As time went on with Tommy Arker, life got a bit more rough on campus. Whenever I was seen out in public I was glared at or people made it obvious that they didn't welcome my company. Even a few days ago a rather nerdy came up to me and decided to demand that I leave the library while I was working on my makeup work for that English test I missed. To make a long story short, I told him not to cross me again or I'd make his glasses go up a place the sun don't shine. At least I can still make some people scared of me.
Tom had no idea about why I was kicked out, just that Cody was an asshole, but he already knew that before meeting me. I didn't feel like it would help me any to get kicked out again by another prick and besides, things were okay with Tom and I. We didn't ignore each other like Cody and I had, but we didn't really have those great, long conversations either. We were okay and comfortable living with one another. Well, I think he was a bit more comfortable considering he always walked around topless. I was fine with us not always talking or one not coming home until late from the library because I was getting more worried about my attraction to him.
One way or another, I had to act semi-normal at all times around him or all hell would break loose. It was later that day that almost made me go into shock because I had forgotten that we made it a point to put a sock on the bathroom doorknob to let the other know it was taken for the moment and Tommy almost choked back his water he was chugging when he walked in on me stepping out of the shower in all my glory. All I remember at that moment was me screaming and looking around quickly to try and find that damned towel, Tommy coughing water everywhere and stumbling his way out the bathroom, yelling: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Oh god, sorry!"
When I came out after a long time of putting clothes on and calming my red face down, he was sitting on his bed, watching some T.V. show when he shyly glanced at me and said:
"I really am sorry, Jamie. I had no idea you were in there."
With how cute he looked, being all shy and whatnot I wasn't mad. I was permanently sacred, but anger was not in my body.
"No, it was my fault. I totally spaced on putting a sock on the handle."
"Well, I still should have at least knocked."
"Really, Tom. It's okay."
He seemed to still feel bad, but took my reassurance and went back to his show while I plopped onto my bed, opened my laptop and checked my e-mail. When I came across the title: "Fuck Life!" I knew it was my sister and her rants again. I opened the e-mail to read almost a novel's worth of bullshit that she went on and on about. Finally something that actually seemed important to me was her stating that Dad was going about his ways again and if I was thinking correctly about what she meant, that wasn't a good sign.
Our dad use to have a real alcohol problem when we were little. I was older than my sister, Rena, by two years and I tried really hard to not let her see Dad act the way he did when he had too much to drink. He started up on that after our mom died when I was eight-years-old in a car crash on the way to her work. Ever since that my dad never left the house and when he did, it was to go get more alcohol. It got so bad that once I actually had to call 9-1-1 because he was shaking like he was in his own personal earthquake and puking everywhere.
Not a sight that kids want to see or deal with, but I did and I had to make sure that Rena stayed up in our room while it all happened. So knowing that he seemed to be going towards his old ways really worried me, I'm three hours away from home while Rena's all on her own over there with him. I didn't want her to go through what I had to all my childhood. It was a great day when Dad had a reality check after he woke up the next day after one of his rages and saw the aftermath of it. When he saw us crying on the living room couch, crying, he forced himself to go to rehab.
I typed a long letter back, giving my sympathy to her other stuff before focusing on Dad. I made sure she knew to call me if anything was turning back into the way it was, that I'd speed all the way back to help her, and to try and hide Dad's stash. When I closed the laptop, I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment to gather my thoughts.
"Everything okay, Jam's?"
I looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the floor against his bed and staring at me with some concern. I just smiled and nodded.
"Oh yeah, just trying to focus on the real world now that I'm done reading my sister's rant on why everything sucks."
That got him to crack a smile and chuckle.
"Well, you know how siblings can be. I've been there one too many times before."
"You have siblings?"
"Mhmm, I have an older brother and a little sister, but they both act like they're still in preschool."
I smiled and stood up, stretching my back before going to brush my teeth when I noticed Tom had lingered his gaze on me a little and I don't know if my ego was high that moment, which I don't really have one, but ya'know I could have sworn he was staring at my stomach since I had a short tank on. I rolled my eyes behind my eyelids, reminding myself that I am a stick, hence why so many guys in middle school made fun of me non-curvy hips.
When everything went dark in the room later that night, I couldn't sleep. I was just too worried about Dad and Rena. I've always loved my dad, no matter what hell he put us through because I understood his pain. Well, I understood as much as an eight-year-old could anyways. Growing up with him in rehab, struggling to stay there, Rena and I always pushed him to keep moving and tried our best to make him feel loved.
It sort of sucked to not have been able to grieve over our mother. Rena had her time because she didn't have to watch out for Dad. Dad didn't handle it appropriately, but as he went to rehab he started letting it out and sooner or later he was decently okay. I just stared at the ceiling while I tried figuring it out.
What was Dad's problem now?
As I thought this over for countless minutes, I heard Tom mumble in his sleep rather angrily. Leaning against my elbows, I tried to get a look over at him with the moonlight shining on him, but I barely saw much. I could see his form, but that was it. He growled in a way and slammed his fist in the mattress, causing me to jump a little. Jesus, what is he dreaming about?
He didn't seem to stop with hitting the bed at times or grunting loudly, so I did the stupid thing and tip-toed over to him, trying to get a look at him up-close. He muttered something that sounded like: "Fuck off." and punched out again, catching his leg with his fist and that caused him to grunt out in pain. I didn't really want to explain to him the next day why he was covering in bruises, so I leaned over him and gentle shook him. "Tom, hey. Wake up, you're beatin' the shit out of yourself."
When he didn't do anything but roll on to his back, I shook him again, harder this time and I guess that was a bad move because his eyes shot opened and he grabbed me by the waist. Before I could think he yanked me on top of him and rolled over so he could pin me down. I was scared, to say the least. I just stared up at him as he breathed ragged into my face, looking like he could be related to the Hulk. He seemed to still be asleep, how the hell he could still be sleeping was beyond me.
"Whoa now. Tom, before you do something stupid, it's me. Jamie."
He seemed to catch that a little because he mumbled: "Jamie?" confusingly.
"Yes, Jamie. You're having a bad dream and - "
Before I could finish my sentence, I felt something grow down in his pants and I'm guessing it wasn't a banana. I couldn't even speak up, I was so embarrassed and shocked. I just stared up into his hazy eyes, knowing he was still out of it because had he been awake, he would've already jumped off me.
"Jamie."
He growled, leaning down to my neck and gently licking it.
