The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller(8)

I can’t take it anymore.
His eyes break away from my stunned gaze to address Quinn. “So, this is your roommate? Raven?” he asks, before once again turning his attention back to me.
My eyes wander all over his face, the little boy I once knew no longer present in his features. His youthful, rounded face has molded itself into high-cheekbones that highlight a strong, well-defined jaw lined with a day’s worth of stubble. The same hazel, greenish-brown eyes are there, but instead of love and acceptance, I find them full of curiosity and apprehension. The reddish tint I used to love in his brown hair is no longer noticeable due to a ridiculous amount of hair gel coating it, expertly styled so that it all comes forward forming an off-center peak right in the front. And his body is definitely not that of the eight year old boy that I remember. His white undershirt pulls tight across an insanely sculpted chest, barely hidden underneath a grey lightweight hoodie.
As we stand eye-to-eye, I take comfort in the fact that at least we’re still the same height.
Except, I’m still standing on the bed, so actually, that’s not true.
After seconds of stupefied, open-mouthed gawking, I finally manage to take a step and jump off, thankful for Quinn and Kaeleb’s backwards movement out of my personal space. Once I hit the ground, I shyly glance back up at the boy-turned-man that now towers over me. His eyes narrow as he cocks his head, and for the first time since seeing him, I remember that his isn’t the only appearance that has changed. Although, mine is much more drastic. So drastic that as he stares, I realize he doesn’t even recognize me. And while my initial reaction is to feel saddened that he’ll never know it’s me, that I’m here standing here in front of him, relief floods me and drowns out the sorrow.
“As Quinn stated, I’m Raven,” I respond abruptly in the direction of Kaeleb, giving only my first name, worried that the mention of “Miller” will give me away. Kind of a moot point I guess, since my student I.D. is lying right by the swear jar on the table behind me.
Quinn gives me a look of appreciation. “Isn’t she cool?” she states, looking back up to Kaeleb for his approval. I watch as the left side of his mouth jerks up before he replies, “She’s definitely something.”
I roll my eyes and release a breath. Whatever. I know I’m a freak. I accept it wholeheartedly. But hearing him say it out loud feels as if he just stabbed me in the heart with a dull spoon, taking the liberty of twisting it approximately three times before removing it. It hurts.
“You’re my best friend!”
In an attempt to clear my thoughts, I reach for my luggage and open it, hoping they grasp the hint that I’m really not up for conversation or damning conclusions at this moment, or ever for that matter. Not from him anyway.
Instead, they remain where they stand and the awkwardness of the moment flusters me. “If you don’t mind…” I trail off, pulling mounds of black clothing out of my suitcase and throwing them onto the bed.
In other words, leave me the f*ck alone.
Just like Pavlov’s dog, my conditioned response lures me to the “swear jar” where I insert a quarter without question. Apparently, my freak mode is in full effect today. Perfect. Not at all embarrassing.
Pulling the rest of the quarters out of my front pocket, I set them on top of my I.D. just to the side of the jar, running my finger gently along its lid before turning to face the questioning expressions of Quinn and Kaeleb.
Quinn scrunches up her nose and giggles before inquiring, “What is that thing anyway?”
“It’s my swear jar,” I respond, completely straight-faced. “It’s Linda’s way of attempting to discourage my unfortunate addiction to ‘vulgar language and unnecessary obscenities’ as she calls them. But sometimes it’s just necessary to throw in the word f*ck or shit to really get your point across, you know?” I let out a weary sigh. I think I just met my obligatory conversation quota for the next two years with that one statement.
Quinn, on the other hand, belts out a laugh. “Fuck yeah, I do!”
Abandoning Kaeleb at his post next to my bed, she skips her way over to her desk before pulling open the drawer, grabbing a handful of change, then whirling back around to head in my direction. She passes right by me and approaches the table, depositing a quarter before adding the others to my already established collection next to the jar.
When she turns back around, a sly grin slowly spreads across her face. “Well, now it’s the ‘beer fund’ jar. Feel free to express vulgarity and obscenity anytime you feel the need. This way we can kill two birds with one stone, freedom of expression and the acquisition of alcohol.”
“Niiiice,” Kaeleb pipes in, still holding the fort down in my personal space behind me. “Can I get in on this?”
“Sure!” Quinn squeaks, once again bouncing off the balls of her feet while clapping excitedly.
I twist my body to observe Kaeleb, whose mouth spreads into an absolutely gorgeous, wide grin displaying his perfectly white, straight teeth—much to my detriment. Casting his eyes down to me, he adds with that stupid smile still present on his face, “You’re shittin’ me with those eyes, right?”
Asshole proceeds to reach into his pocket and pulls out his hand, examining the change in his palm until he finds a quarter, leaning in toward me and reaching around my waist to deposit it into the jar while I do the same. Our hands brush lightly, and surprised by our close proximity, I take a whopping step back into the safety of my no-one-allowed-past-this-point zone. My knees hit the bed behind me as his body once again crosses in front of mine; the breeze of our passing wafts the familiar scent of fresh cut grass and clean laundry between us. More Level 3 memories threaten to escape as I inhale deeply, swiftly rushing forward in anticipation of their long awaited release. But before they can breach my mind I slam the door and lock it once again, hoping Kaeleb’s access was just a one-time occurrence.