Chapter 8 - Just a f-ck buddy

REBECCA'S POV

Al grinned, not all ashamed. "Hey, bro ... come on, we gave you a little bit of a distraction."

I rolled my eyes at his childishness, but hey, that's Alan Barrow for you, ladies and gentlemen, never taking anything seriously, which is fun, but not in such moments.

Byron glared at his friend, while I, knowing he was pissed because he doesn't exactly ... um ... approve of this type of mingling between roommates, silently put my clothes back on, well, just my jumper that was on the ground, the skirt, Al threw it who knows where, lucky thing I still had my panties on.

I can't deny I was getting nervous because of the awkward situation, with Byron glaring at Al and Al smirking his ass off, as usual, while I was in the middle, flustered.

"Um ... sorry if we ... disturbed you?" It came out more like a question, but it did have Byron's eyes land on me, I guess for the first time, because they widened and raked my body as if seeing me for the very first time ever. He shook his head soon enough, as if to delete wrong thoughts, of which nature, even I could guess ...

He's my closest friend among the three of them, and that explains why he's the more reluctant one when it comes to the little thing Al proposed we do, but I guess it's not a matter of not appreciating me ... because, before he tore his gaze away, I read clear hunger in Byron's deep brown eyes ...

"We have rules, guys." He mentioned in a serious tone – I bet the one he uses at work.

Al rolled his eyes as he pulled up his sweats. "We never respect that rule, Bye."2

I frowned. "What rule?"

Al grinned impishly, the kind of grin I get from the child I babysit when he's up to some mischief or he's just done something he knows I'll scold him for. "Well ... if you wanna know ... we kinda have a rule about not going at it when other roommates are in range of ears or eyes."

Oh. That's pretty fair, I guess. And ... it means I broke that rule many times already. Whoops. But I don't think that was the issue, because Byron rolled his eyes as well, therefore I inhaled deeply and walked up to him, standing in front of him, trying not to smile at the fact that he was nearly straining his neck not to look down at me, in the predicament I was, which wasn't as indecent as it would seem, I mean, yeah, I was wearing only a jumper and panties, but hey, the jumper covered the upper side of my thighs at least. "We didn't think it through, sorry if we disturbed you, we'll be careful next time –"

"Next time, huh? Can't get enough of this sex machine, can you?" Al's voice came to cut me off, and I rolled my eyes.1

"Shut up, Alan." I barked, but he only chuckled, so I focused back on Byron, who looked really pissed, if I gotta be honest. I tentatively smiled sweetly at him, to smoothen his grim features, and it sort of worked, there was the tiniest hint of a smile, but if faded soon.

In the end, Byron sighed, but I knew there was something he wasn't telling me, possibly because there was Al there with us, in fact as soon as our cheeky roommate announced he'd be going off to take a shower, and Byron and I remained alone, he spoke up, a little bitterly: "You shouldn't do that."

I shifted on my feet, arching an eyebrow at him as I tilted my head to the side, confused. "Do what?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then gestured to the couch confusedly as he repeated: "That."

"Care to elaborate?" I sassed, knowing where was he getting at, just wanting him to voice it.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind." Then he moved to leave.

"Bye ..." I called, grabbing his arm.

He sighed, closing his deep brown eyes for a moment and shaking his head. "You'll get mad if I say what I think." He admitted.

I frowned, pondering, but judging by his flustered look, I kinda got what he meant ... "So you think I'm easy?"4

His eyes widened. "What? No! No, no ... I ... no!"

I grinned. He was flustered as he frantically tried to explain he didn't think such things of me and he never would, he just thought I shouldn't throw myself into the guys' arms so easily, which is kind of an alternative way of saying the same thing, and I made him notice that, which had him even more flustered ...

In the end I burst out laughing at his attempts at apologizing and justifying his statements. "Bye ... I'm 22, almost 23, and I've lived secluded all my life, now that I can, I wanna have some fun. Is that wrong?"

"No, of course not, I –"

"Doesn't a girl have the same right as a guy to have fun? You guys share girls,why is it wrong if I bed two guys?" I arched an eyebrow at him, pretending to be offended as I crossed my arms. "Are you one of those guys that talk about locks and keys?"

What's this rule about guys being awesome if they have sex with many girls but girls being sluts I they have sex with many guys? I mean, isn't that male chauvinism? I'm freaking free to do whatever the hell I want with my body, and if I wanna bed all my roommates altogether, who says I can't? I mean, society is absurd sometimes. People label other people so easily.

3

Byron's eyes widened like saucers, his mouth agape, and he started shaking his head frantically. "No, no, no, I ... I just though ... I didn't, okay? I didn't mean to sound sexist, I just ..." He groaned, "I'm sorry, Rebbie, okay? I just ... " He sighed. "All I'm saying is that you ... you're a nice girl, you could have better than those two."

I half smiled, a bit gloomily, my eyes now focusing on the pavement. "I've had the best, Bye ... and I lost him."3

There was silence, then a light gasp from his part, I guess a sign he acknowledged what I meant. "Rebbie, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I –"

I shook my head, cutting him off, trying hard not to give in to sorrow again, and instead cracking a small smile, blinking my eyes to block tears. "It's okay." I mumbled, my voice shaky. I'm in that much trouble, huh? I can't even talk about him without feeling a lump in my throat.

I pressed my lips and eyelids fiercely, better embracing myself to take in the blow, as usual. I even had to turn around not to let Byron see the tears prickling behind my eyes.

God, I was fine! Al had been able to cheer me up and distract me – and no, I don't mean with the sex. And yet now here I was, trying hard to hold back the river of tears.

"Rebbie ..."

I shook my head, inhaling deeply. "It's fine." I mentioned, voice shaky. "I-I ... I'm fine. Just ... I-I'm gonna take a shower and –" I cut myself off as I felt his arms around me from behind, embracing me tenderly, sweetly.

I uncrossed my arms and instinctively sank in Byron's arms, he turned me around to hug me fully and better, and I I wrapped my arms around his torso, finally letting go of tears.

To think I was fine only moments ago. What is it with me being so weak lately? The slightest hint of a memory makes me cry. Why am I so emotional? Normally I do have these moments, but they're not that frequent.

Then again, I've spent this past month not having a single one of them, I guess it's because of that, my emotions catch up. And I guess I kinda fear forgetting him. I'm building up a new life ... without him.

Sometimes I feel guilty because I seem closer to moving on and I don't want to, because then it would mean that Tom isn't with me anymore and ... that dream I had, those words he told me, I'm starting to think it was a reverberation of my fears. I don't wanna forget Tom. I don't wanna move on from him.

He is ... he is the rest of myself. We were one. It's like I'm maimed, mutilated, only half. Losing Tom was like losing the air I breathed. I lived in function of him. I only saw my future with him in the picture. When I lost him it was like seeing my future crumble down in front of me. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and crumpled in front of me. "I ... I wanted to die with him that day." I mumbled in tears, against Byron's chest. "My soul, my heart died with him that day."

I knew Byron couldn't understand, he didn't even know the story, I just ... needed to tell someone, voice it. Because pain was choking me.

Byron rubbed my scalp and back soothingly, but that only had me cry more ... he meant well, but that only reminded me more of Tom, of the times he would do that to calm me down, especially when I would start hyperventilating, which happens when I cry too much.

I inhaled deeply, trying hard to control myself. Byron is a good friend, doing this for me, I really shouldn't bother him with this. I've pushed through life till now, I'll keep doing that, because that's what Tom wanted me to do, but that doesn't mean I should bother other people, it's just that ... it feels good having someone hold you close when you're breaking apart. That's all.

Once I was able to pull myself together, well, once I was able to breathe properly somehow, I pulled away from Byron, wiping my tears with my sleeve, apologizing: "I'm ... sorry, I ..." I bit my lip. "I-I'm sorry, I ... I-I'm ..."

There you go, I was hiccupping. And barely breathing. I was such a pathetic sight. No wonder Byron stood there, watching me, speechless. He probably thought I was nothing but a whiny child. I started taking breaths to calm myself down, as Tom always told me to do when this happened, because when I get these reactions I might quit breathing entirely and that would be trouble.1

Once I was sort of able to talk, despite the ragged breaths and the broken voice, I apologized once more: "Sorry. S-Sorry, I ... I-I know this looks ... p-pathetic to you, s-so I-I ... I-I'm just ... j-just gonna go to my room and ... s-sorry."3

You wouldn't believe me if I told you my heart ached physically. Ladies and gentleman, this is me, Rebecca Henson, when emotions hit me. A huge pathetic mess. I tend to hide this side of me, well, I hid it to the guys, not to have them think their new roommate was a teary mess.

I wanted to be up to Tom's expectations and be strong, and I kinda succeeded, because I only let myself have those five minutes of tears, away from everyone, just to let out my emotions in some way. Usually that works. But then again, this month I haven't had such moments, I guess my own heart is making up for it.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Al's voice came, booming, from the hall, as he reached us. I turned around, ashamed of having him too see me like that, and I heard their conversation, well, more like Al's barking: "What the fuck did you do to her?! Why is she crying?!"

"I did nothing." Byron defended weakly. And it's true. He did nothing. It's just me. Breaking down at the unexpected.

"Then why the hell is she crying?!" Al almost spelled, as angry as I've never heard him. Byron defended himself, but for some reason Al wouldn't believe him, therefore I intervened, turning around to confirm it wasn't Byron's fault, but not looking any of them in the eye.

"Then what is it?" Al asked, anxious, which is another aspect of him I've never seen.

I shook my head. "I ... I-I'm fine. I just ... y-you guys don't worry, I ... I-I'll go take a shower."

"Becks ..."

I shook my head. "It's ... it's okay. Don't worry, okay? It's fine. Really. It is fine." Then I ran off to my bedroom. I hate this. I hate being so weak. And I hate that the guys saw me in this state. I don't want them to pity me.

When I moved in I swore to myself my roommates would never know about my past, my weakest points, I swore I'd be a whole new Rebecca, just so I could move on from my old life. But then I seem to be able to and I feel guilty, because moving on means forgetting him, and I don't want to. I don't want to forget Tom. I need him with me. Every day. Till I'll be able to reach him.

Sometimes, every cheerful moment I have seems wrong. Because it's like I'm choosing to delete him from my life and I don't want to. We had planned a life together. He should be here to live it with me. We should be living our life as one. Yet no, I'm here alone. I have the guys now, and I'm happy about that, but it's not the same. It will never be the same.

***

WILL'S POV3

I didn't mean to be so late, well, neither did I mean to go out tonight, I actually had studying to do, but after what happened with Rebecca ... I just didn't feel like being in the same place as her.

The way she ran from me, almost in tears, I know it was my fault, I just don't know why. She said I can't call her Becky. I'm guessing it has something to do with her past, someone that called her that.

If you wanna know, I left because I was feeling sympathy for her, and sympathy, for me, is the first step towards caring. Our thing bases off us not giving a damn about each other, I can be a jerk with her because I couldn't care less, but if I start caring I'll also start feeling guilty.

I know myself, the moment I start seeing her as someone worth spending time with, other than just an object I use to relieve myself, I'll also start getting fond of her. And that would be the most absurd and the stupidest thing I could do.

I closed the door, the most silently I could, even though I know the guys go to sleep late, but I didn't really want to be heard, also knowing they'd inquire on my motives for leaving with such a crappy excuse as the one of working was, and I bet Al's gonna give me one hell of a telling-off for not worrying enough about our female roommate when she didn't answer to his calls. I'm starting to think he's growing even too fond of her. Maybe, she might really be the one that tames the manwhore.

Now, I thought they were all in their rooms – it was past 3 am after all, but I heard muttering in the living room, and I recognized the guys' voices, I was even able to catch their conversation:

"What do you think we should do? We can't just leave her alone, crying herself to sleep." That was Al. I'm guessing he was talking about Rebecca. She was still crying? When she ran away from me, she was clearly upset, and I could see tears in her eyes, as much as I could when the guys hugged her, but I thought it'd be something momentary, she'd get over it soon ...

"She'd feel flustered, I think. You saw how she didn't want us to see her crying." That was Byron. Seriously, they're growing even too fond of her. Not that I think bad of her, I just don't understand how it's so easy for them to care so much about her ... eh, I'm one to talk. I left not to risk crossing the fine line between caring and not giving a damn.

Either way, I don't think there's ever been a girl that's touched the guys' chords as much as Rebecca has.

"Yeah, but shouldn't we stay close to her?" Al asked.

Byron sighed, without replying. I wonder what happened, for her to be so brokenhearted. As if he'd read my mind, Byron explained to Al: "She mentioned a he. Someone she lost some time ago. I guess it was her boyfriend, because she said she wanted to die with him that day, and that her heart and soul died with him."

Ah. Who would have ever thought she could hide such details in her past? I honestly always thought of her as a cheerful girl that doesn't really care about anything and just acts on her instinct. I guess I read it totally wrong.

Sighing, and tired of listening to the guys wonder what could they do to cheer her up, I tiptoed away, not wanting to face them right now, knowing they'd ask too many questions, but I guess my feet didn't agree with my direction, because instead of heading to my room, I headed to the opposite side of the apartment. I don't even know why. I just did.

I didn't knock. Just cracked the door open and peeked in. The sight would have broken even the coldest man's heart, I swear. She was sprawled on her bed, hugging her pillow, crying her heart out, the only sounds were her hiccups and ragged breaths. I gripped the doorknob tightly when my instinct wanted me to get inside and at least try to comfort her – why should I?

We're not even friends, we're mere fuck buddies, and besides, I'm not good with girls crying, I can't handle it – but I didn't leave. I should have. Because then I wouldn't have heard what I heard.

Her voice was a mere whisper, it was broken, completely, and she stammered a lot, but I could still recognize the words: "Take me with you. Please. I need to be with you." Either she was asleep and talking, or she was talking to a ghost. "Why did you have to leave me? I still needed you. I need you now."

At that point, I closed my eyes and the door. Before feeling too much empathy. I do feel like a damn asshole, though. I never thought she was so broken already. I thought she was one of those frilly girls that think of boys and manicure only. Turns out, she only pretends to be okay.2

***

I don't even know why was I doing this, I mean, it's none of my business, is it? Yet I was doing it, and I kinda wanted to hurry up before the guys saw me – "Hey, hey, what's this marvelous aroma?" Never mind. Al came into the kitchen sniffling the air.

"I'm making breakfast, wasn't that clear?" I answered curtly, just not to give away the rest of it. Al sat at the table behind me, the one right beside the window that looks onto the living room, while I was stuffing at the counter. I didn't turn around on purpose, not wanting him to inquire on what was I doing, all I did was mention that breakfast was there on the table if he wanted it.

"You're in a good mood today?" Al asked, his voice muffled by the wheat pancakes he was stuffing in his mouth – I didn't need to see it, it's like this every morning. I didn't reply. How would I explain the different breakfast I was preparing? So I just went on doing my thing while Al devoured his breakfast.

Normally we take turns in cooking, but because I usually get up before them, I make breakfast for everybody. Although, normally on Sunday I sleep till late, but last night I just couldn't.1

What I normally do for the guys are pancakes, sausages and scrambled eggs, sometimes I eat them too, but mostly I only drink black coffee, especially because I ought to scuttle away to campus every morning, while on Sunday I don't cook breakfast, Byron does. That's to help you note the difference.

Between the breakfast the guys got and the one I was making now, I mean, which consisted of peanut butter chocolate trifle in a glass, Nutella stuffed waffles, and Nutella stuffed French toasts with strawberry slices. In addition ...

"Weren't hot cocoa cookies a Christmas tradition in your family?" Al asked, coming to peek over my shoulder.

"Mine. Just my tradition." I grunted as I slapped his hand away when he tried to get one of the cookies I just took out of the oven. We don't do Christmas in my family. Hell, we do nothing in my family,there isn't a we at all in my family. 1

There's a father that's drunk off his ass most of the time, there's a mother that lives her life one hangover at a time, there are three sons who are oh, so unite, and then there's me, the weirdo, the loser, as my brothers gently put it. So no, hot cocoa cookies aren't a tradition in my family, they're a thing I'm used to gift myself with because amongst the Fosters only Will thinks about Christmas for Will.1

When Al complained about me being selfish, I let slip that the cookies, as much as the whole different breakfast, weren't for me.

Al arched an eyebrow at me, but I was saved from his inquiry by Byron coming to join us, freshly showered, which is obvious, considering he came back from his run just at the same moment as I stepped into the kitchen, which is routine for us anyways.

I mean, we always do this: Byron gets up before all of us, he goes jogging by five, saying he needs it to start off the work day on a bright note, comes back an hour later, at the same moment I get up and head to the kitchen, he showers while I make breakfast, and once he's out he wakes Al, him being the sleepyhead he is, meanwhile I eat my breakfast, being out at the same moment they step into the kitchen. It's like we're in sync, sometimes. The routine didn't really change since Rebecca came into the picture, not for me anyway, but I guess this was a ... particular day.1

The same as Al, Byron too sniffed the air and wondered: "Are you in a good mood, Willy?"

I rolled my eyes, grunting: "Don't call me that. You know I hate it." Will is already a nickname, why shorten it more? Though I'll admit that when Rebecca calls me Willy it sounds different, I mean, it irks me anyways, but rolling off her tongue, in the teasing way she speaks to me, from her sensual voice, it sounds different.

Then again, she calls me that when we're doing the nasty ... there's a difference between a scoffing Willy and that sensual, arousing Willy Rebecca calls when she teases me. It freaking stirs my loins to the unbelievable. Goddamn, that voice of hers is made for porn, I swear.

Byron grinned at my reproach, and went to sit at the table, while I slipped the cookies into a small white bag. There weren't many of them, just enough for one person. Damn, I said I'd be turning on a different lead, yet here I was now, making cookies, like the idiotic man I am.

The fact that I did this for my ex only makes it more idiotic and reckless and I kinda feel disgusted with myself for falling into it so easily, but ... I also did this for my niece when she was ill, so ... I guess it's fair?

Shrugging off every reluctant thought, I decided I'd finish what I started, so I added the gingerbread cookie-man in the cappuccino I'd made previously, then placed the mug onto the tray where the rest of the things were.

My mom did these things for me once, that one time she was able to drag herself out of bed. And I'll never forget it. It was the best Christmas of my life.

I do miss my mom sometimes, but... I don't particularly like going home. It's a whole mix of I'd rather rot on an iceberg than spend five minutes with my older brothers, and my father? Not exactly a role model.

I still wonder why does mom put up with him. She used to say it was for our sake, when we were little, now we're all adults, I've asked her why doesn't she just move on, but she only shrugged and said "well, your dad isn't that bad as he seems". Seriously? He even brought one of his sluts home once, and he isn't as bad as he seems?

My older brother, Wyatt, the one that came here the other day, he's nothing but the same as the old man. He's got a wife, but do you think he respects her? Please. My brother is one of those cocky businessmen that think they own the world only because their company – in this case our father's company – goes with flying colors.

The other two aren't any different. I'm the puppy of the family, in case you were wondering, and, trust me, growing up with three older stuck up and arrogant brothers isn't exactly Heaven, especially not for a puny freak as I was.

Once the tray was ready, I ignored the guys' puzzled stares and placed it onto the table, wondering if I should leave it here or just go there. I did all of this, do I really need to go further?

I sighed, grabbing the tray. So much for being cold and impassive. I didn't bring breakfast in bed even to my ex. I did things like this for her too, well, not exactly, I mean, I never really made my Christmas specials for Mel, I only made her breakfast when I was in my lovesick mood, but never in bed ... ugh, whatever. 1

I reached the door and knocked lightly. Hopefully, she was still asleep. I didn't hear a single noise, so I just entered.

It was 9 am on a Sunday morning, it was fair that she was still deeply asleep, after all, if my guess is right, she didn't get much of it last night. Ugh. I shouldn't even care.

It's just that I hate it when girls cry. It's the main reason why I never broke up with any of my girlfriends, I always waited for them to do it, once I even let Al handle it, because the girl just wouldn't get the hints, so he dumped her for me – he's pretty ruthless in these cases. Not that I've had so many girlfriends, but you get the point. I just hate it when girls cry.

Hence, while not making any sound, I walked up to her nightstand, and placed the tray onto it. I gave myself time to look at her only a moment more, seeing she was tightly hugging her pillow, no, wait, it wasn't a pillow, it was a teddy bear, well, two of them, small, hugging each other tightly, you know, one of those little things a guy gives his girlfriend for Valentine's Day.

When she stirred in her sleep a little, my mind instantly ran to the explanations I'd have to give, but luckily she didn't wake, though as she moved, I was able to see something I never noticed, better said, something I never saw directly: the Evenstar, Arwen's necklace from Lord of The Rings. I always noticed she wore something around her neck, I just never saw what it actually was.

I've read the trilogy, it's one of those things they changed in the movie, the Evenstar having a whole different meaning from what the director gave to it, I mean, in the book, it was to preserve Aragorn's kingdom, in the movie, it's the symbol of Arwen and Aragorn's love, even if they can't be together.

The one Rebecca had around her neck was a cheap one, one of those you get in flea markets or something of the sort, certainly not the ones they sell in jewelries, but it was finely made. I guess someone very important to her gave it to her as some sort of promise.

She stirred some more and I stepped back, not really wanting to give the impression of the creep that watches her in her sleep, and I headed towards the exit, but I was in time to hear her mumble in her sleep: she spoke nonsense, but I was able to make out a name: "Tom ..."

I'm guessing that's the guy that gave her the Evenstar. A bit cliché, if you ask me. None of my business anyway. Hence, I swiftly left. It's enough I made breakfast for her, I won't allow myself to be so stupid to give in and care. In any way. She is nothing more than a fuck buddy. That's all.