“Did you borrow my jacket?” she asked me, crumpling the papers and tossing them in the trash.
“Yeah, on Saturday. Hope it’s okay,” I told her. We had always lived by an open-closet policy since we had moved in together, though perhaps I shouldn’t have taken it without permission, given the current state of our friendship.
Renee smiled. “It’s okay. You know you’re always welcome to my clothes. Anyway, this jacket always looked better on you than on me,” she said lightly, and any tension we had been feeling lessened slightly.
“That’s true. I can’t argue with that logic,” I joked, closing our apartment door behind us as we headed down the hallway.
“Where did you go? I thought you planned on staying home on Saturday,” she said.
“Brooks and I headed over to Compulsion. I was hoping to see you there, you know, after you suggested it . . . ,” I ventured, trying to open up a dialogue between us. I instantly noticed the tightening of her jaw and the stiffening of her shoulders.
“We didn’t end up going,” she said finally after a few moments.
“Why? What did you do?” I asked, not sure she would answer me, whether she would think I was being intrusive and shut me down. I never knew what my questions would be met with anymore. Long gone were the days of easy conversation. Renee Alston carried a lot of secrets now, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever know what they were.
Renee smoothed down her hair, a gesture that usually indicated she was upset about something. I looked at her closely and was startled to see that she looked almost gaunt. How had I not noticed how much weight she’d been losing in the last few months? Her once-vibrant red hair was now the dull color of rust. Her clothes were baggy and seemed ready to fall off her slight frame.
She had always been a curvaceous girl. She was a bit on the short side, coming up only to my shoulders, but with an ass and boobs that put mine to shame. And she had always worked what she had. Now it was as though her clothes were swallowing her up. Her shoulders were drooped, and these days her gaze was always trained at the ground.
“We ended up at a party. Some guy Devon knew,” Renee explained, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, most likely watching for a sign of my well-known disapproval of Devon. But I kept my face blank.
“Oh, yeah? How was it?” I asked, walking out onto the sidewalk and waiting for Renee to catch up. The air was cold and had been hinting at snow for weeks now, though I had yet to see a flake. The sky was a flat, slate gray, and I for one didn’t miss the sun. I loved the cold.
I remembered the way Jayme and I would wait impatiently for snow. Even if it was futile, given the lack of frozen precipitation we experienced during the winter. She would follow the local weather constantly, hoping for a day off from school. We had developed a strange ritual of doing a dance in the yard as though that would encourage the weather we wanted.
When we were younger, we spent so much of our time together. Jayme had been only two years younger than me, but from an early age, I had felt very protective of her. She had always been shy and insecure, having struggled with body image since she was old enough to worry about that sort of thing.
She just hadn’t understood how truly beautiful she was. She had always gone out of her way to make people like her, even if they were the wrong type of people.
Renee stopped walking and turned to me. “We don’t have to talk about Devon. I know you don’t like him. And actually, I understand why. He hasn’t been very nice to you,” she stated, and I couldn’t help the snort that escaped.
“Or you,” I added hesitantly, not sure if I should keep my opinions quiet but finding it hard to stifle how I felt.
Renee thinned her lips, and I waited for the argument. It never came. And I was glad I had voiced how I felt without censoring myself.
“Why don’t we just go get some dinner,” Renee responded shortly, and I knew I had overstepped. It was very clear that she was extending the olive branch only so far, and that I should just take what she was offering and back off.
What was it about an impending train wreck that made it impossible to look away? That’s what Renee’s life looked like—a big messy train ride to doom. But as much as I wanted to jump on the tracks and stop it, I knew my intervention would not be appreciated. Being Renee’s friend of late meant perfecting the art of tongue biting. And I had damn near bitten my tongue in half.
We walked the two blocks to campus in relative silence. It was uncomfortable and forced, and I was wishing I had decided to heat up a pack of ramen noodles instead.
Renee cleared her throat. “So what did you think of Compulsion? Not really your scene, huh?” she asked in an attempt at teasing.
I tried not to jump to the defensive, to stick my tongue out and stamp my foot in a fit of immaturity while shouting, It is so my scene. What do you know about it?
But Renee was right. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that a place like Compulsion was typically the last place you’d find straitlaced, in-bed-by-ten-o’clock Aubrey Duncan on a Saturday night.
There was something really annoying about that.
“I was thinking about going back next weekend,” I said belligerently, just to see what Renee would say to that.
See, I can be as wild and crazy as the next chick.
But it was the truth. I wanted to go back.
I had strangely enjoyed myself. Attempted drugging and possible death by mosh pit aside, it was something I wanted to experience again.
From the look on Renee’s face, I might as well have told her I was planning on shaving my head and starting an all-girl pop group. “You’re going back? Really? Why?” she asked incredulously.
My thoughts drifted to the man in the baseball cap. He had been insistent that I didn’t belong there, that I was the proverbial fish out of water. And now it was obvious that my roommate felt the same way. It made me oppositional and more than a little defiant. Because I was struck by the insane drive to prove them wrong.
And something else had become clear to me: being at the club, dancing in the constricting darkness, I felt like I was able to be a person that I couldn’t be anywhere else. Someone who was a lot more interesting than watching paint dry. Someone who got a thrill out of more than organizing her sock drawer. An Aubrey who was spontaneous and slightly out of control. An Aubrey who was wild.
That Aubrey was fun.
That Aubrey was free.
I gritted my teeth and forced a smile paired with an indifferent shrug. “Why not?” I asked flippantly.