Page 43 of The Writer

It washim, from the frat party. The one who’d put something in my drink. The one who’d tried to assault me, before other people walked in the room and stopped it. At least, Ithoughtit was him. Even then, the night came back in flashes and spurts, so I couldn’t be sure. My emotions still felt raw, fear over what could have happened, relief that nothing did. That experience had scarred me in a way I hadn’t fully processed. Even Crystal and Layla didn’t know what almost happened to me, so I questioned whether it was the same Mike from the party, or my own mind playing tricks on me.

“Water, please,” I shouted to the bartender when I reached the bar, looking over at where I’d left Layla.

I locked eyes with her then. Mike had stepped away for a moment. “We’re going to have to get out of here,” I said. “Crystal is getting out of hand.”

“You two go ahead,” she said.

My eyes landed on the empty seat beside her, where Mike had been sitting. It was uncharacteristic for Layla to stay behind without us, and the paranoia inside of me shrieked louder.Tell her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m having a great time.” She smiled. “Mike’s a doll.”

From behind me, Crystal’s voice screeched out, “Two more shots!”

I shook my head, motioning for the bartender to ignore her. I looked back at Layla, a beating in my head starting to pulsate.

“Look, I don’t know how to say this, but that guy gives me the creeps,” I said, plainly. “I think you should come home with us.”

Layla laughed. “What are you going on about? We’re only talking.”

“I know but…” My words trailed away, overcome with thoughts of that night at the frat house. What almost happened. There wasn’t enough time to tell Layla about it now, and was I even sure it was the same guy? I’d been drugged. What were the odds?—

“You better get her home,” Layla said. I followed her stare across the room and saw Crystal trying to dance, however, she was falling all over herself instead. Just then, Mike emerged from the bathroom. My pulse quickened.

“Look, Mike is dangerous. I know it.” My voice was urgent. “Please, just come home with us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Layla shook her head, like I’d just told a joke she didn’t quite understand. “Can’t you just let me have fun this once? It’s always about Crystal or you.”

“Or me?”

“Yes! I follow you two anywhere you want to go.” Her voice was different than I’d ever heard before. Defiant and bitter. “For once, I’d just like the night to be about me and what I want.”

This unspoken resentment between us was something she’d never shared before, but I pushed it out of my mind. She needed to listen to me. “Layla, I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection!” She lowered her voice as Mike returned, sat beside her. He didn’t so much as give me a second glance. “I’ll be fine, Becca. You don’t need to worry.”

Just then, the bartender slammed a glass of water in front of me. I took it, looking over my shoulder at a hunched over Crystal. Turning, I stared at Mike one more time. Trying tobe sure. He seemed harmless, normal… just like the guy from the frat house. But were they the same? Surely, he would have remembered me, and yet Mike gave me no attention whatsoever. Crystal let out another drunken yelp, and, in that moment, I decided I was wrong. I was letting my traumatized memories intermix with the chaos of the night. My close call at the frat house didn’t mean everyone else was in danger. If Layla wanted to continue the night, it wasn’t my responsibility to stop her.

“I’ll text you.” Before walking away, I said, “Be careful. Please.”

“I will.” She waved, her fingers dancing like they did on the first day we met, giving me one last glimpse of the black heart tattoo on her wrist.

It took another ten minutes to get Crystal on her feet and out the door. Before we started the short walk back to our apartment, I looked back, peering through the open patio to the inside of the bar. Mike was beside Layla, the two of them laughing.

Crystal started puking the moment we arrived at the apartment, and I spent what felt like hours nursing her hangover. I didn’t mind staying awake, however. I wanted to make sure Layla arrived home okay. Once I got Crystal to bed, I texted Layla, as promised, to tell her we’d arrived safely, then I chugged some water myself and waited. When I finally drifted off to sleep, it must have been after three o’clock.

When I woke up that next morning, my first thought was Layla. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and I never heard her come in. Mike’s face flashed through my mind, and I felt my stomach start to turn. What if I’d been wrong and I’d left her alone with my attacker? That’s when I noticed Layla’s closed bedroom door. I was almost positive it had been open the night before, so I assumed she’d arrived home safely, and my nerves settled.

My romantic poetry class was a bore, as was the mythological literature that followed. Normally, I felt at least a twinge of inspiration from the material we were studying, but that day, probably because of the hangover, my brain operated in a fog. It wasn’t until I stopped at a nearby restaurant for lunch that something finally shook me out of my haze.

“Did you hear a body was found on campus last night?”

The question wasn’t directed to me, was spoken in conversation between students I’d never even met. At first, I wondered if they were even talking about our campus; the possibility of someone dying seemed outrageous. Could it be a medical emergency? Had someone overdosed?

“They’re saying it’s murder,” said the second student.

That word fully captured my attention, a strange queasiness hijacking my stomach.Murder. It was bizarre and salacious and shamefully entertaining.

I typed out a message to Crystal and Layla, but only the former replied.

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