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- 11/10/2016
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Predator Prey - 7. Hunting
He finished his finals early. He always had. This time, he had to do it the hard way, writing his own papers. Last term, he had simply paid someone else to write them while he planned his next event. He could afford it. Then.
This term, he needed to keep on the move, stay in public places, stay away from anywhere Ted and his roommate might choose to appear. And he had to justify his presence in the library study area in the late hours. The laptop helped.
But eventually, he made the choice to face his fears. He had to go back. He got a real kick in the gut when, with his heart hammering in his chest, he made the midmorning journey back to the suite one day. He couldn't help it. He just had to brave whoever – and whatever – he would find there. He had one other set of clothes that he'd charged on his card, but he wanted some more of his stuff. Maybe everything would be cool by now. Maybe the faces and voices would leave him alone. Maybe he'd be able to move back in and recover. He hoped there would be something he could salvage of his life.
He would not crawl back to his parents' house on his knees. But he also shuddered at the thought of working eighteen hour days again. He did not want to start over.
In the hallway outside the room, he found two black plastic bags, ready for maintenance to take out, but the suite was otherwise silent when he listened at the door. He tried his key. The door opened.
The place was immaculate. No, the place wasn't just immaculate, it was empty.
"Hello?" he called out.
No answer.
He looked around. Nothing. The plain tile floors showed. No rugs. He slipped into the kitchen. The counters were bare. Checked the cabinets. Nothing of the old mismatched assortment of cookware or glassware or anything remained. A quick visit to the other rooms added to his anxiety. The beds were devoid of linens, and the bathroom was stripped. The place had been swept clean – completely, totally clean. His roommate had departed and Ted with him.
They were gone. The black bags outside the door were full of garbage, not private possessions. All his clothes, all his personal stuff, all vanished. There was absolutely nothing left. He had no idea where any of it had gone. He absorbed this, sitting on the worn furniture the university provided. It's one thing to have all one's things inaccessible, but still there – it's another for them to disappear without a trace.
He'd always managed to find a way to keep the building maintenance people sweet. A little something here, a couple of twenties there; it seemed to work. What the hell had happened? What had changed? In his absence, someone – maybe from Campus Housing? Security? - had just cleaned everything out and dumped it. And his roommate had done nothing to stop it. Did that mean he was gone, too?
He tried to rationalize something hopeful. Maybe Ted and the redhead were totally gone out of his life. Maybe he could stay here, in the suite. It would be the last place his roommate would look for him, right? Perhaps at least this could be a place he could crash that was warm and not the library or his car. Some way to start over, maybe.
He sat there, worrying about what would happen in a few days when campus closed. He knew he couldn't use the credit card for laundry and food forever. In fact, he knew he didn't have long at all, financially. If he planned on staying at the university, he'd need to arrange some student loans. In any case, he'd be bumping up against his credit limit soon enough, and he couldn't pay off anything by the due date. The one card he had left would be cancelled soon after the New Year, he reckoned, and debt collection would not be far off.
What was he going to do?
He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the man in stained work pants and denim shirt enter the room. It wasn't any of the regular building maintenance people he could recognize.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I was looking for someone," he managed to reply, startled.
"Well, they're gone now, kid," the man with the 'Ramon' inscribed on his shirt said firmly, "the people living here got evicted by Campus Housing three days ago. Left the place a fucking disaster zone. Fucking dopeheads," Ramon added, muttering.
"But…" he stopped.
If he admitted to being a resident of the room, there would be immediate questions. Campus Security would surely be notified. Police might make an appearance. And even though he might manage to blame Ted for a multitude of crimes, he'd be vulnerable to any kind of investigation, too. Very vulnerable. And, of course, he'd be left on the hook for all the damages. In fact, he probably already was. His name was on the housing contract. Surely, there had to have been damages. Ramon or his boss would have seen to that.
He was gone in a second.
He returned to the now-familiar library and camped out with his computer. He had no place to go, and his mind seemed numbed by the constant nagging question: what now? The hours went by. Darkness fell.
Perhaps a day or two later, toward the end of exams, he was surfing the net idly long after day slid into evening. It was hard to tell the hours in the library, which seemed to have its own ecosystem. He looked up, gazing through the big plate glass partition separating the study section from the main Library lobby. In that moment, he spotted them. They were unmistakable. Marc and his new boy. Marc looked healthy. The brooding, broken look he'd worn just before disappearing was gone. The boyfriend's long black locks trailed down to the shoulder, onto a sky blue knit sweater. The two of them looked almost happy together.
The sight of them speared his heart.
Some instinct, some inner signal, sent him scrambling after them. He was galvanized into action. In a few hasty motions, he packed up his meager belongings and hustled through the plate glass doors, trailing the unsuspecting pair out of the building. Marc and the boy were some distance ahead; he detected them in the darkness under the glow of the security lights shining overhead.
He followed.
Marc and his boyfriend headed out past the main university quad, out beyond the next ring of buildings. Clearly, they were pointed in the direction of student parking, where his own car stood. Keeping his distance, he watched the couple as they walked into the lot. After a few minutes, Marc stopped at an elderly Corolla, unlocking the doors manually.
He searched around the rows of vehicles, and found that his own car was parked nearby. He was behind the wheel in no time. He raced toward the exit to find Marc turning out of the lot. They proceeded around the ring road skirting the campus, and out beyond into a commercial area. He stuck to them, watching their taillights.
Marc veered onto a four lane highway briefly, got off two exits later. He copied Marc's right turn, then turned left behind them down a residential street. They slowed, then turned into a driveway. A house, probably a rental.
He passed on, slowly, then parked a few houses down, out of the glare of the streetlight. He sat in the driver's seat. What the hell did he think he was doing? He was going to the one person who might acknowledge him in the sea of anonymity he swam in at the university. Oh, he knew lots of people and had business relationships with a bunch more. Plenty of sex partners he'd used, of course.
He'd never had any real friends, not even his roommate, apparently.
But he and Marc shared the closest thing to a friendship he'd known since high school, if he could call it that. Maybe he'd let him crash at his place, if only for a few days while he got his head together. Maybe he'd figure out a new start. Unlikely, but possible.
He took a deep breath and got out of the car. The air felt chilly. It never got very cold in this climate, but still, he was glad of his hoodie.
He walked up to the front door, heart beating loudly. This could turn out very badly, he reflected, just before his knuckles rapped on the blond wood surface.
Footsteps approached the door audibly from the other side. A chain rattled, and the door opened, spilling light out into the darkness. Marc stood there, clad in grey sweatpants and a bright red graphic tee.
He pushed back his hood and shook out his bright blond curls.
Marc's eyes widened in recognition, and his face clouded in anger. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he spat.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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