Page 24 of Off the Rim
He makes my drink and leads me to a lavish sitting room with a large, ornate fireplace. The amber liquid burns as I swallow half of it down in one gulp, taking a seat in an oversized wingback chair. The leather creaks as I lower myself into the chair. It's a lot more comfortable than the couches in the dorm common room. You'd think they'd consider the needs of athletes in the athletic dorm, but the furniture all seems to be built for average sized people and barely accommodates someone my size. I have to sleep diagonally on the provided queen-sized bed, otherwise my six-foot-ten frame hangs over the end of the bed. And never mind actually using one of the little desks, that's asking for a backache.
"Should I get anyone for you? Master Hearst is out to lunch, but Master Biltman is upstairs in his room. I'll text him and see if he's available to come down."
I stare at him over the rim of my glass and scoff. "Do they really make you call them that?"
Bernice shrugs. I suppose it could be worse. At GSU, they made pledges strip down to their underwear and crawl around on their hands and knees to be used as furniture. The brothers would set their plates or drinks on the pledges backs or rest their feet on them. I even once saw Sebastian, who'd been hazed as a pledge himself, make a pledge clean a spilled drink by licking it from the floor. Naked.
"Ashton Jamesthe third, my man!" Preston Biltman, a forward on the CVU basketball team and co-president of the fraternity chapter, greets me with a handshake, pulling me in to cuff my shoulder. "It's about time you came 'round. Your room's been ready for days." He gestures for me to follow him. "I see you've met Bernice. Bernice, be a dear and get Master James a refill, won't you?"
"Please don't call me that. Ashton is fine."
Preston makes a face. "Aww, come on. You're no fun."
"So I've been told."
Whenever I acted unimpressed by frat antics, Sebastian would say I was a spoilsport. After all, I couldn't understand the tradition behind initiation traditions because no one ever dared haze me, not really. As their largest donor and a generational legacy, the version of initiation that I got was having vodka poured down my throat with a funnel and then being blindfolded and told to guess which of the sorority sisters from the ladies’ chapter of Alpha Omega Psi was trying to suck me off. Try being the operative word, since after the second girl couldn't me hard, I stood up and staggered out of the room. I may or maynot have said some incredibly offensive things about the quality of the girls' efforts on my way out, then proceeded to puke my guts up all over floor as I was leaving. I'm pretty sure one of my fellow pledges had to clean that up, too.
Joining the fraternity was my compromise with my father when I chose Golden State over Cumberland. Considering it was the only place where I was treated like me and not an over-hyped nobody, it became my safe haven, for better or worse. I never feel more alone than I do when I'm surrounded by ‘people of my caliber,’ as my father would call them.
Preston leads me up two sets of stairs and down a wide hallway. When we get to a large door at the end, he moves to the side with an emphasized gesture as if to say, "ta-da!"
On the door is an ornate, gold-plated plaque, engraved with my name and the words,"Philanthropy Committee".
"What the hell is this?"
"Uh, well…" His smile falters for the briefest of moments before he collects himself. He'll be a politician like his father. "I know you had sometroubleat the GSU chapter, and thought an official title might help ease the transition. You've been a brother for the past three years, but you haven't been here for the younger pledges to properly understand how important you are to this fraternity. All the typical positions were voted on at the end of last year, so this was just my way of welcoming you into the fold. You'll be able to attend all leadership meetings, and it'll look great on your resume. Not that you need it," he says with a laugh.
"Why philanthropy?"
Preston snickers. "We heard you're footing the bill for Coach's pet project to stay on for a free ride. Since you're so into charity, we thought it was fitting." He laughs heartily and thumps me on the back again. I want to thump him on that thin, pointy nose he uses to look down on people with. Of course, he doesn't even notice that I'm not laughing. He just pulls a key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and pushes it open for me.
The room is spacious, with a California king bed that almost makes me want to weep. One entire wall is covered in built-in shelves, with a desk in the center that's actually large enough for my tall frame. The room is well lit, with large windows and a sliding glass door that leads to a small balcony, overlooking a stunning view of the surrounding mountainside and castle-like campus. I poke around the room, checking out the large walk-in closet and ensuite bathroom. They're not much larger than what I have at the dorm, but they're much better quality.
"Cleaning and laundry pickup is on Tuesdays. Hearst and I chose the schedule since we're normally gone on Tuesdays for games, but if you don't want the cleaners in your room when you aren't present, just let Archie know. He's the house manager. But just FYI, the housekeepers are all vetted and supervised. Laundry will reappear, clean and pressed, on Wednesday afternoon. Text Archie for anything you need stocked in the kitchen or bar, or anything else you need. We pay him to be discreet, if you know what I mean."
I do know what he means, and once again, I'm questioning if I want to be here. Yeah, the room is nice, and it would be amazing to sleep on a bed I can spread out on, but even all the amenities of living in a house like this, where your every need is anticipated and tended to, don't quite cancel out the negatives. I'm not sure I want to go back to being surrounded by over-privileged,backstabbing assholes and their never-ending supply of booze and designer drugs.
"Hey," Preston says, nudging my arm with the glass Bernice must have dropped off when I was overthinking all the life choices I've made up to now. "Just so you know, everyone is discreet here. If what happened at GSU had happened here, no one would have ever heard a word of it. And there is zero judgement, my friend."
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from losing my shit, I stare down into the liquid, swirling it around in the glass. Crystal, of course. Bile rises in my throat. What am I even doing? Setting the glass on the nearest flat surface, I accept the key that Preston is holding out to me and walk out without saying another word.
CHAPTER 17
MARCUS
A loud thud pulls me out of my daydream. The notes I was supposed to be making, but are really just doodles and chicken scratch, are smeared from where I laid my hand on the ink while I was reminiscing on the past. I seem to be doing a little too much of that lately. It's hard not to, when the walking, talking reminder of the hardest days of my life is constantly around.
He hasn't tried to bother me since that strange interaction in the student union cafe, although there have been multiple near run-ins in the showers. Unlike the first time he caught me off guard, I leave the moment he starts to soap himself. I found my missing body wash on a random shelf in the showers and reclaimed it. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that uses this brand. I doubt any of the students on this campus have ever walked into a Walmart in their lives. The campus store only sells boutique brands that are not only overpriced, but they're too perfumey. I prefer my cheap drugstore stuff and its mild, relaxing vanilla and shea butter scent, with the shampoo and deodorant to match. It works for me.
And for Ashton, if he's to be believed.
Ugh.
I hear another thud and decide to investigate. Down the hall, there's a bank of elevators that everyone uses to get to the upper floors. Someone is trying to get a very long and apparently very heavy box into the elevator. But they're struggling to pull it in, and the elevator doors keep trying to close on the end of the box. Shoving my socked feet into my shower slides, I jog over to see if I can help, and immediately regret it.
Of course it's Ashton. He's inside the elevator, trying to maneuver the huge, awkward box by himself. I think for once his height is working against him. He’s almost as tall as the ceiling in the tiny elevator, and his lanky arms and legs can't seem to work together to lift the box up enough to lean it against the wall, and it's too long to leave flat on the floor.
As soon as I notice it's him, I back away, but he senses the movement and jerks his head up. "Oh, hey."
