My car stays parked until Grace texts me that she’s home safe. I don’t know why I do it since Warlington’s campus is one of the safest in the state, but for some reason the thought of anything happening to her on that five-minute journey to her room makes me want to throw up. And when she brings up dropping off my jacket at the shop, I resist the urge to tell her she can keep it. But I fucked up at the bar by being too forward, and I’m not stupid enough to do it again.
Something happened to me a few years ago. It was pretty bad.
Her words have been drilling a dark hole into my head for days now. How vulnerable she sounded. How small she looked. Granted, she’s petite as hell, but there’s a sort of buzzing, cheery energy about her that certainly isn’t.
A selfish part of me, the one that hated seeing the pain in her eyes, wonders what would happen if I brought it up to Aaron. It’s obvious that he knows, and maybe that’s why he behaves so protectively when it comes to her, but the most sensible part of me knows it’s not his story to tell.
Still, it doesn’t stop my head from spiraling for days, coming up with one terrible scenario after another. Each one makes my blood pressure spike higher than the last. I haven’t seen her since Wednesday, so that’s probably enhancing my shitty mood as well.
It’s now Friday, and I should be paying attention to whatever Johnson is saying about this chick he hooked up with last weekend, because that’s what a good friend does, but I can’t.
Something’s bothering me, and the fact that I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, is bothering me even more.
“Sorry, man. What was that?” I force myself out of it when I realize Johnson has just asked me a question I didn’t hear any single word of.
“Forget him. He’s out of it today,” Trey says as he comes up behind me at the front desk. “The fuck is up, bro?”
“Nothing’s up,” I lie. Well, not technically—something’s up, I just don’t know what.
“You need to get laid,” Johnson deadpans. “How long has it been since your last playdate between the sheets? A year?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, which makes Trey laugh.
“Definitely longer than that,” he adds like the great best friend he is.
“Damn. For real?” Johnson frowns.
“Drop it.”
“Nah. You know what you need? Exactly—a wild night out with the boys. Let’s find you a hot date to take home.”
“Absolutely not.”
An hour later, I find myself in a booth at Danny’s with the two fuckheads.
“See any woman you like?” Johnson smirks over the rim of his beer and nods at a tall redhead in a tight, blue dress by the bar. “That’s a fine piece of ass right there.”
Remind me again why I’m friends with this airhead? Luckily, Trey senses my discomfort and jumps in.
“You know our man here doesn’t do one-night stands,” he tells our friend. I’ve done exactly two in my thirty years, and I regret both. “But he’s right, Cal. Some tongue action might be good to bring down that stress.”
I guess he’s got a point, but I’m not going to shove my tongue down anyone’s throat for two reasons. One, I don’t fucking want to. And two, Grace is all I can think about lately.
It’s not that I like her. Not like that, anyway. But her presence is a looming thought in my head, all day at all hours, and I can’t shake the feeling that I should stop… and wait.
For what, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. The last thing I need is to get romantically involved with anyone right now.
It would only end in disaster.
As if my mind had summoned a distraction, my phone rings. When I take it out of my pocket and look at the caller ID, my brain stops working, confused, and I have to read the name on the screen again.
“Who’s that?” Trey asks.
“I have to take this.” I bolt from my seat and rush past the throng of drunk college kids until I’m finally outside. My heart is beating too fucking hard as I press the answer button. “Grace? Are you okay?”
Silence from the other line.
All I can hear are some muffled voices and distant electronic music. Panicking, I try again, “Grace. Where are you?”
Then, finally, fucking finally, I hear her broken voice. “I… I didn’t know who to call. I’m s-sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I’m already sprinting towards my car. “Are you hurt? Where are you?”
“I’m at Zeta House,” she says in a weak voice. “I… Can you pick me up?”
“I’m already on my way,” I assure her. “Don’t hang up, all right? I’ll be there in five.”
She lets out a shaky sigh. “All right.” A beat of silence passes between us. Then, “I think I’m about to have a panic attack.”
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to my car faster in my life. “Breathe with me, okay sweetheart? You’re safe and I’m five minutes away,” I tell her in the softest voice I can manage while I’m feeling on fucking edge. “Come on. In.” I do the breathing techniques with her. “And out. Again.”
At this point, I care little to none if I get a speeding ticket as I race towards the frat house. Grace is still on the other line, breathing with me, but I know it’s not enough. I know things will get worse with every passing second if I don’t get there soon.
***
Grace
I don’t regret going to the frat party with Dax right away. As I get ready in my room, I’m even excited for the night—following Em’s advice, I opt for a casual black dress with a slit down my right leg paired with some heeled sandals. You know, because I’m feeling brave and all.
Well, that ends pretty quickly.
Within an hour of arriving at the party, Dax is halfway drunk and talking to a bunch of equally hammered frat boys I’ve never met before. Which, fine, I don’t know many people as it is, and I wouldn’t have minded making a friend or two…
If it wasn’t for the tiny, insignificant fact that Dax forgets I’m there at all. As in, he turns around at some point, sees me, and asks what I’m doing here and if I’m enjoying the party.
I don’t need to smell his breath to know he’s drunk enough for two people.
So much for a date, huh?
But that’s not why I end up crying and having an anxiety attack on the sidewalk in front of Zeta House.
Oh, no—I wish it was.
After Dax gets over the initial surprise of seeing me at the party, he asks me if I want to dance. He’s been nothing but nice on our way to the frat house, through texts as well (I know that doesn’t mean anything), so I say yes.
The moment he puts his hands on my hips, however, I freeze.
When his lips brush my cheek, panic grips at my chest.
When he speaks in my ear in that slurred, rough way and asks me if I want to go somewhere quieter where he can make me feel good, I pull away like he’s on fire and race for the front door.
I don’t hear him shout my name behind me, telling me to stop, but I wouldn’t have listened anyway. I don’t even feel the cool late-September air on my bare arms as I exit the house and unlock my phone with shaky fingers.
My initial intention is to call Emily until I remember she’s at someone’s birthday party. Would she drop everything to come get me? Absolutely, but she also worries about me a lot and the most selfless, probably stupidest part of my brain crosses her name on my list and moves on to the next option: Aaron.
Problem—he would know what happened within half a second, and I don’t want him to be thrown in jail for beating Dax up. Not to mention Fridays are busy at The Spoon, and he likes helping around and talking to customers even if, technically, he isn’t part of the staff and only manages the business aspect of it.
And that sums up my list. I can’t call my dads, obviously, since they live in a whole other country, and I don’t want them to worry when they can’t do anything about it anyway.
So, I call an Uber. And my ride gets canceled. Twice. Friday nights are the worst.
I still don’t know which part of my head convinced me to dial Callaghan’s number. All I know is that, after three tones, he picks up and promises he’s on his way.
He doesn’t want me to hang up, so I stay on the line with him.
I want to tell him that it’s not safe to talk on the phone while driving, but I can’t.
I want to tell him that I feel pathetic, and like a piece of worthless meat—a complete stranger in my own body, but I don’t.
I want to tell him that I can barely breathe, that my stomach is doing weird things and that my chest hurts, and this time I do.
“I think I’m about to have a panic attack.”
I hate myself for putting him through this. For making me his problem. He was probably hanging out with his friends, or with Maddie, or alone and relaxed at home, perhaps with a woman, and now I’ve forced him to rescue me because I’m a pathetic piece of nothing who can’t take care of herself—
“Breathe with me, okay sweetheart? You’re safe and I’m five minutes away. Come on. In. And out. Again.”
His voice grounds me. It’s soft but firm, and I find myself following his instructions and breathing with him. For the next few minutes, Callaghan keeps soothing me with words, mixed with the unmistakable sound of traffic in the background, and it hits me that he’s really coming for me. It’s not that I didn’t believe him when he said he was on his way, it’s just that… He’s really coming. For me. Right now.
I don’t know how much time has passed when a black car pulls up on the other side of the road, and he gets out of the vehicle in a rush. I barely register my body movements as I hang up and put my phone back in my strappy bag. All I see is him, and all I feel is relief.
Before I know what I’m doing, I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around his torso, because that’s the only part of his body I can reach, even in heels. Callaghan doesn’t say a word as he wraps his own arms around me and pulls me closer against his chest. He smells like laundry detergent and that spicy cologne he always wears, and I don’t ever want to let go.
“Grace,” he calls my name so softly I’m surprised I can hear it between the loud voices in the back and the drumming of my own heart. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”
I pull away to look him in the eye without breaking our embrace. I don’t want to.
“I’m not hurt.” A flash of relief crosses his face. “I just… I want to leave.”
He nods, still visibly tense. “I got you.”
Callaghan keeps a comforting arm around my shoulders the whole way to his car. He opens the door for me, I get inside, he closes it, and I break down.
