Oxy climbs in on the passenger side, slams the door. “We eating or what?”
“Yeah.”
I start the engine. It growls to life, vibrates through the seat. I pull out of the shadows, headlights cutting through the dark.
The burger joint is a hole in the wall three blocks from campus. The grease smell is thick enough to taste. Bad music crackles from a speaker somewhere in the back—something with too much bass and not enough melody.
We slide into a booth near the window. Vinyl seats, cracked and taped. The table is sticky.
Oxy orders a double burger, fries, a shake. I get coffee and a burger I won’t finish.
“You coulda killed him,” Oxy says, dumping ketchup on his fries. “Back there. Nobody would’ve said shit.”
“Then who collects tomorrow?”
He snorts, takes a bite.
I sip the coffee. It’s burnt, bitter. Perfect.
A group of students passes by, laughing, stumbling, probably drunk already. One of them stops, pukes into a trash can, keeps walking like nothing happened.
Pathetic.
My dorm room is dark when I get back. Dim lights, blinds drawn. There’s a girl on my bed—blonde, tight dress, heels kicked off by the door. A puck bunny who always waits patiently for my dick. I told her she could come by and wait for me.
She smiles when I walk in, sits up, runs a hand through her hair. “Took you long enough.”
I toss my jacket on the chair, pour two fingers of cheap whiskey into a glass. “You want one?”
“Sure.”
I pour another glass, hand it to her. She sips, watches me over the rim.
I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that she leans in. Her perfume is too sweet, cloying. She puts a hand on my thigh, slides it up.
“Missed you,” she says, voice breathy.
I let her kiss me. Let her think she’s winning. She laughs, breathes my name like a fucking slut.
Then I grab her chin. Not hard. Just enough to stop her.
She pulls back, confused. “What—”
“Leave.”
Her face twists. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then laughs—sharp, bitter. “You’re an asshole.”
My jaw clenches as I take another sip of my whiskey.
She grabs her shoes, her purse, slams the door on her way out. The sound echoes through the room.
I finish my whiskey. Pour another.
I empty my pockets onto the desk. Cash. Pills. Keys.
