. I texted Liz, but she’s not responding to me. Not that I can fucking blame her, considering I’m the one who introduced her to that piece of shit.”
I swallow down my guilt. Because, actually, that was me. I’m the one who befriended him, who invited him to the bar Friday night.
“This isn’t your fault, Bea.” David reads my mind. “It’s not. But you need to be a little less trusting, okay? Not everyone deserves your friendship.”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
But the fact remains, if I’d been smarter, more vigilant, Liz would never have been attacked. Brody’s behavior was alarming, and I so easily dismissed it and accepted his explanation.
Did he read me? Realize I was awkward and shy, and use it against me? Am I that easy to manipulate?
I feel stupid. The self-worth I’ve spent three years trying to rebuild into something tangible slowly starts to chip away again. I hate that I’ve given Brody that power, and it makes me resent myself even more.
“Look, I’m almost at your dorm. Hang up, and call security,” David says softly, kid gloves on tight. I don’t even blame him.
“I need to sign you in,” I say almost robotically.
“No.”
“But—”
“Do not leave your room for any reason, Bea. Do you understand?”
David’s order reminds me that the danger remains, and that it is very real. “Okay.”
“I’ll have Shitface sign me in. He lives in your building.”
“Good to have pledges,” I murmur.
David huffs out a breath. “I’ll see you in a minute.” He hangs up.
I stare at my phone. But instead of calling campus security, my first call is to Lani. She’s jumpy and nervous and confirms she’s been trying to reach me to tell me about the assault. She’s in Campus West, another freshman dorm, studying with Elise, a girl in her statistics class she’s become friends with.
I tell her what happened with Brody. She had no idea he lived in our building, either.
“Which is weird, right?” she says. “A guy who looks like that…I mean, you notice him, you know? Although he seems kinda lurky, like he’s trying to blend into the shadows.”
She has no idea. Again, I’m reminded that the red flags were all there, and that I chose to ignore them.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Look, I gotta go. But maybe you should ask Elise if you could stay there tonight?” Lani has mentioned that Elise’s roommate is a townie who rarely stays in the dorm, so I know there’s probably an empty bed for her.
“I’m not going to leave you alone tonight, Beth,” Lani asserts. Because she’s that kind of friend.
“I’m already in the room, door locked tight. And anyway, David is on his way up.”
I hear the smirk in her voice when she says, “Of course he is. Well, you know, maybe he should stay the night. Just to make sure everything’s kosher, right? He can sleep in my bed. I wouldn’t mind coming home to my pillow smelling of that man.”
Lani elicits an impossible giggle despite my mood, if a vaguely jealous one. I don’t want David in her bed, even alone.
“Or, actually, my bed is super uncomfortable. I totally forgot. He should probably just bunk up with you. You can both fit; you just need to cuddle real close—”
“Oh, shh, Lani!”
“Hashtag, just saying.”
“Don’t say hashtag,” I admonish her, not for the first time, but I’m sure she can hear my smile.
“Hashtag, sorry, not sorry,” she says just to be annoying.
It has the opposite effect, and I exhale some of my residual anxiety. “Okay, I have to call campus security before David gets up here and scolds me about it.”
“Or, you could let yourself get in trouble with your bodyguard. Maybe tell him you need to be punished. A nice spank—”
“Good-bye!” I squeal, and hang up the phone.
I’m only just calling campus security—a number we were all instructed to program into our speed dial at orientation—when David knocks fervently on the door. I check the peephole before I let him in.
His presence is enormous in the shoebox of a room. Not just because of his height and build, but because of his energy. He chews his bottom lip when he realizes I’m on the phone, and that he’ll have to hold his questions, or lecture, for now. Campus security tells me they’re sending an officer to talk to me, and others to sweep the building and quad, but there’s no point, since Brody lives here.
I hang up the phone and sit on my small twin bed, sagging in defeat.
“What’d they say?” David asks, brows raised expectantly.
“They’re sending someone to talk to me. And officers to look around campus, but…”
“But?”
I sigh. “You heard me when I told them what happened. It just sounded like some guy went into his own dorm and came by my room to talk to me.”
“Some guy who attacked a girl less than two days ago!” David growls.
“I know that. But that hasn’t been proven yet, as far as they’re concerned. It’s not like they’re going to arrest him for knocking on my door.”
David stews in place, realizing the truth of my words, radiating frustrated energy. I can feel his aggravation—it’s there in his tense muscles, the clench of his sharp, rugged jaw.
I feel like an errant child, and I study my fingernails with practiced fascination, scratching absently at my cuticles. Eventually he sits beside me, his heavy arm settling comfortingly around my shoulders.
“It’s going to be fine, kid. Okay?”
I don’t reply. I don’t even remember what fine is anymore.
We wait in silence for campus security, and an officer arrives no more than five minutes later. As I predicted, my account of Brody’s chase and my narrow escape sounds a lot less sinister than it felt.
“Did he say anything other than that he wanted to talk to you?” the officer asks.
I shake my head in defeat.
“All right, Miss Caplan, we’ll have a talk with him and let him know that he should keep his distance from you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. I wonder how effective that will be.
David asks to speak to the officer in private, and they go into the hall. I don’t bother trying to listen. I already know David is expressing his outrage, demanding that they do more to protect me.
But what can they do? Brody is innocent until proven otherwise, and he had every right to be in his own dorm building, and to knock on my door, apparently.
David bursts back through my door, visibly pissed off. I don’t bother asking why.
He stands there, staring at me, and then he whirls into motion. He opens my closet, then looks under my bed, and pulls out my overnight bag. He tosses it at me. “Pack your shit,” he orders.
I stare at him blankly.
David starts pulling clothing out of my closet and, still, I blink at him in confusion. When he opens the top drawer of my dresser, he freezes and rakes his fingers through his hair, and I remember that it’s my underwear drawer. I rush in front of him and slam it shut. “What are you doing?” I demand.
