Chapter 7: October 16, 1985

As students part to let me through, Colin easily follows me. I jog up the dorm steps and open the door. Colin pauses briefly, then squeezes between the closing doors.

I climb the stairs two-at-a-time, falling and hitting both of my knees on the final step. My trembling hands drop my keys twice before managing to unlock my door.

I hear Colin close and lock the door behind us.

I stand at the sink and haphazardly splash cold water on my face, soaking my cotton t-shirt. I forcefully brush my teeth as water drips from my chin, and my eyes avoid the mirror as I spit down the drain and rinse my mouth with water.

Then I plug the drain and let the sink fill.

Colin watches vigilantly as I plunge my face into the cold water. I cup my hands and splash water on the back of my neck, further soaking my shirt. I pull back long enough to take a breath, then plunge my face into the sink.

This time I don’t cup my hands. I place them in the sink, the water level halfway to my elbows. I exhale slowly and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I’d bet money Colin’s debating whether to pull me out of the water when I finally raise my head and gasp for air.

My wet shirt clings to my chest, back, and shoulders. For the first time, I look in the mirror, watching the water drip from my nose and chin.

I turn my head and touch the shiny, jagged scar that runs from my earlobe to my lower jaw. Most people assume it’s from a bicycle accident or some other innocuous childhood event, and I don’t correct them.

Colin’s never asked.

"Fucking Lassio." I sigh and wipe my face with an olive hand towel. I turn to look at him, hopefully keeping my face unreadable. I pick at the wet shirt and roll my eyes, annoyed with myself, with my paroxysm. I open the top drawer of the scratched wooden dresser, retrieving a long, navy t-shirt.

Keeping my back to him, I remove my wet shirt, and toss it in the sink. I’m wearing only an ivory bra as I begin to slip the new shirt over my braids.

It’s the first time he’s seen my back or the dozens of small scars varying in shape, color, and texture.

I wonder if he’s turned away out of respect or if he’s figured out that I’m intentionally giving him this view.

I turn around and sigh. "I was having a good semester; I'd let myself forget him." I shake my head. "I’d let down my guard."

He stares at me, speechless, and I consider the possibility that he’s searching his brain for ways to leave.

I step closer to him. "Did you see them?"

Reluctantly, he nods.

"They're not that noticeable anymore, right?"

"Right."

I take another step. "What do you think?"

He looks into my eyes. "I think you're beautiful."

I roll my eyes. “You haven't seen the rest of them." I point at my body, moving my arms up and down. "Damaged goods right here, folks. Damaged goods for sale."

Another voice in my brain: Everything’s for sale, Florence. Everything.

He shakes his head. "Ra'Shelle, I don’t see you that way, and I hope you don’t either. Please don't talk about yourself like that."

I shrug. "But I am."

He takes a breath. "You’re just feeling a lot of emotions right now, and you can’t direct those feelings to the responsible people, so you’re berating yourself. You don’t deserve that."

"C'mon. You can't possibly want this anymore."

"Because of a few scars?” He rubs his hands down his face. “Ra'Shelle, I don’t know whether to be angry or hurt. Do you really think I'm that shallow?"

Feeling guilty, I walk past him and sit on the edge of my bed. "No, I don't. I'm sorry."

He pulls out the desk chair and sits across from me. "I'm sorry, Ra'Shelle, but I'm out of my depth here. Once my dad divorced, I never saw her again, or anyone related to her. I don't really know what to say."

I sigh and look at my knees. "Tell me that we're okay."

"We, as in we?"

I nod.

"Ra'Shelle, we're fine. We are."

I exhale. "Okay."

He raises his eyebrows. "You know, other than what I gathered when the two of you fought, you never told me anything about Pete or your relationship with him. Do you want to tell me anything? Or maybe what happened in your head that caused that reaction?"

I bite my lip. "We grew up together, obviously, but I don’t know if he knows what actually happened. I think he craves his father’s approval so desperately that he’s willing to cross lines to finally earn it.

“I used to fantasize about the day that he comes up to me, suddenly all-knowing and apologizes on behalf of his father. And when that happens, do you know what I do?"

Colin shakes his head. "What?"

"I punch him in the face. I never imagine myself accepting an apology or consoling him. I just see myself punching him in the jaw and walking away."

"Honestly, Ra'Shelle, I found it strange how quickly that fight diffused, how quickly you composed yourself. And then this happens. Are your feelings… complex?"

I sigh. "Part of me really wants to pity him, you know? I really do. I know he suffered through a horrible childhood, and he did what he could to make it through that. He earned high grades, served as class president, and won cross country championships. As little kids, we even played together.”

I smile and lean back. “This one time… I think I was in kindergarten, which would have made him… eight, maybe? His mom invited me to come home with them for afternoon snacks. I think my mom was working a late shift or something. Anyway, she made us… I can’t remember, probably something with peanut butter, and Pete and I–”

I look at Colin. “Do you know how to play pick up sticks?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so Pete had received a set for his birthday, and he wanted to teach me how to play,” I chortle, remembering, “and, no matter how hard I tried, I could not pick up the blue stick. In fact, I almost always moved my target. Pete won every single game. I thought he’d hate that I didn’t provide a challenge, but after every game, he would just restart. ‘You’ll win this time; I know you will.’ We played for hours until Mama called Debbie and told her to send me home.

“I don’t remember every time we played, but his mother invited me home often. We might have played together… I don’t know… maybe once a week? I really enjoyed those visits.”

Colin lets me sit in silence for a minute and lose myself in happy memories. “So, what changed?” he finally asks.

I sigh loudly and look at him. “Debbie died.”

Colin nods with sudden understanding.

I mirror him. “Yeah, in 1975, I can’t remember the exact date. May or June maybe? Ovarian cancer. They didn’t find it until it had progressed to Stage 3, and in 1974… She died less than a year later; I think Pete was eleven.”

I lean against the wall. “I’ve always suspected that my life would have followed a very different trajectory if Debbie hadn’t died.” I shrug. “I guess we’ll never know.”

I look at Colin, who’s clasped his hands together in front of him. “Pete shares his father’s name, mannerisms, and appearance. I don’t know how to reconcile the sweet kid I knew with… whoever he is now.”

"The guy who strangled you against a wall."

"Emotions happen quickly," I say.

"Before the fight, when was the last time you saw him? Sixteen months ago?"

"Probably closer to twenty or twenty-two." I kick my shoes across the room. "Not exactly how I wanted to start the long weekend."

He rubs his hands together. “Do you want to tell me anything else, Ra'Shelle?”

I bite my lip. “Not yet.”

"Do you want to rest for a bit? Maybe take a nap?"

I sigh. "Yeah, probably. Are you leaving?"

He raises his eyebrows. "You're kidding, right? Telling a joke?"

I half-smile and turn off the light. "Do you want to change?"

He shakes his head as he unties his sneakers. "I'm fine."

I slip under the sheets, and he joins me. I move his arm so that my head is on his shoulder, and within a few minutes, I fall into a deep sleep.

***

Moonlight floods the room as I open my eyes and smile. His eyes are closed, but I can’t tell if he’s actually sleeping.

"Colin?" I whisper.

"Hmm?" he replies without opening his eyes.

"Colin, I had a dream."

Stroking my shoulder, he opens his eyes and looks at me. "A nightmare?"

"No, a dream." I lean up and kiss him tenderly before pulling away.

"Oh," he says, smiling.

I kiss him again. "Can I touch you?"

"Of course."

I slip my hand under his shirt and lean into him. "You can touch me too."

Hesitantly, he wraps his right arm around me and places his left hand on my shoulder.

I gasp slightly before kissing him again. Our passionate kisses deepen, and I press against him.

He gently ends the kiss and pulls away from me. "What do you want, Ra'Shelle?" he whispers. "Ask for what you want."

I inhale unevenly. I doubt I’ll ever grow accustomed to his sincerity and directness. "I want you to lose the shirt."

He smiles and sits up just enough to lift the shirt over his head. He tosses it on the floor and lays back down. "As requested."

My fingertips trace the lines of his smooth abdomen. "Jogging suits you," I whisper.

He smiles. "Thank you."

"I just didn't expect–" I swallow.

He places his palm against my cheek. "What?"

"This feeling," I sigh as I softly kiss him again.

After several minutes, I sit back up. "I don't know," I whisper, "I don't know if I should continue."

He nods. "Okay. Let’s just stop for now."

"But I want your touch. I want your–" I stop myself.

"What, Ra'Shelle?"

"Attention," I choke out.

He grins. "You have it, Ra'Shelle. You have all of it."

Biting my lip, I place his hands under my shirt and I move his thumbs to rub against my stomach. "Do you feel that?"

He never looks away as his soft fingers brush against my scars: circular and smooth, jagged and rough, flat and raised.

"I'm sorry, Ra'Shelle."

"In the dark, you might not see them, but if I remove my shirt, all you'll feel is–"

He sits up. "You. All I’ll feel is you." He continues to caress me, and I move closer. "Ra'Shelle, I want you for you. I want to feel you as you are. I don't want an airbrushed model. I want you."

After several gentle kisses, I carefully balance myself and remove my shirt, exposing my soft, white bra. I smile when I hear him moan. "You can touch," I whisper between kisses.

He moves his hands over my torso, feeling my back, my stomach, and my shoulders. He breaks away and leans forward to kiss my neck, as he strokes my sides. "This is an excellent dream."

I giggle, then moan softly.

Panic knocks forcefully on my soul, and I gently push him away. "I think I've tested the fates as far as they’ll allow."

"Okay. I understand."

I roll and press my back against him, unhook my bra, and move the back of it to my sides. "Do you think we can just lie here? Go to sleep for real?"

"Yes. Can I touch you?" he asks, leaning over me.

“Yes.”

He places his right arm under my head and his left hand hovers above my abdomen. He hesitates, then lightly presses his hand against my stomach.

I sigh happily and move my back into his torso, my knees against his.

"Just you and me?" I ask quietly.

He places his lips against my ear. "Just you and me."