Wrecked(6)

“Thanks,” she says. She drains the glass, hands it back to him.

“More?” he asks.

She closes her eyes and presses her head back into the pillows. “I’ll get the next one myself.” It’s an effort for her to remain inert like this. She is seriously hungover. “Wow,” she says. “Why did we drink so much?”

“I had no idea you were drinking so much,” he replies. He’d pregamed with Jordan and the guys at their place, Taylor House, before arriving late to the bonfire at Out House. The guys had given him a hard time about leaving for Carrie’s.

Earlier in the semester they’d been cited for damage at Taylor. Their parents were all sent fairly hefty bills covering a broken window, a smashed couch, and a hole--punched wall. In addition to the fine, they were also banned from hosting parties. So Jordan and Co. had come up with the brilliant solution of getting the house next door, Conundrum, to host for them. With them. Whatever. Taylor supplied the booze, Conundrum the location.

Richard had wanted no part of this plan. For one thing, his parents couldn’t afford the fines. He couldn’t afford the fines. His mother was in tears when the bill from the college arrived; his father furious.

“How bad is it?” he’d asked his kid sister, Ellen, over the phone. A junior in high school, Ellen got to witness the parental reaction firsthand.

The hesitance in her voice as she carefully chose her words with him was more upsetting than his dad’s anger. “They keep saying, ‘What’s gotten into him? This is so out of character,’”Ellen said. A pause. “I mean, you never drank when you lived at home, Richard.”

“That’s because I was always in training for cross country,” he said. “Not anymore.” When he’d arrived at MacCallum, he quickly learned his high school times weren’t good enough for the team.

“Still.” That was all she said. All she needed to say.

Jordan had been pissed when Richard said he was heading to Carrie’s instead of the party at Conundrum.

“Seriously? You’re blowing off the best party of the fall to sit around singing ‘Kum Ba Yah’ with a bunch of eco freaks?”

Richard laughed. “I plan to spend very little time with the inhabitants. Except for one.”

By the time he arrived at Out House, the campfire was already dying down. Couples were peeling off and small groups were moving on to the next party at another location. Carrie, seated in an Adirondack chair at the edge of the fire ring, jumped up when she saw him. In front of everyone there she planted an enthusiastic kiss on Richard’s mouth.

She was always more aggressively affectionate after a few drinks.

“I kind of got the sense that you’d been drinking more than usual,” Richard says. “Then, when we came to bed, it was obvious.”

“I don’t remember walking up the stairs,” she says. A small line forms between her eyes as she attempts to recall the night before. “No, wait. I do.”

He leans in. He kisses behind her ear, breathing in softly. His favorite place to kiss her. “I hope you remember more than just walking up the stairs.” His lips migrate to her shoulder.

She sits up straighter. “What?” she says. “What should I remember?”

He slides closer. “Woman, you pretty much raped me last night. I’ve never seen you so . . . energetic.”

His words have a Taser--like effect. Despite the pain that he knows blooms behind her eyes, she sits bolt upright with surprising speed.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say ‘rape’ like it’s some sort of recreation. Jesus, Richard.”

He exhales audibly. Great, here we go again.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly. “That was wrong. You know I didn’t mean anything by it, Carrie.”

“Actually, I have no idea what you meant by it. What did you mean?”

He scootches up to a sitting position. “You were just really into it last night. Not that you aren’t always into it. But last night you were really . . . assertive. And it was good, okay? I liked it.” He says the last part softly. “You liked it, too.”

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands.

“Don’t presume to tell me what I like, Richard. Or maybe I should start calling you Dick? I wouldn’t mean anything by it.” She begins her march to the door.

“Carrie. C’mon, don’t be like this.”

She grabs the mesh bag.

He slips from the bed and stands, barring her passage at the door.

“Move,” she says.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Not until we talk.”

She tries to push past him, reaching for the knob, but he blocks her.

“Richard, move.”

He doesn’t budge.

Shocked surprise spreads across her face. Carrie is not used to being thwarted.

“You are not going to stomp off in a huff,” he says calmly. “We are going to talk like civilized people. Can you be civilized?”

“Are you threatening me?” Incredulity in her voice.

“See, that’s what I don’t get. You see talking as a threat. That’s not good, Carrie. It suggests you have problems with basic communication.”

“I’m not talking about talking. I’m talking about you, standing there, not letting me out of my own room!” Her voice rises. The shower sounds from next door have stopped. If she starts yelling, the Hippie Witch might decide to involve herself.