“Why not? I get the silent treatment for four months and you ask why not?” I screamed at her. “Bran, I’m sorry,” she said after a pause while pulling a pillow to her chest defensively. “You're sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry for groping me in my sleep? Sorry for ignoring me? Sorry for rubbing in my face that boys like you?” “I just want to be your friend again.” “Yeah? With friends like you I don’t need enemies. No thanks.” “Please, can I make it up to you?” “You can shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” I flicked the light off and lie back down, still furious. “Brandi, I’m sorry.” I didn’t respond. “I’m sorry,” she finally repeated. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.” I had had enough. I sat back up and turned the light on again. “You didn’t mean to hurt me? What, you just happened to fall on seven or eight cocks on the way home and decided to show me?” “I was confused.” “You were confused? You were confused? How do you think I felt, waking up to my roommate feeling me up. The problem was, I had no idea of Michael’s whereabouts. It was late Saturday morning and I’d just gotten home after spending an unwanted evening in Atlanta, courtesy of airline snafus, and he’d been gone when I arrived. I’d seen his phone sitting on the kitchen counter, probably forgotten when he set it down to write the cheery ‘welcome home!’ note that had been waiting for me. As if the mobile phone’s electronic ears had been burning, I heard it beep in the other room, reminding its owner of waiting messages. I could guess who had left them. I blew an errant strand of hair out of my face and leaned over to pick up the cordless handset on the nightstand. Michael had warned me, several times, not to get involved with any of his acquaintances from the program — that they could be dangerous. I wasn’t ready to go hang out with some hulking would-be rapist, but the girl on the phone didn’t sound that threatening. She sounded like she was in trouble. Maybe if somebody had been there for.
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