Short Story Part 1

Marc awoke with a start to his alarm, drawing him out of his dreams, back to the university reality. He was lifting the covers over his head, intending to block out the noise, and he could hear the faint groans of his roommate, the muffled sounds of a "see ya later, John" from whatever girl he had had in his bed that night. Marc peeked out from under his blankets to see John, eyes still closed, treading like a zombie towards the clock, and fumbling with the buttons trying to turn it off. He proceeded to fall back onto his bed, snoring softly.

Marc, sleep still in his eyes, stood up from his bed and began getting ready. He looked at John sprawled across the bed, his mouth wide open, slightly drooling. His chestnut brown hair still had gel in it, and his face was covered in lipstick stains. He reeked of beer and marijuana, although he claimed to be, "totally straight, man".

Marc left the room and walked quietly down the hallway to the bathroom. Everyone in his dorm didn't wake up until after seven, which was why, even though John hated it, Marc liked to set the alarm for six. He hated the crowded bathrooms, having to brush his teeth and wash his face in front of the other guys in Herman hall. He couldn’t talk to her in front of John. His roommate was constantly asking him why he never went to parties with him, or why he wouldn't be his wingman, or let John be his wingman, or even just think about wingman-ing. "You know," he would say, " 'cause we're bros". But they were not bros. Because John would never understand about the girl. He would never understand the feeling of being completely in love with someone four years younger than him, most definitely underage. He would never understand not being able to tell her how he felt, because John did that just about every night to a different girl.

Marc pulled out his phone, ready to dial her number, when John walked into the bathroom

"I know you like to wake up early," he said, his eyes half closed,"but do all your friends wake up at the same time? Anayways theres a guy waiting for you outside our door.”

"What friend?" Marc didn't have many friends in Champagne.

“All he said is that he really needed to talk to you, just don’t do it in the room, I’m hoping to get a few hours of sleep in before my intro to…” John trailed off. “I don’t know, my intro to something ology. Anyways I’m tired so keep the noise down.”

He put his hand over his face, attempting to block any light out of his eyes, and tripped down the hall to the room.

Marc looked at his phone in his hand. He was curious about the person mentioned, but John might have just been hallucinating. It’s happened before, when he had partied a little too hard. He thought about how disappointed John’s parents must be with him. Marc wasn’t sure how John was still in school. He tried to picture him as a kid, one hundred percent sober, actively participating in his classes. He thought it was funny to think of his roommate as an innocent child. They had gone to high school together. John really had not always been like this. Something changed two years ago when he graduated high school. He had always kind of been a playboy, but he had never been as much of a burnout as he was then. He had good grades, and he knew when to stop drinking. After he graduated though, John didn’t stop as much.

He decided to see if there was a real living person outside his room. He couldn’t imagine who would need to talk to him so urgently.

As Marc walked down the hallway, John was just pulling the covers over his head.

It had been a crazy night for John, and he remembered it like it was a dream. He had drunk a lot, and he couldn’t remember the exact moment when things started to become hazy. There had been a woman, yes, although he couldn’t remember her name. At least she had left when Marc’s god-forsaken alarm clock had jerked him out of sleep.

John hated that he had become like this, but he had no other choice. When he stopped, if he ever sobered up, all he would think about would be the girl. By some ugly twist of fate she was born four years after him, and there was nothing he could do to forget about her, no matter how underage she was. He often imagined if things would have been different if they had met ten years later, instead of in highschool, when their age difference didn’t matter. They would be in a movie theatre, she would spill popcorn on him, smile her small, crooked smile that he loved, apologize, and introduce herself. There wouldn’t be talk of age, or popularity. He would laugh at her jokes, she would pity him enough to laugh at his bad ones.

But that’ll never happen he thought. Someone’s probably already stolen her from me.

Marc looked at his phone. He wanted more than anything to call her and hear her voice, but he was too close to his room to start talking to her. Someone would hear, most likely John. When Marc and John started college, Marc really wanted to be John’s friend, but he partied too much to ever have time to talk. John always tried to get Marc to come drinking with him, but Marc always refused.

In October of last year, Marc was studying in his bed, his thermos of tea next to him. Every sip of tea he took, the room spun a little faster. The words became gradually harder to read. Marc didn’t know what was happening, he thought he was sick, and he kept drinking his tea, hoping it would bring everything back to normal. He didn’t remember much from that night, only that at one point John came in, and they talked for a while. Marc stopped trying to be friends with John after that.

Marc walked down the hallway and as he turned a corner, someone ran straight into him. The boy looked up. It was her brother. He had the same eyes as her. He hadn’t seen those eyes for a long time.

“Tom” he said, “What are you doing here?”