Beneath The Skin(186)
When we make it to the apartment, Brant and Dmitri are gone. Normally that means Dessie and I can let loose and have a little fun, but there’s tension in her eyes and no smile touches her face. When she sets down her things, she goes straight to my bed and lies down without another word. I watch her through the bedroom door for a moment, confused. Was something said to her at rehearsal? Is Victoria being a bitch again? Victoria attends some of the rehearsals now, sent alternatingly with some of the other costume crew members to tend to meticulous costume adjustments.
For some reason, I’m not too sure that she wants me over there to comfort her. I feel so much distance suddenly, and can’t separate my misgivings about Kellen’s sudden departure with Dessie’s coldness to me. Some dark, piteous part of me feels like I deserve this.
But then why did she agree to come over?
Brant’s door opens suddenly and he peeks his head out, his eyes finding mine.
I guess we aren’t as alone as I thought we were.
Since Dessie’s eyes are closed and she’s cuddled up with one of my pillows, I let her rest, closing the door softly, then draw up to the kitchen counter where Brant’s perched himself on a stool, snacking straight out of a cereal box. He asks me if things are okay—I assume he means between Dessie and I, according to the nod of his head at my room. I shrug, pushing palms into my eyes and sighing deeply.
Brant taps me on the arm and puts a screen in my face, causing my eyes to squint:
Shes not mad at u
bout the Chloe thing,
is she??
I read his text several times. Then, I put two-and-two together, and a whole new wave of anger finds its way up my neck, reddening my face. “What the fuck did you do to Chloe?” I ask, turning on him.
“Dude, it wasn’t serious to begin with,” he tells me, raising his hands in defense, “and she got all clingy, and then she said she loved me, and—”
“You have hundreds of girls on this campus to choose from,” I throw back at him, my temper set off in an instant, “and you pick one of Dessie’s friends?”
“I didn’t pick her. She picked me.”
“The fuck you did,” I retort, shoving a hand into his chest. Brant falls against the wall, and whatever trace of humor was in his face is now gone. “I taught you how to even talk to girls. Remember, bitch? You seem to forget that fact, you scared piece of shit. Back then, you couldn’t even approach one without pissing your little pants.”
Angry, he tries to throw some signs at me, saying that I’m the scared piece of shit—but, for the word “scared”, he just wiggles his hands in the air, and how can Brant ever forget his favorite sign “poop”?
“I taught you how to talk to girls to give you confidence,” I say over his dumb signing. “Not to turn you into the fuckin’ philanderer you’ve become. If the girls you meet were smart, they’d stay the fuck away.”
He says something to me, but I’m not in the mood to read lips; it’s his turn to read mine.
“And respect?” I push on. “Where the fuck’s your respect, Brant? You can pull it out all you want, put your mark on every tree you pass, but you keep that dick away from my girl and away from her friends. It’s called fucking respect.”
He lifts his chin and starts shouting at me. I don’t have a clue what he’s saying.
“Real smart,” I say through all his shouting. “Keep it up, Brant. Keep screaming and yelling at your deaf friend. Scream a little louder, help your buddy out, I can’t hear you yet.”
He shoves his hands into my chest, still yelling. I hardly budge.
“That all you got, you fuckin’ slut?”
He shoves me again. I put a hand on his chest and give him my own version of a shove, and that puts him flat against the wall once again. I see the stunned look in his eye as his hat flips off his head from the impact, dropping to the floor.
I come up to Brant, nose-to-nose, and pin him to the wall with my mere presence. With a growl that’s summoned from somewhere dark and deadly, I say, “You’re not worth any decent woman’s time.”
His eyes meet mine. I expected him to knock me really good in the face for that one. Maybe I want him to. Maybe I need to be knocked the fuck out so I can quit feeling all this rage inside me that has nowhere to go. This rage has lived in me for so long, the rage of being submitted to a silent world, of being thrust off the pedestal I didn’t realize I was standing on at the smart and tender age of twelve. It makes it so much easier to be alone. It makes it so much easier to hate people. The rage has been my friend since day one, protecting me from the assholes who tried to fuck with me.