The Tolerant
Chapter Fourteen
When DJ pulled into the parking lot, Ashley was sitting there at one of the picnic tables in the back of the dorm waiting for him. She stared at him as he parked, picked up his bag from the trunk, and made his way past her towards the door. She was wearing his favorite top under her unzipped jacket, a tank top that displayed a mile of her magnificent cleavage. Of course she was.
“Hi, DJ.”
He kept walking.
“You can’t ignore me forever, you know. We need to talk.”
He paused, let out a sigh, and turned to face her. “I can, actually. That’s the thing. I can make it so you never talk to me ever again.”
“I might have to let you do whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean I’m not my own person. I’ll keep after you until you talk to me.”
DJ dropped his bag and got right up in her face. “Oh? Well then, how’s this? Ashley, it really really hurts my feelings every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice. I feel rejected and wounded and like you looked me in the eye and told me you couldn’t stand me. Every time you open your mouth, even.”
She’d met his eyes initially; as he continued, her gaze lowered until it was glued to her feet. She fell back to the table. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him any more, and every time she tried to open her mouth, her chin quivered with self-disgust.
Occasionally, it was good to be reminded that for all the crap he’d put up with from her, she still had to put up with some of his.
Still, it was harsh. He’d known as soon as he decided to return that he’d have to eventually rip off this band-aid. “I’m sorry—I just said that to… I’m sorry. Let’s talk.” She still seemed to be struggling to manage it. “I didn’t mean it, Ashley. It’s OK. I’d like to talk to you.”
A little more reassuring, and she finally regained some of her pluck. He sat down beside her on the picnic bench, though farther away than he normally would have. Still, that she was wearing the perfume he liked was not lost on him.
“Look, I guess I should start with an apology. I realize I said it in a hundred voicemails and texts, but I know it’s not the same. I know an apology’s still not enough, but you still deserve one. So I’m sorry.”
“Ashley…”
“No, let me finish. Please, DJ?” He could see how hard it was for her to humble herself. He’d gotten to know her pretty well over the past few months, and “meek” was one word nobody would ever use to describe Ashley Vandoren. In fact, she might be the least timid person he’d ever met. If she was willing to grovel and plead, she must really be in a bad way. He shuddered to think what a desperate Ashley would be able to do to someone who wasn’t him.
Still, there was no point dragging this out. “Ashley, don’t. It’s cool that you apologized, and I know things were weird for us already because of what I am, and what I was doing because of it. So I want you to know I don’t blame you. I slept around, you slept around, and I don’t want to split hairs over the details of it.”
“So… you understand?”
“It doesn’t matter whether I understand or not. Look, Ashley, I’ve taken the week to think it over, and… we’re done. Some of our time together was amazing. A lot of it, though, I think… I think we both just fed off of one another, and I encouraged some of your bad habits and you helped nurture some of mine. It was a toxic mix—exciting, and definitely great a lot of the time,” he squeezed her hand, “but I think I need to accept some responsibility for what I’ve been doing, and what I can do. And I don’t think I can do that with you.”
“What? DJ, no—listen to me, I know things got a little out of hand, but…”
He shook his head. “Ashley, don’t. Don’t make this any harder. I’m not mad at you, and we did have some good times, but… I can’t be that guy any more.”
She frowned. “What, you go home and find Jesus or something?”
“No, no, far from it.” He’d gone home and found four teenage girls and a very literal MILF—Jesus certainly would not have approved of much of it. (Especially the bacon thing, since Jesus was Jewish and keeping kosher and all.) “I did do a little soul-searching, though, and I need to make some changes. This is one of them.”
Ashley expression darkened; he knew that look, the one when she wanted to say something but his power wouldn’t let her. “Go on—say it. I want to hear it, even if it’s not something I’ll like.”
That line hadn’t worked yet—today was no exception, and she just waved his offer off. It was funny how much he sometimes missed people having the freedom to speak their unpleasant truths to him, and if there was a person who ordinarily cleaved to a creedo of brutal honesty, it was she.
“All right then. Hey, and if the way things went down fucked up things for you—with your roommate, with your classes, whatever, let me know and I’ll do my best to put it right.”
“I still want you,” she said, taking his hand and putting it to her breast. It was typical of her, and one of the things she’d miss—she knew what she wanted and she went straight for it with all the subtlety of a jackhammer.
“I know.” He pulled his hand back. It wasn’t easy—she wanted it there bad. So did he. “Look, I’ll see you around, OK?”
DJ stood up from the table and made his way inside. One down, two to go.
The door to Brittney’s room was open when he walked by, so DJ stopped in with his bag still in hand—only she wasn’t in. Mercedes was tapping away on her laptop, barely glancing back at him. “Oh hey, DJ. If you’re looking for Brittney, she’s not back yet.”
“Yeah, I figured. Did she say when she’d be back?”
“Tonight, late I think.” She shrugged, still focused on her typing.
While Mercedes wasn’t an especial priority, he supposed this was a good a time as any to start making things as right as he could. Only, where to begin? “So, did you have a good break?” There ya go, champ—nothing like chit-chat to make up for letting a girl get publicly molested at one of your floor programs, or ripping off her towel and titty-fucking her in the hallway because she was making noise with her hair dryer at 8am.
“It wasn’t too bad. Stuck around here, got caught up on shit. Binged a shit-ton of Netflix. You?”
“Went home, had some good times. Some Netflix.”
“Cool, cool. Want me to tell Brittney you were lookin’ for her when she gets in?”
“I’ll just text her.” He glanced over her shoulder at what she was busy working on. “What’s this—some dick of a professor assign a paper over Thanksgiving weekend?”
“One of them did, actually, but I finished that yesterday. Just doing some journaling.” She soured slightly at seeing him looking at it, but naturally had no more capacity to restrict his view of her thoughts than she did to restrict his view of her body.
“Oh, neat.”
She eyed him. “You sound surprised.”
“No, no. Not at all.” Ugh, that sounded even more surprised. He had been, actually. Mercedes had always struck him as rather superficial, and “uncomplicated,” to put it politely.
She frowned. “What, like it’s Mercedes, so what could she probably have to process? Like I don’t have feelings?”
“I was just surprised—I knew Brittney did, but I didn’t know it was your thing, too.”
She softened a little. “Yeah, she was the one who got me started. She’s clacking away at hers all the time, and she said it helped. Mostly helps her lose sleep, probably, but that’s just ’cause she always waits until like 11:00 to start and types like six words a minute.”
“Yeah, she said once that…” Wait, what? “Hang on—you said she types it?”
Mercedes nodded. “More like hunts and pecks, but yeah.”
“I thought she hand-wrote it… You’re sure?”
“Yeah, definitely. Why, something wrong with that?”
“No, not at all. I’m just… huh.”
She types it. But he’d found a hand-written journal under her bed—was she re-typing it after? Or was something weird going on? He looked over at her desk; there was her laptop, folded neatly.
Calling to him.
To her credit, it took him and Mercedes almost half an hour to guess her password. He’d enlisted her help, figuring her best friend would know things like birthdays, mother’s maiden name, pets, that kind of thing. It had ultimately been g0w1ldcats—the wildcats having been the girls’ high school mascot, and Brittney had had the same computer and likely the same password since then.
“Thanks, Mercedes.”
“Yeah—just let me know whenever you need my help invading my best friend’s privacy,” she said a little bitterly.
“Hey, before I… well, invade your best friend’s privacy, can… can we talk?”
“Sure. Last thing I need is another punishment.”
“No—no more punishments. I’m done with that.”
“It’s fine—you just did what you thought was right.” She didn’t sound convincing in the least, but of course, she couldn’t just come out and tell him that.
“No, I didn’t. I abused my… position,” he corrected quickly, not ready to proclaim to those who’d not yet picked up on it that he had a power, “and I took it out on a lot of people around here for no good reason.”
“It’s cool, no worries.”
Argh, these apologies weren’t going to be easy if nobody would accept them. “No, it wasn’t cool. Mercedes, I fucked your tits in the middle of the hallway.”
“Yep, I remember all right. I stopped using my blow dryer early in the morning, too. Sorry about that.”
“No, don’t apologize to me—I don’t want you to apologize!”
“Oh—are you gonna fuck my tits again?” She made a mildly displeased face, but then removed her shirt hastily to reveal those prom-queen-winning tits in a sexy leopard-print bra.
“Mercedes, I don’t wanna fuck your tits.”
She made an even more displeased face. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s not… look, they’re great. Amazing. I’m just trying to say you don’t have to let me fool around with you any more.”
Now she looked at him like he was an idiot. “Um, ya I do. Jesus, what kind of fucking bitch do you think I am? That’s a real dick thing to say to somebody, you know—and I’m gonna prove you wrong. Come on, let’s do this.” She slid down to her knees, deftly undoing the clasp on her bra to unleash those shapely tits of hers.
“Mercedes, no—I didn’t come in for this. This is basically the exact opposite of what I came in here for. I’m not going to be fooling around with you any more, period.”
“Oh, but you’ll still fuck Brittney, is that it?”
Could she seriously be offended right now? What the hell was going on! “I mean, maybe, I don’t know…”
“So she’s cool, but I’m some bigot who’s too bitchy to you to mess with? Bullshit—drop ’em, DJ.” She reached for his pants and started undoing them.
“It’s not a reflection on you—”
“Of course it is—is this because I got embarrassed at the floor program? Look, I’m sorry if I was rude. I didn’t mean to be.”
“Stop apologizing! You don’t have to titty-fuck me! I know you’d normally never do this.” How could this be happening?!
The girl got his pants down around his knees and gave his cock a long, sensual lick. “Of course I do. What else would I do, say no? I’m not that kind of girl.”
Her tongue was making his willpower a good deal harder to maintain, making him re-examine all kinds of notions about whether there was any sin in privately indulging imself. There she was on her knees, more or less begging for it. She wouldn’t mind. It wouldn’t embarrass her, or damage her reputation, or in any way harm her.
And her tits were spectacular…
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get this over with, DJ.”
That sealed it. “No, Mercedes, really—I believe you, and I know you would. Some other time, maybe, OK?”
She gave him another little glare but at last desisted, sullenly slipping back into her bra and t-shirt. “Fine. No pleasing some people.”
“You’re plenty pleasing. Any guy would be insanely lucky to be with a girl like you. Seriously. I think you almost gave Zack a heart attack at the Thanksgiving program just by being allowed to touch you, much less how loudly you… you know.”
“Yeah, that was pretty fucked up all right.” She grinned, coloring slightly.
“Why are you smiling? I thought you were really pissed off.”
“Well not at you—just at circumstances. But… look, don’t you fucking dare tell anyone, but Zack and I have been kinda messing around since then.”
He gaped “You…! I thought you wouldn’t be into a guy…” He wanted to say “that heavy,” but instead managed the slightly more tactful, “… like that.”
“Eh, it’s just a little Dad bod. Besides, he’s like the Kobe Bryant of eating pussy. Except he’s not an asshole. It’s not like we’re ‘dating’ or anything—just having a little fun.”
“Well, I’m… glad it worked out, I guess. And sorry I… never mind. Look, I’m just gonna… real quick…” He eyed Brittney’s laptop.
“Violate Brittney’s privacy, gotcha,” she said, chuckling a little. “Go for it, I guess.”
He didn’t see the journal right off—not in her documents folder, nor on her desktop, nor in her recent files. Finally, he just got smart and searched for files containing the word “DJ” but that turned up scores of results containing words like “readjust” or “adjoin” and so forth. Then he tried searching for “Brianne,” banking on her having mentioned that experience.
There it was—in a file called “grocery list.txt” on the desktop.
It was lengthy—if she typed as slowly as Mercedes had said, this must’ve been quite an under-taking. He went to the first entry, and was immediately sure that this was not just a re-typing of her hand-written one.
DJ read.
October 15th
I’m keeping my real feelings written down here where DJ can’t find it—the way he said it, I just know he’s up to something. I think he’s trying to get inside my head—like he knows everyone has to be nice to him but he wants to know my real feelings. So I made another one, in case he asks for it or just comes to take it, and I’ll keep this one just for me.
This was still a good idea. The past week was the most insane week of my life. Sometimes I felt like I was losing my mind a little. DJ Swanson, my RA, has some kind of magic power or something that makes people be nice to him. I didn’t notice it at first—of course I want to be nice to him, he’s DJ! But then I saw just HOW nice everyone was, and how weirdly, and every time I think someone will say something or stop him they don’t. I don’t think anyone can stop him.
It started when he came to my room and beat up Brayden. That was good, kind of. I don’t like fighting, but Brayden was mad and was probably going to hit me again, so I think this time it was mostly good. Then he had me blow him and fuck him—he said it was to make sure I was on the pill but really looking back I know he just wanted to fuck me and knew I’d let him. I did, of course.
I let him do a lot of things. He took me to his house with his family. He fucked me in front of his mom, and in hearing of his sister. He made this girl Brianne let him have anal sex with her. He told her if she did he’d let her “borrow” me for a day—and he did. And I let him. I’ve never even been with a girl before. Sexually it was fine, sometimes good, but mostly, I feel weird about letting him trade me, like property.
He fucked his mom and humiliated her, fucked his sister and her cheer squad, fucked her friends… DJ did whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted, and nobody did anything. Some cops came to bust a party he threw, and he just talked them down—even took one of their guns and was playing with it like it was a toy. I’ve never been so scared in my life—he was drunk and had been crazy all night, and with a gun!
I don’t know if he understands himself. I’m not sure I understand him either. But I know the way he uses people… like, none of us mind what he does to us. He’s DJ—who could be mad? But the things he did to people… there were people taking naked pictures and videos that will never go away now. He put a naked high school girl on a leash in front of everyone—she’s going to be the laughing stock of her whole school. He drove a bus drunk and crashed it into a tree that could just as easily have been someone’s house, or someone’s kid. And I know if it was someone’s kid, they couldn’t even be mad or call the cops. I know I wouldn’t, even if he hurt my mom. I hope he doesn’t.
So I thought about it a lot when he wasn’t busy using me and I think I’m going to try to make him my boyfriend. Which I know sounds crazy, but I figured:
1) I’m used to having sex when I don’t really want to and everybody thinks I’m a big slut anyway so at least with me he’s not ruining my reputation or damaging me worse than I am.
2) I think he really likes me, somehow. Most guys say I don’t have a personality and they’re kinda right I think but DJ actually wanted to spend time with me and talk and listen and stuff. Maybe it means I’m supposed to do this… ???
3) Every time I make him screw me or humiliate me or use me it means he isn’t focused on someone else. I’ve been doing the same for Mom with Earl since I was 12 after all. Kinda the same point as 1 I guess but I’m still trying to sike myself up so whatever.
My whole life I always kind of wondered if there was some reason for being what I am, for having big boobs and pretty face and good hair just so I could be miserable all the time. But maybe it was all preparation for this, and Earl was just practice for the real villain, teaching me how to hide my bruises and lie about why I’m bleeding down there. I guess that would make me a hero. I don’t think I am, but if I can protect someone else, then they call me whatever they want. Probably a slut like usual, but I don’t care. I wanted to be happy but if I can’t do that maybe I can at least make someone else happy.
DJ reared back, his pulse racing, his stomach threatening to empty itself.
Here it was—exactly what he had asked for. Access to her unfiltered thoughts. He just hadn’t counted on the filter filtering quite so much. Maybe that she’d faked some orgasms, or not been into the girl-on-girl thing, or some judgment on banging his mom. Not… this. Not the revelation that she thought he was a monster she would feed herself to as to spare the other villagers.
You ruin lives.
She’d been right. He’d thought she’d just been having some kind of nervous breakdown or something when he’d accused her of siding with Ashley, but now he saw it for what it was. Somehow, he’d pushed her over the edge and she’d managed to actually speak her mind—at least until his power caught up with her and drove her to her knees from guilt. In that short window, she’d tried to tell him about all the damage he’d done and how she despised him just as much as Brittney did.
Brittney. He finally got his answers to his musings about the vague references to Earl he’d found in her fake journal. Holy shit, he’d managed to find the most vulnerable and abused person he could and heap more abuse on her—and because of what he was, rather than run away screaming or kicking his balls up into his neck, she sought more of it.
That was the kind of person Brittney was. That was why she’d wanted to go home to her own family for Thanksgiving break, even knowing she would be the victim of misery and abuse, but she might be able to save her mom a beating.
Returning to the journal, he searched for Earl’s name. He was mentioned occasionally, but one entry in particular she’d gotten caught up in remembering what she’d been through with him. He read one tale after another of violence and abuse and threats and rape. How futile her efforts to bring him to justice had been. He read until he thought his blood would boil in his veins if he read another word.
“Mercedes? I need her home address.”
It wasn’t hard to find, thankfully. DJ had driven over 90mph most of the way there, shaving the trip down to a mere hour and a half. A cop had tried to pull him over, but he’d just ignored it until they’d pulled up alongside him and seen him. DJ just waved; the officer had nodded and fallen back in with other traffic.
When he’d left the dorm, he’d been in a rage. Hypocritical? Sure, but if DJ couldn’t undo the damage he’d done, he could at least stop her and her mom from suffering more of it. For once, he was going to use his power not to be the bad guy, but to fight one. Fueled by a combination of overpowering self-loathing and a righteous fury, he’d envisioned all sorts of punishments. He didn’t even know what this guy looked like, but he doubted anyone else would recognize him either after DJ bashed his face in.
He double-checked the address on the front of the big white house, then strode right into the house—or tried to, anyway. The door was locked. Apparently a dead-bolt was the one thing that could still tell him no. He rang the doorbell, then rang over and over. He hadn’t come this far to be thwarted by a door. Finally a woman answered it. She was Brittney’s mother, obviously, herself a stunner as well. Months of indulging every whim of fondling and fucking a cute stranger nudged him to cop a quick feel, and his inward-focused anger redoubled itself.
Her irate expression, no doubt resulting from the dozen-odd times he’d rung the doorbell in as many seconds, evaporated upon seeing him. “Hello?”
In his imagination, he’d walked right up to the house and there had been this Earl fellow and DJ had just torn right into him, no questions asked or needed. “Hi… are you Mrs. Jenner?”
“I’m Mrs. Shannon. Heather. Jenner is my maiden name—are you here to see Brittney?” It was clearly not the first time she’d had to explain.
“Um, yeah. Is she here?”
“Yeah, I’ll get her, come on in.” She let him into the foyer and called Brittney’s name, saying that she had a visitor. DJ looked around, but didn’t see anyone else at home from the foyeur.
“So you’re a friend of Brittney’s?”
No, I just raped her and traded her for butt-sex with my sister’s high-school friend. Maybe a simpler, less accurate response was warranted. “Yeah, I go to school with her.” He almost added he was her RA, but wondered if her mom knew anything of what had been going on. He stopped there.
Seeing his taciturn demeanor, she just made an ambivalent face and excused herself. Brittney came down a moment later; to her credit as an actress, she looked both surprised and pleased to see him. “DJ! Wow, I didn’t expect… wow!” She rushed to him and hugged him. Awkwardly, he returned it, but quickly drew back. “Did you come out here just to see me?” She smiled like she was pleased rather than horrified to be so important to him.
Well shit. In all his imaginings, he hadn’t actually considered what he’d actually say to her. He’d just been thinking about that asshole who hurt her.
The other one.
“Mercedes gave me your address. I… I…”
She smiled patiently. “Let’s go to my room and talk there, OK?”
“I didn’t come here to have sex,” he said, far too defensively.
Brittney’s eyes bulged in surprise, and she made a shushing motion. “Upstairs, OK?”
Silently, he followed her to her room. It was nothing like the one she shared with Mercedes—that was a college girl’s room, filled with selfies and books and Christmas lights and tiger-print dorm furniture. This… this was a true girl’s room. The walls were pink, bedspread pink, a heart carved into the headboard. There were unicorn decals in several places, framed by glow-in-the-dark stars, and those spangled with glitter.
She shut the door and sat down on her bed, inviting him to sit next to her. “I’ll stand, actually.”
“DJ, is something wrong? You’re acting really weird. I was literally packing up to get ready to go back to school when you rang the doorbell. What was so important that it couldn’t wait?”
He averted his eyes, not sure how to tell her what he’d done, invading her privacy—and thereby learning he’d violated her in so many other ways. Worse, that he’d been so willfully ignorant that he’d not even known he was doing it.
As he pondered what to say, he heard a male voice from downstairs, muffled, but clear enough to hear a “who the hell was that” through the floor. He didn’t hear Heather’s response, but his retort to it came through clearly. “So you just sent this boy on up to her room? … yeah, well I heard him say wasn’t gonna fuck her too but you know as well as I do your daughter can’t keep her damn legs closed… I heard that, Heather!”
Brittney winced. “Is that Earl?” he asked.
“How do you know his name? I never talked about him to you. I hardly ever talk about him to anyone.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Oh, fuck. I don’t know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it. Brittney, I found your journal.”
She stiffened. “You did, did you. I knew I should’ve hidden it somewhere harder to find than under my mattress. Wow, that’s so embarrassing… I wrote some really personal things in there, about our sex life and all. Did it get you all hot and bothered? Is that why you drove out here?” The blonde smiled coyly.
“I found that one before break, and yeah, it did. Today I got home, and Mercedes said she was following your example, mentioned how your typing keeps her up nights. So I thought to myself, ‘type? That was hand-written, not typed. That’s crazy.’ It took some doing to find it once I started, but… I found it.”
She paled. “You weren’t supposed to find that. Oh gosh, DJ, I am SO sorry. You have to understand, I didn’t mean ANY of that—it was just, um…”
Leave it to Brittney, too honest to even come up with a convincing lie. “I know you meant it—and… I’m so, SO—”
He was interrupted by the door being opened. Standing behind it was a man who could only be Earl, although he looked a little cleaner around the edges than DJ had pictured, clean-shaven and with a fresh haircut. He was even a little handsome, he supposed, though his current disapproving frown masked it somewhat.
“So, Brittney, who’s your little friend? Little scrawnier than your usual haul, looks like.”
“Earl, this is DJ. DJ, this is my step-father, Earl.” Her voice was tiny. Her fear of him would have been obvious even if he hadn’t learned what he had.
He looked around the room and quickly found a unicorn figurine a good eight inches tall, hard plastic and with a nice little spike in the forehead. DJ was reasonably sure that if he swung hard enough, he could puncture this man’s skull and go right into his brain. He also knew this fucking asshole would lie there and let himself be hurt without even trying to fight back. He didn’t deserve that chance. He sure hadn’t given it to Brittney, or to her mother.
He picked up the unicorn.
“Something wrong there, BJ?” he asked, his tone becoming more confrontational in response to the young man’s silence. “What, you just came over to play with her dolls?”
Keep talking, Earl, DJ though as he paced over to the man, studying where exactly he wanted to strike. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes people were capable of a little sass towards him; he suspect it was just the nature of some people without even intending to be rude. Mercedes and Ashley were both good examples.
Ashley. Mercedes. What have I done to you? He looked to Brittney, whose eyes were darting back and forth fearfully between the two men. She knew what he was about, clearly. “DJ, please, don’t…” Obviously, she remembered him dropping that asshole Brayden.
“Earl, you got one hell of a family here, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he said casually, still eschewing eye contact to study the best place to pierce his cranium.
“I like them OK my own self. Guess we both got good taste in women.” He smiled at Brittney, though DJ thought he could see traces of a leer there.
That was it. The smug smile on his face… time to wipe it off, permanently. This man had raped his step-daughter, beaten her, terrorized her. He had done the same or worse to his wife. He glanced one last time at Brittney, who could see all too plainly what he was about. Stop, please! she mouthed at him, eyes welling up with desperate, impotent tears.
Nevermind that. Brittney was an amazing young woman who had suffered more than most ever would. This guy deserved death, and DJ was all too happy to give it to him. Whether Brittney wanted him to or not. It was what he wanted, and nobody could stop him.
DJ froze as that sentiment crystallized in his head. I want this, and it doesn’t matter whether she wants it or not, I’m going to do what feels good to me.
He set down the unicorn.
“It was nice to meet you Earl. You have a lovely home.”
Earl’s shoulders relaxed, no longer responding to the tension DJ had been broadcasting. “All right. Don’t you two get into any trouble now,” he said, and excused himself.
DJ slumped down next to Brittney on the bed, feeling drained. She gave him a moment before saying in a small voice, “thank you.”
“Brittney… you don’t ever have to thank me.”
She fidgeted a bit. “I really thought you were going to kill him.”
DJ nodded. “I think I was.”
“If you really read my whole journal, I guess I don’t need to ask why… but, why didn’t you?”
He turned to face her, this radiant angel whose wings he’d been plucking by the handful until there was almost nothing left. “You made me realize that I need to stop doing whatever I want over the objections of others. That I’m no better than him, that whatever I might’ve done to him, I deserve it too.”
“No, DJ—no. I… maybe I thought that, at one point, but you know that’s not true.”
“I am. What you said… no. What I did. I’m horrible. Emily was right. You were right.” He looked up at her, those big blue eyes locked on his. They were so earnest he could hardly bare it. “Thank you, for trying to do what you did. To keep people safe from me. I’m sorry I didn’t make it easier, but… I wanted to tell you that it’s over. It’s all over. You don’t have to touch me, hell you don’t have to look at me, not ever again.”
“DJ, what are you…”
“It’s OK, Brittney. I’m not mad. God, I’m so far from mad. Please don’t feel guilty for writing any of that—I’m so relieved you did. No. Not relieved, because now I know I’m the supreme asshole of the universe, but still, now I know. I came home from break feeling like I’d made a few mistakes and needed to make things right, but… I realize now I can never make it up to you what I did. In fact, I should start by leaving—you shouldn’t have to be in the same room with me. I’ll go now. I’m sorry. I…!”
He was cut off by Brittney’s lips against his. He’d forgotten how much he missed this, how comforted her kisses made him feel.
Then the lie of it came crashing in, and he pushed back, standing. “Brittney, no. I told you, I read the journal. I know you were just flirting to… protect people. You can stop now.”
She eyed him. “How much did you read, exactly?”
“Well, I felt bad invading your privacy. I mean, you were right, I only pushed you to write the thing so I could—and sorry about that, too, by the way—but I just read the first bit. Of both. The fake one was really hot, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she said, smiling oddly.
“And today when I read the real one, I got through the first bit and realized what I put you through… but you wrote about Earl enough that I looked for more…”
She kept her voice low, eyes on the door warily. “Oh yeah. My mom called that night and she had that tone in her voice where I could tell something bad happened. She never says anything to me, but I can tell sometimes. I just wanted to vent, but I don’t really talk to anyone about him. The journal was helpful for that.”
“I can’t believe he…” He looked darkly at the door. “Brittney, I’m not going to force you to do anything, not again, but you should let me help you and your mom get rid of him. I don’t mean hurt him,” he said, seeing her nervousness immediately return, “but at least get your mom a divorce, a restraining order.”
“I tried that once. He’s got money, DJ. He’s connected. Besides, my mom needs the money to get by.”
“I see. Still, I know a thing or two about convincing people to do things they don’t want to do.” He smiled weakly. “And I can get money for your mom, no problem.”
“You certainly can if you want, but, if you really value my feelings… I’d rather you not go stealing for us.”
“Brittney, there’s basically infinite money out there—plenty of it in the hands of people who haven’t done anything to deserve it. Just think on it—I know it’s not a purely victimless crime, but… compared to who’s being victimized now, it sounds pretty good to me.”
“Thank you,” Brittney said. “I’ll think about it.”
He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I guess… I guess that’s all I came for. To apologize—or start to, at least. And deal with… him.”
She looked up at him. “You really didn’t read the rest?”
“No. Believe it or not, some things still make even me feel guilty.”
“DJ… There’s more you should know. Only I don’t know if you’d believe me, and… some of it, I honestly don’t know if I could get the words out, face to face. Because of… you know.”
“It’s OK Brittney—I understand what I did was wrong. If you want me to have to hear it all, that’s fine, but you don’t have to, really.”
“Let’s go home, DJ. Then you can see it all, and then we can get to some nice, well-informed apologies. Or whatever you want to do then.”
“I won’t touch you, I promise.”
“We’ll see.”
Sure. Why would she take my word for it anyway.
Brittney finished packing and said goodbye to her mom and step-father, a hug and kiss on the cheek for each. DJ mumbled goodbyes, and Earl even shook his hand on the way out. He was loathe to touch the man, but then, he conceded privately that if Earl knew what DJ had done he’d probably feel the same way.
They didn’t talk much in the car; the two-hour drive passed in tense silence mitigated only by the radio. Brittney picked the station. When they got to the dorm, he took one of the few remaining parking spaces and insisted on carrying her bags. “How’s come you’re not taking your usual space?”
“The handicapped spot?” Those spots were almost never used, and he’d never seen all four of them taken at the same time, so he’d taken to parking there when it suited him. “I think I should leave those open. Just in case.”
She smiled thinly, and neither said a word on their way into the building. It was night-time now; Mercedes wasn’t in. He wondered if she was out sitting on Zack’s face. If he should feel better for some happiness coming of what he’d put her through, if it mitigated things at all. He set down the bags and stood by awkwardly as Brittney logged into her computer, loading up the document. He tried not to strain his eyes to read as she scrolled down, browsing for something.
“Read this,” she said, gesturing for him to sit beside her.
November 18th
I don’t even know any more. When this all started, all I wanted to do was try to do some “damage control” as they call it. It was well-intentioned. I felt like I was trying to do something good for other people.
Now, I feel more and more like I’m becoming someone that I hate. I’ve been throwing myself at a guy who’s in a relationship behind his girlfriend’s back. Not like DJ doesn’t sleep around, but that’s with her watching and knowing. That’s just meaningless stuff. I’m actually trying to ruin their relationship, and I always HATED girls who do that.
And I’m manipulating someone I care about. I know DJ has feelings for me. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. In the way he’s so tender with me. When he kisses me. He cares about me, and I’m just trying to trick him. Every time I see him, every time I touch him, I feel like I’m some kind of selfish skank, one of those girls who just uses her looks to take whatever she wants. I always swore I’d never be one of those girls, and the first time I really want a guy, here I go.
Part of me still wants to do it for those good reasons. That’s the part of me that won’t stop—it’s like this voice I can hear that’s always telling me to butt in and says the ends justify the meanness. Then there’s the rest of me that feels awful about the whole thing, but doesn’t want to let him go, so she just lets that voice justify everything even though I’m really doing it because I like being with him.
It feels like I’m pulling myself in two, kind of, like there’s these two sides to him and they’re each pulling me in a separate direction, and both of the directions are towards him. There’s the part of him that I saw at his home, and with Ashley (don’t worry, not turning this entry into another rant about her). That DJ is thoughtless and mean and selfish, and that bitch (sorry but TRUE) just makes him a hundred times worse. Like I’ve said a dozen times I know he doesn’t think he’s doing any harm, and I know I’m as guilty as anyone else for not telling him. Any more I get the impression most of the bad stuff is her pushing him to do it anyway and he does it for her. Most if it, anyway.
Then there’s the other DJ, the one I see when we’re together. The one who looks at me with love in his eyes, who wants to hold me. When we just lie there and talk. This morning we met in the shower again and he just spooned me and caressed me and when we had sex I felt like the whole rest of the world didn’t exist. I felt completely safe. When I finally started to get pruny and said we should go, he asked me if I would stay with him just a few more minutes. Asked, not told, when we both know he could have told.
If we were together, would he still want all those other girls? Would I still be enough? I don’t know. It would be fine if he did—but I don’t even trust myself any more to know if that’s how I feel or how his power makes me feel. Most of it is harmless anyway—none of the girls really mind whatever he does behind closed doors. It’s just when things get all public I feel bad. Maybe I could stop that. Maybe I could make him just want me, like I just want him. I don’t know.
I just hate what it’s turning me into, and I feel guilty every time he touches me because I know I’m manipulating him and I’m doing it because I’m afraid of him and because I want him at the same time. I can’t tell him, but I can’t stop touching him either.
When he finished reading, he looked over to Brittney, whose baby blues were brimming with anxious tears. “Do you hate me?” her tremulous voice asked.
“Hate you? Brittney…” He wanted to say a hundred things, but first, more than anything, he wanted her to know how he felt. Finally those feelings from hours ago in her bedroom caught up with him. Gently, he tilted her chin up and kissed her. Their arms wrapped around one another as they sunk to the bed, their lips not parting again.
“Get a room you two,” Mercedes said. They hadn’t even noticed her coming in, they’d been so intent on one another. Glancing at the clock, he saw they’d been making out for most of an hour.
Brittney grinned bashfully as she sat up, tugging her shirt back into place. “Heya, girl. Have a good break?”
“Do you really wanna talk about my break or do you two wanna keep going at it like wild young Bohemians? ’Cause you can do what you gotta do, but there’s also a nice vacant room a few doors down. Just sayin’.”
DJ laughed. “We can get out of your hair. That is, if you still want to Brittney.”
“I want to.” He couldn’t help it. He kissed her again.
“You two are seriously gross,” Mercedes said, but she was smiling. Almost as big as the two of them.
“We’re going, we’re going,” Brittney reassured her, rising and tugging DJ in her wake towards his own room. She resumed making out with him right there in the hall as he fumbled with his keys to open the door, throwing it open as soon as he managed it. He launched himself into her, pressing her hard against the wall in the dark room, shirts and pants flying off in their mutual frenzy to touch one another.
DJ was down to his boxers, Brittney to her bra and panties, before he couldn’t wait any more and threw her to the bed. He was readying to pounce when she screamed.
“Brittney?! What’s wrong?” In the darkened room, she was scrambling away from him to where the bed was pushed up against the wall. He couldn’t see her face, but something obviously was wrong. He ran to the light switch and flipped it on.
There on the bed was Emily. The sheets and blanket were pulled up to her chin, but her eyes were closed. From her position, it was clear that when he’d pushed Brittney onto the bed, he’d landed on her. Seeing who it was, she began to relax. Only…
She wasn’t moving.
“Emily?” he asked softly. If Brittney’s weight falling on her hadn’t awakened her, his voice certainly wouldn’t. He sat down beside her, shaking her gently. She didn’t stir, and he shook harder. “Emily? Emily, wake up.”
Brittney’s eyes slowly widened in comprehension as DJ started patting her pale cheeks with increasing urgency. “Emily, wake up! EMILY!” He slapped with increasing urgency, but her head just lolled to the side limply. Throwing the blankets back all the way, there was no more wondering.
Both of her wrists had long cuts down them; with the blanket no longer holding it in, the stench of her blood filled the room. He put his ear to her chest to listen for a heartbeat. She was cold to the touch.
DJ looked to Brittney numbly. “She’s dead.”