My Always One

Chapter Three

Sami

Seven years ago

I wake as I almost fall from the twin-size mattress. This thing would be too small for me alone, but it's definitely too small for two. The musty scent of this house, shared by four college students, combines with body odor—a mixture of perspiration and too much alcohol.

I'm not a virgin, but I'm also not accustomed to waking next to a guy, especially this guy, my best friend.

When Marshal asked me to come to Michigan State for a weekend visit, I wasn't prepared for his new living conditions—four guys lacking cleaning skills or the desire to clean—or a sleepover in the same bed. I'm not sure it was all planned on his part either.

The off-campus house was rocking last night.

Marshal and his roommates may not care about cleaning, but when it comes to throwing a party, they are professionals. From the Christmas lights strung all around the backyard, to the keg, bonfire, and loud music, I'm kind of surprised no police showed up.

My stomach twists with that morning-after sensation of having too much alcohol and not enough food. I move my tongue around to try to conjure a bit of saliva.

Eww.

How can nothing taste so awful?

Then again, I'm not interested in food either. Even the thought of eating covers my skin in a new layer of perspiration.

Holding on to the edge of the small bed, I force open my eyes. The small closet-like room around us comes into focus as a rock band plays a drum solo behind my temples. Maybe if I close my eyes, I could go back to sleep. My stomach and this small bed aren't my only issues. My bladder is screaming for relief, and I seem to recall some loud voices and an order from Marshal to wake him before I leave the room.

Holding on for dear life, I nudge him as I fight for a sliver of the bed. “Marsh."

I'd considered sleeping on the floor, but decided for the sake of my health and welfare the bed was cleaner. Looking down at the carpeting, I wonder if it's only covered with dirt and stains or if there are bugs too. Again, I hang onto the edge.

“Marsh," I try again, this time adding an elbow to his back.

“What?" he says, rolling toward me.

“Whoa," I say too loudly as I throw back the sheet and spring from the bed. My bare feet squish on the carpet and my nose scrunches. “Marshal."

With only the sunlight sneaking through the mangled blinds, I see the outline of what just stabbed me and propelled me from the bed. Holy s**t, my friend is equipped. I mean, he's boasted of his prowess since we were freshmen in high school, but I've never seen or thought about...

My eyes open and I know I'm staring. “Um."

I'm thinking about it now. After all, Marshal just prodded my lower back with what appears to be an erect huge d**k. Taking my eyes away from my best friend's equipment tenting his shorts, I look down at the carpet and step to a dry spot, wiping my feet.

The tipped-over Solo cup eases my mind, giving me a clue of what made the carpet wet.

Stale beer is definitely better than other possibilities.

My bladder reminds me of the first reason why I woke. I reach over and shake Marshal's shoulder.

“Marshal, wake up."

Marshal's eyes open. “Sami?"

“Um" —I point to his erection— “do something with that. I need to use the bathroom."

“Oh. f**k," he mumbles as he scrambles from the bed. He's high-stepping too as he lands in the moist carpet. “s**t," he says as he looks for a safe place to stand.

Once he's up—as in standing, since up isn't his problem—he turns away. I'm many things, but naïve isn't one of them. I have been with other guys, have a brother, and a male best friend. I can tell he's adjusting himself. “Sami, shit."

When Marshal finally turns, his cocky grin, the one he knows will save his ass and has on multiple occasions, is beaming at me. “It's morning."

I shake my head.

Finding my phone, I peer down at the screen. “It's officially afternoon." My hand goes to my head. “And I feel like shit."

“Come on," he says, “I'll go out with you and see who's up."

Even though it's nearly one in the afternoon, the second floor is dark and quiet. All the doors are closed. When we reach the bathroom, its door is also closed. Marshal tries the doorknob. “Locked."

I wiggle on my toes, the pressure building.

Marshal reaches for my hand. “Come downstairs."

There are more signs of life on the first level. Bodies are draped over the sofa and chairs. There are even a few sleeping people on the floor. Either they're braver than I am, or they were too drunk to care when they finally fell asleep.

Around the corner, there's a small half bath under the stairs. Miraculously, the door is ajar.

“Hurry," he says, “I need to pee, too."

I scrunch my nose as I step inside. “Gross," I mumble under my breath.

Thirty minutes later, the two of us are sitting on one of the picnic tables outside McDonald's. I've downed two bottles of water and a red Gatorade, and my headache has lessened but is still present. The rock band has been exchanged for a softer jazz drummer, but apparently, the concert isn't over.

Taking a bite of my breakfast sandwich, I groan. “Jeez, I feel awful." I lift my large coffee in a mock toast. “Thanks for a great time."

Marshal grins. “You had a great time."

“Not waking to that." I tilt my chin down to what's under the table.

“I'm a guy. What do you want me to say?"

“Tell me why we had a slumber party again and why we couldn't at least go to your room. You have a normal-size bed."

“My room was already occupied."

“Eww, gross. You let other people" —I lowered my voice to a whisper— “screw in your bed?"

Marshal shrugs. “It's not a matter of letting. And I know who was in there. Bailey asked if he could use my room." He shrugs again, taking a long drink of his black coffee. “What can I say? I'm a humanitarian."

“Do you even know all those people still passed out?"

“Most of them."

I force myself to take another bite. It's a weird mind-over-matter thing. My mind knows that eating will help. My stomach isn't convinced.

The sun escapes a cloud and I notice a discolored spot on Marshal's cheek. Without thinking, I lift my hand to the spot. “Did you get hit?" Memories come back. “Wait, you got in a fight."

“Not really a fight. I told that fucker to leave."

Fucker?

“Leon?" I say and ask at the same time.

Marshal shrugs.

I remember the guy he's talking about now. Whenever I turned last night at the party, I saw him looking my direction. Eventually, he found a seat by me at the bonfire. He was one of those guys who gives off a vibe, one that says he is confident and cocky, but his said more.

It gave me a warning.

By the end of the night, he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Marshal intervened.

I drop my head to my arms on the table. “Jeez, Marsh, I'm sorry."

“Don't be."

I peek up at him from my arms. “What about Wendy? You two seemed...interested."

“Wendy will be around another night or she won't. My friend, you were more important."

“I was handling myself. I'm a big girl, you know."

Marshal lays his hand on the table. “I know you can handle yourself. I just..." He didn't finish the sentence.

“Leon gave me a creepy vibe," I admit as I look again at the bruise. “Is he worse off than you, I hope?"

Marshal's smile is back. “Yeah, I kicked his ass."

“And the slumber party?"

“I wasn't taking a chance on anyone coming back during the night."

“I really do love you," I say with a tired grin.

“Back at you."

I lift my eyebrows. “I could do without the morning wood."

“It was morning," he says pleadingly.

“And your house is gross."

“It's not mine, and I'm moving out at the semester break. Then when you visit, I'll have only one roommate."

“Who?"

“I'm moving in with Drew. His roommate is graduating early."

Finishing my breakfast sandwich, I nod approvingly. “I like Drew. I'll buy you some Lysol as a housewarming gift."

“The only thing that would help where I'm living now is a match."

“I'll get the lighter fluid."

“See," Marshal says, “that's what I like about you. You're willing to go to jail for me."

I look at his bruise. “Well, you just admitted to assault for me. What's a little arson for a friend?"