Jeremy didn't go to class on Monday.
He didn't go on Tuesday either.
The third day, he forced himself to get out of bed but only made it as far as the dining hall before the sight of a couple giggling over pancakes sent a cold flush down his spine. Becca's voice echoed in his head. The depth of her eyes, the texture of her fingers, the sound of her laughter; all the details of that terrible night kept coming back to him in flashes. It was as though someone had magically glued those images to the inside of his eyelids. They haunted him whenever he closed them.
"Yo, isn't that the guy?" The girl whispered but loud enough for Jeremy to hear.
"Damn. It looks a lot like him. Damn, it's him. I swear." The guy said with a kind of excitement that made Jeremy feel sick to his stomach. He immediately lost his appetite. He stared at the plate of pancakes and syrup in front of him. He picked up the fork and jabbed uninterestedly at the food on his plate.
He had just taken a bite when suddenly he heard someone call out in his direction.
"If it isn't the jizzer."
At those words, Jeremy set his fork down, a little too quickly, a little too hard. The cutlery clanged as it landed, hitting the plate on its way down. His chest tightened, his face turned red with embarrassment, and then he stood up. He turned around to leave, but that guy won't just let him be. Something about that moment, the smell of pancakes, or perhaps the presence of the redhead with big breasts, had given that jock more audacity than usual.
"Hey, jizzward! Do you always come that quick?" the guy yelled. As he heard those words, Jeremy's breathing increased. His fingers curled into fists, and his eyes darkened with rage. He turned around and looked at the two of them in the face.
"Oh, oh. Seems I got the jizzer mad." The guy said it in a sports commentary kind of tone.
"What you gon' do about it? Huh? What? Jizz me in the face." The guy said in a confrontational tone, laughing at his own weird, inappropriate jokes.
"Stop it, Brad, that's not nice," the girl said, laughing way too hard for someone trying to show empathy.
Standing right there, facing these bullies Jeremy was not thinking. He was about to do something, something crazy. Something he would regret.
"Awwwn. He is just one giant softie." The girl remarked as she watched Jeremy standing in front of them. Suddenly, the enraged boy came to his senses. That word, "softie," had triggered something in him. A memory. A memory of his mother. She always called him a softie, but when she said it, it was a title of endearment, not a hostile remark.
Really, Jeremy, you wanna get yourself expelled in your first semester. Mum's gonna freak out. You don't want that now, do you? The little voice in his head said. And just like that, he turned around and went back into his room, abandoning his breakfast in the dining area.
As he entered, he saw Marcus sitting on his bed, flipping through some notes. The guy was reading. Jeremy's presence was accompanied by an uncomfortable silence. A silence that had enveloped the roommates ever since the night of the incident. There were not a lot of things Jeremy enjoyed in Westbridge, but amongst the few, those conversations with Marcus were high up that list. Their shared interest in video games and Marcus's sometimes unsolicited advice on Westbridge women. These conversations usually filled the air. But that was then. Everything changed after that damn party.
Jeremy walked into the room and sat on his bed. He was just about to get under the sheets when Marcus finally spoke, disturbing the cloud of silence that had gathered so heavily over them.
"Come on, man. You can't stay cooped up in here for the rest of the school year. You gotta go to classes, man. You don't wanna start off school failing. It's not healthy for your GPA."
Jeremy sat up straight. It felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to his head. The rage that he felt earlier in the dining room was suddenly back, and he was ready to unleash all of it at Marcus.
"Oh, now you wanna be the good guy, huh?! Where the hell were you when your frat friends were setting me up? Don't bloody tell me about leaving this room when I can't even walk out of this dorm without getting stares. People laugh at me everywhere I go, man. People laugh at me, and it's all your fault. I was fine being the nerdy, quiet guy. Now I'm famous, and for the dumbest of reasons. So, please, keep your lectures to yourself." Jeremy said, gesticulating as he spoke.
The silence returned. Jeremy was standing now, staring at Marcus with so much pain in his eyes. He seemed to expect a reply, but as it wasn't forthcoming, he turned around and sat back down.
"I am sorry." Marcus finally said. "I just realised I never actually apologised, and I just want to. I am truly sorry. It's my fault, and I take the blame. I never should have left you alone. I was just trying to do something nice for my friend, but it backfired in the craziest of ways. Those guys aren't my friends, man. We just happen to know each other, you know, athlete to athlete and all. I would never do that to you, man, or anybody for that matter. I am sorry you had to go through that bullshit."
Jerremy was dumbfounded. He wasn't expecting that. Out of the many scenarios he played in his head, Marcus saying a full-blown apology wasn't one of them. He sat back and watched his roommate pack his books together and place them into his backpack. It was in that moment that it finally hit him. Marcus wasn't your everyday, typical college athlete, oh no. Except for the thrill and fame the track gave him, Marcus was actually serious about his studies. While many guys on sports scholarships went for easy courses like general studies or communications, Marcus was majoring in applied mathematics.
"I got to go, man. I got a class right now. I know it's hard, but you gotta find a way to push through this. See you around, man." Marcus said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and leaving the room. Jeremy watched him walk away, and even after he had left, his eyes still lingered on the door and the Usain Bolt poster that was glued to it. At this point, tears began to flow freely from Jeremy's eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he cried. It was silent, no loud sobs, no wailing, just tears, salty, free-flowing tears.
It had been a while since anyone was that openly candid with him. His parents, who were now divorced, had very interesting ways of handling emotions and grievances. For his dad, there was a lot of bribery and gift buying and the occasional gaslighting. His mum was even weirder. She never really acknowledged fights. She just acted like it never happened and continued the next day like everything was fine. Never had he had someone openly come clean like that. What Marcus had done was new territory to Jeremy, and he still didn't know what to feel or how to act.
While Jeremy was still trying to process what just happened, he heard his phone buzz twice quickly, and he saw the screen light up. He had missed a call. He stretched over to look, and the missed call was from Professor Griggs.
"Shoot." Marcus said, moving his fingers through his hair. With all the drama going on, he had neglected his assistant duties, if not even forgotten about them altogether. He swiped open the phone and navigated his way to the email. Over there, he saw some unopened mail from the prof, and then, to his surprise, he saw one from Ava with the most interesting subject line: Earth to Jeremy.
From: Dr Ava Morgan
Subject: Earth to Jeremy.
Jeremy,
How are you doing? We haven't seen you in a while. I hope you're good.
The prof has been looking for his assistant, and let's just say… he's very grumpy.
I've missed you, Jer. The library feels way too quiet without you around.
Do well to pay us a visit.
Warmly,
The Tea Girly
Dr Ava Morgan, M.A., PhD (Clinical Psychology)
Department of Psychology, Westbridge University
He stared at the screen for a long time. He clicked on the pen icon, and the cursor began to blink. He typed in the words "Dear Ava," and then suddenly he closed the app.
"Fuck this." Jeremy muttered under his breath as he threw the phone on the bed.