Free Relatively Honest by Molly Ringle Page B

“You’re right: I don’t feel good, and…I can’t believe I fell for the fish-tank line.”
    “Is that like falling for something hook, line, and sinker?”
    “Kind of.” Julie tugged the ivy out of her hair, leaving strands in disarray. “They asked me if I wanted to go up and see their fish tank. Lamest trick in the book.”
    “Good God.” I shook my head. “I need to teach these lads a better approach.”
    She smiled a little, and we walked on in silence. “So what made you choose that costume?” she asked.
    “Sinter told me about the arrow trick. We devised ‘victim of love’ around it because it was easy to put together.”
    She nodded. More silence for a minute or so. “How’s Liz?” she asked then.
    “Don’t know. I only stayed that one night because she begged me to. Nothing really happened. I realize that makes me a horrible person, all the same.” I laid a nasty tone across the last sentence.
    “It doesn’t. I didn’t mean that either.” She picked leaves off her ivy and dropped them as we went. “And…how’s Miriam?”
    “Not sure. Haven’t got an email in a while.”
    She nodded. She looked ill, exhausted, and unhappy. Feeling bad for my part in it, I asked, “Are you all right? Really?”
    “No.” She ripped away another leaf. “I’m stupid.”
    “Now, come on…”
    “And mean.”
    “You’re not mean.”
    “And I have no tolerance for alcohol at all.”
    “That was particularly strong alcohol.”
    We had reached the dorm. She watched me unlock the outside door. “Will you forgive me?” she asked.
    We stepped inside. “Yes, I forgive you.”
    “You are a good friend, you know.” On the landing to the second floor, she took my hand, and squeezed it.
    “Cheers.” I squeezed back, then let go. Tonight was not the night to sweep her into my arms. She hardly needed another molester, even if he was a “good friend.”
    So we said goodnight, and I went up to third floor. I tugged the pencil-arrow out of my chest, threw away the red-stained shirt, and wiped Sinter’s lip-marks off my face. She now owed me gratitude and humility, and viewed me as trustworthy, which was a huge improvement. But I wasn’t happy. I couldn’t get my mind off the way she had looked, pale and frightened, trapped under that dodgy drunken Elvis’s arm. I had an absurd desire to go down to her and make sure she was all right, and stay with her until dawn. I also had a fierce wish to bludgeon the two frat boys to death with a shovel. She was unhappy, and I wanted to do something about it. I rarely got this way about anyone.
    Worst of all, she was probably unhappy because she missed her boyfriend, and I, the cocky womanizer, was a poor substitute. And I couldn’t do a bloody thing about that.

Chapter 9: Thanksgiving

    I planned to give Julie at least one full day to recover before I approached her again. But the one day turned into quite a lot longer, for on the second of November I awoke with a sore throat. I attended class anyway, but by lunchtime I was miserable. By supper I was delirious. All night I sweated, flopped around, whimpered, and would have annoyed Sinter tremendously if he hadn’t been sleeping downstairs with Clare. I stayed in bed the next day, conscious only of how much my throat and nasal cavity ached. I was quite convinced I had never been healthy in my life, and that nothing had existed for me except pain.
    I remember Sinter bringing me orange juice and toast from the dining hall, and convincing me to take some kind of syrupy medicine. After the medicine I slept in a swirly dream-state for ages. Julie and Elvis and the flasher played a hundred nightmare scenes together, sometimes with a cameo by Patrick.
    When I came out of it, it was the middle of the next day. I was surrounded by crumpled-up tissues. I could feel my hair sticking up in all directions. Sinter was doing his homework, sipping tea. He glanced at me with bloodshot eyes and rasped, “I think I may have caught