Read Afterglow: An Apocalypse Romance Online
Authors: Maria Monroe
"Greer," I interrupt. "I got it, OK? I can read." I take the list from her perfectly manicured finger tips.
"Text me if you have any questions," she calls after me as I leave the room and shut the door.
Immediately I'm slammed against the hallway wall as a group of guys rush past, one knocking into me. They're laughing hysterically as they dip into a room where the sounds of girls giggling and shouting greets them. "Iggy! The mad crapper!" a guy's voice yells as the door slams behind them. Then silence.
I continue towards the exit, rubbing my arm that hit the wall; there's going to be a bruise. As I get closer to the R.A.'s room, I smell something. Really bad.
The R.A.'s door opens and she yells "Shit!" just as I notice something on the floor of the hallway, square and center in front of her door. It looks like shit.
This cannot be for real.
She glares at me, then down at the floor again. "He took a shit. In front of my room."
I can't speak. I'm appalled that someone would do that, but equal to my horror is the disappointment that I wasn't included in the group of laughing students, that I'm never included in anything, except being coerced into getting lunch for my roommate, who doesn't really like me anyway.
"It was Iggy, wasn't it?" demands the R.A.
"I didn't . . . I wasn't . . . "
"Of course you don't know," she says. "You're not trouble like
every single other person on this floor
. Ugh." She slams the door, leaving me alone in the hallway with Iggy's shit and the knowledge that somehow life is happening all around me, but I'm not part of any of it.
My whole day hits me hard, being stupid in front of Julian, getting called out by the professor, not standing up to Greer, running out of the bathroom because of the couple shaving at the sink. It sucks, all of it, and with startling horror I realize I'm going to cry. I can't. Not here. And I can't run back into my room, either, because then Greer will see me losing it. I rush outside, my vision cloudy from the threatening tears and run smack into someone. Again. Because that's the kind of klutz I am, and that's the kind of day I'm having.
This time my victim is a girl, and her soda drops to the ground and lies on the stairs, fizzing all over the place. I can't tell exactly how old she is, but she doesn't look like a freshman. She looks a few years older and, more importantly, a few years more confident. Of course, anyone's more confident than I am, so maybe that's not saying much.
"I'm sorry," I say, bursting into tears.
"Are you OK?" she asks. Then, "Stupid question. Obviously you're not."
"I'm sorry," I say again, this time for being stupid enough to cry in front of a stranger. "It's just that my roommate is annoying, and I have no friends, and someone shit on the floor . . ."
"Wait, what?"
"Someone shit on the floor. In front of the R.A.'s room."
She starts to laugh. Even her laugh is pretty and confident; she doesn’t hold back. "Are you serious? That's awesome. And awful. Not enough to cry about, but whatever."
"It's a long story," I mumble, trying to stop the tears.
"Come on. Let's get out of here."
"What?" I am completely floored. Nobody has invited me to do anything yet at college.
"It seems like you need to get away from here and the . . . shit? And I need to do my good deed for the day. Or whatever. So let's go?"
"OK."
"I'm Vanessa," she says as we walk away from the dorm. "You're a freshman, right?"
I nod. "I'm Lia. And I'm so sorry about . . ."
Vanessa rolls her eyes. "It's totally not a big deal." She pulls her long brown hair, some of which is braided into skinny little braids, up into a ponytail and then lets it fall back down again. She's wearing a long flowered poncho that looks like it's straight out of the sixties, and she's got these really cool green eyes that remind me, weirdly, of Julian's. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of thinking about him for at least a little while.
"Wait," I say, stopping, my heart sinking. "I'm supposed to be getting lunch for my roommate."
"Why?"
"Because she has her period?" I start to laugh, realizing how ridiculous it is.
"Clearly she's helpless then." Vanessa rolls her eyes and smiles.
Despite my bad mood I can’t help smiling back.
"I lived in that dorm my freshman year," says Vanessa. "My roommate? Biggest bitch ever. At least nobody ever took a crap on the floor when I was there though. Come on," she continues and starts walking again. I follow along, thoughts of Greer being pissed growing fainter and fainter the further we get from the dorm.
Vanessa turns to me, her long hair blowing in the wind, her green eyes sparkling. "Anyway, I hated the dorms. I was thrilled when my parents agreed to let me live off campus with my brother after freshman year."
"Lucky," I say. I mean lucky that she doesn't have to live in the dorms, but also that she has a sibling here at school, a built-in support. I'm an only child, and though I've never longed for brothers or sisters, right now I think now nice it would be to have someone here for me. "How old is your brother?"
"We're both twenty one. Twins."
"That’s so cool. By the way, where are we going?" I realize I’ve just been following along without a clue where we’re headed.
"My place? Get you out of the dorms for awhile."
I know she's feeling sorry for me, but I don't mind. It’s nice to feel that someone cares for a change.
"If we're lucky," she continues, "my brother won't be there. Or he'll be passed out. He has to get up early on Fridays for this class he failed freshman year. Film Studies. Who fails that? For someone as smart as he is, he can be pretty dumb sometimes." She laughs, but my heart is suddenly pounding, an inkling of what she's going to say next making me unbearably nervous. She shakes her head and laughs like someone does about a mischievous but lovable child.
"Julian," she says. "He's crazy."
***
"We just tell people to look for the purple house," says Vanessa. "It's pretty hard to miss."
I want to make a clever joke or say something interesting, but I'm still so focused on the fact that Julian is her brother. Film Class Julian. The guy who makes it hard for me to breathe. I embarrassed myself at least twice in front of him today already.
"It's nice," I say weakly.
Lame.
But my thoughts are scattered into a million pieces.
"It’s
so much
better than the dorms,” she says. “I remember how embarrassed I was to even use the bathroom. I think I held it for two solid weeks."
Despite my nerves, I snicker because I know exactly what she's talking about.
The front porch stairs creak under our feet, and as she opens the front door, I follow her inside. Vanessa's apartment opens into a wide living room. Further through the house is the kitchen. The bathroom and two bedrooms, or what I assume are behind the two closed doors, open off of the large living room. I immediately wonder which room is Julian's, and I feel curious and restless thinking about what his room looks like. Is it messy or neat? Is his bed made, or are the sheets and blanket intertwined and rumpled? Are there posters on the walls, dirty dishes on his desk?
I sit on the couch, which is big and overstuffed and way more comfortable than my stiff dorm room mattress, and Vanessa swings around the room putting her backpack down, leafing through the mail, then going into the kitchen to get us snacks. She totally looks like someone from the sixties, with that long straight hair, some of it in fine braids the rest free, and her peasant blouse and wide-ankled jeans. What she's wearing is totally not in style, but she somehow looks way more fashionable than anyone else I've seen. I look down at my own plain jeans and black long-sleeved shirt and sigh. I'm pretty far from fashionable. My hair is just past my shoulders and light brown, and I'm neither tall nor short, neither voluptuous nor skinny. I suppose I might be OK looking with a makeover and some cool clothes, but in addition to lacking any sense of coolness, I also lack a sense of fashion. And, to be honest, sometimes looking plain so nobody notices me is easier than trying to stand out.
I hear Vanessa in the kitchen opening the fridge and cabinets, and I'm about to get up and help her when suddenly, one of the bedroom doors opens.
Julian
, I think. I hold my breath and wait for him to appear. I try to compose myself so I look cool and casual, though I'm well aware of the fact that the harder someone tries to look calm the less calm she probably looks. Being me is frustrating sometimes.
Female laughter floats out of his room, getting louder as a girl, gorgeous and thin, with waves and waves of blond hair, walks out of the bedroom backwards, smiling back into the room I assume is Julian's.
"Bye," she says coquettishly—really, that's the only way to describe it—and waves a fake cutesy wave. I want to vomit, both out of annoyance at her and at the fact that she's so blithely exiting the bedroom of the first college guy I've taken an interest in. Not that I have a chance. But still.
When she turns and sees me, she giggles in obviously feigned embarrassment, her pink-nailed hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, hi," she breathes. "I was just leaving." Then, as Vanessa enters the room, the girl turns, her smile getting even bigger and faker. "You must be Vanessa!" she coos. I mean, it really sounds like a coo. "Julian's said
so
much about you."
"Has he?" Vanessa sounds cold, such a surprising contrast to the friendly person I've been getting to know.
"Mm hmmm," hums the girl. "Anyway, gotta run. I'll be seeing you!"
"Not if I see you first," Vanessa mutters under her breath and rolls her eyes at me. As the front door shuts behind the girl, Vanessa whispers to me, "My brother has the
worst
taste in girls."
"She was . . . pretty," I say, feeling like I have to defend . . . what? Julian? That girl? I'm not even sure.
"Pretty
annoying
."
"She reminds me of my roommate a little."
"God, I feel sorry for you." Vanessa puts the two plates she's holding onto the coffee table. She's made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with potato chips on the side. It reminds me of being home, of my mom always making me a snack when I got back from school, and I'm flooded with grateful warmth.
"Thanks," I say.
"No problem." Vanessa turns on the TV and scrolls through the channels. We settle on a show featuring college dorm room makeovers, and I'm about to start eating when Julian's door opens. This time, he comes out.
The first thing I notice is he's not wearing a shirt, and his chest is lean and muscular—not bodybuilding big, but strong and defined. He has a definite six pack, and I can't take my eyes off his lower stomach, where a faint line of hair starts, running down to . . .
Stop thinking about that!
, I say to myself, aware that I'm blushing. His jeans are low on his hips, a strip of his boxers showing, and his feet are bare. Without his hoodie I can see his hair clearly; it's dark brown, unruly and messy, some of it curling down onto his forehead in a boyish way, but there's nothing else about him that's boyish. And he just had a girl in his room. A swirl of jealousy churns in my stomach. Jealousy?
I barely even know him!
Vanessa's voice breaks my reverie. "Gross, Julian, put on a shirt," she says, throwing a pillow at him.
He dodges and I can't help noticing the way his muscular body—those arms!—bend to avoid it as he laughs at his sister, a real laugh, not the sinister one I heard in class. He doesn't even look at me—I might as well be invisible—as he approaches the table and reaches out to take half of Vanessa's sandwich. She slaps his hand back. "Make your own," she says.
He turns to me. For a split second he looks into my eyes, the smile from laughing with Vanessa turning into a smirk as recognition settles in. I breathe in and hold it, wondering what he's going to say. Instead of speaking, he reaches out and grabs half of my sandwich. He takes a huge bite, staring at me with a cocky look, daring me to object.
"Rude!" says Vanessa, and he turns away, laughing again. "Julian, this is Lia. Lia, this asshole who just stole half your sandwich is my brother Julian."
"We know each other," says Julian, his mouth full.
"We have Film Studies class together," I explain.
"And she spilled coffee on my sweatshirt this morning."
"Stop. You're kidding." Vanessa's mouth opens in fake horror.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, embarrassed that it's been brought up.
"Julian's a total weirdo when it comes to his
precious hoodie
," says Vanessa, rolling her eyes again. "Once? I was doing him a favor and threw it in the wash with my stuff. He seriously almost killed me."