Page 116 of Rush of Jealousy

“I’m free on Wednesday after class.”

“Perfect, I’ll make sure I am free as well. I have some business to tend to now, but Collins will bring you back to your place after your class ends. Or wherever else you want to go. I’m trying my best not to keep you in my pocket.”

“Okay, sounds good. Thank you.”

“Please be good.”

I make a face. “I’m always good.”

“Right,” he says in a disbelieving tone.

We kiss goodbye, and I walk briskly to class. I skip down the steps of the auditorium and look to see if Bryce is here first. I spot the back of his head and the crutches leaning against the seat beside him. Oh no.

“Hey, what happened to you?” I ask, pointing to his gear.

“I wish I had a hero story to share. But I slipped on an empty beer bottle on the stairs and fell. It’s as lame as it sounds.”

I take a sip of the iced espresso drink that he picked up for me and wonder how he even managed to do so with crutches. “Well, that just sucks. Is it broken?”

“Just a sprain to the ankle,” he explains, lifting his pant leg to show me the wrapping. “And luckily, not too painful. Definitely manageable with the help of some good meds.”

“Well, that is good.”

The professor walks into class and stands at her podium. Today is a writing assessment. I did not prepare much for it—but then again, writing comes easily to me. She sets a timer and has her TA pass out writing booklets. Everyone is asked to sit with a desk between them and the next person to avoid the temptation to cheat. I write my name on the front cover of my booklet and then fold it back to read the first social story about addiction. Several questions follow that require a paragraph each.

The assessment is supposed to last about two hours, and I take every bit of it to complete mine. Bryce reaches for his crutches to turn in his booklet, while I reread my answers to check for any flaws. His fall must have just happened because his coordination is not mastered at all. He clumsily bumps into his bag and knocks a few things out.

“I’ll get them,” I whisper and bend down to put the items inside.

My eyes connect with a small orange bottle of pain pills. I look at the label and see that he was given thirty pills to last him over a week’s time. I glance ahead and see that Bryce is still trying to get down the stairs. I pop open the bottle and take out a small handful—just to get me by when my shoulder pain is excruciating or if I need to take the edge off my stress level. I slip the white discs into my Altoids container and see that they are the same size as the ones I have already and have the same engraved markings. He already said his pain is manageable, so these will probably expire before he ever uses them all. I finish tossing items into his bag and then get up to turn in my own test.

“Do you need help getting to your car?” I ask, handing Bryce his bag.

“Nah, I need to practice on my own, before I am stupid enough to hurt the other ankle.”

When I make it out to the parking lot, Collins is waiting for me, right where he dropped me off just hours ago.

The privacy screen is down so I greet him with a wave.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Back to my place, please.”

“Certainly.”

* * *

“So how was your fuckation?” Claire asks, while shoving a Slim Jim into her mouth.

I laugh at her terminology and choice of highly processed snack meat. “Probably tied with yours.” As much sex as Graham and I had, “fuckation” seems like an accurate name for our getaway.

She laughs and breaks off a piece of the encased meat with her front teeth—like a beaver would. “So, tell me how you ended up on a weekend romp fest with Graham.”

“It was unexpected really.” I turn in my seat to face her while she rests on the contaminated couch. Condom or no condom, there is definitely some DNA evidence on those cushions. Yuck.

“How so?”

Even though our conversation is lighthearted and fun, my eyes start to tear up when I start to dissect what actually led to Graham and I going to Lake Chelan.

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