#Score (15 page)

“Sorry ladies. I’m out of here.”

I ignore them as they call after me, cussing me out for leading them on and all that kind of bullshit, and walk farther down the road.

I’m stuck. I’m fucking stuck on Ramona West, and there’s not anything I can do about it. That’s what’s making this whole thing so much harder. That has to be it. I mean, I’m not my genius brother or anything, but I’m no fool either.

R
amona

I
n some ways
Dimitri has changed, and in other ways not so much. I can see a few lines on his face that surprise me, and there's something different in the way he walks, like something’s sitting on his shoulders. It's ironic how he picks now of all the possible moments we had to talk in the past three years since we've seen each other to ruin my life. It fucking figures.

The light hits his dark eyes, but all I see is almost blackness in them, something that used to thrill me until it scared the hell out of me. And the way he's looking at me . . . I don't know whether to run or what. After everything he put me through, I can’t imagine what he wants to say to me now. He knows he's not innocent here, not even close, so what has him all hyped up to see me of all people?

It's warm outside, a breeze gently drifting by us, but I suddenly get the chills and pull my cardigan around myself tightly. "So what do you want to talk about? I don't have a whole lot of time."

I want to remain neutral but not seem like the same old doorstep he could just walk all over. I know better now.

Dimitri is just as calm and collected as he's always been, further jolting my nerves. "Ramona, always a pleasure. I needed to talk to you about something important, and I understand you wanting to meet in a public place and everything, but I was wondering if maybe we could find somewhere a little bit more private—"

My eyes widened. Did he really just suggest that? "Um, no. Not happening. You either say what you want to say to me right here out in public, or you don't have to say anything and I can leave. It's up to you."

So much for remaining neutral.

Dimitri gives me that look that reminds me of way too many shitty nights. "Whatever you say. Can we at least sit down?"

He thinks he can just own this whole conversation? Why am I not even surprised? I cross my arms, standing my ground. I refuse to move from the spot because this is exactly the type of bullshit I knew Dimitri was going pull the second I saw him again. "I'd rather not."

He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes but smiling at the same time. The ultimate look of arrogance, and had someone told me years ago when we first met that this was the real Dimitri, I would've said that person was crazy. Dimitri, who is so kind, so smart and charming. No way. Boy, was I wrong.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, shoving his hands in his pocket. "You know I've missed you."

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "Is that so? You have a funny way of showing it. Although I don't give a damn if you miss me or not, Dimitri. Just tell me what it is you want, okay?" Graduation night three years ago pops up in my head, and Dimitri in his special ropes and tassels, smiling as he waves at the podium. It makes me cringe. People didn't know what Dimitri was really like underneath the charming, intellectual façade he threw up. And perhaps if they did, they wouldn't have made him the valedictorian of our class.

"Fine, fine. The reason why I came to you has to do with the car accident we were in together."

We had been together for about eight months when Dimitri and I were rear-ended by a huge diesel truck, and although we weren't seriously injured, we found out that Dimitri needed a blood transfusion and I happened to be a match. Call me crazy, but I thought it was fate that we were together at that point. "What about the car accident?"

Another breeze picks up, ruffling through my hair, and I'm ready to get this whole thing over with. Maybe seeking closure through speaking with Dimitri was a bad idea—my muse always has the best intentions, but you know what they say about the road to hell . . .

"I'm sick, Ramona. I've been on the bone marrow list for a couple of months now and the mornings are getting worse. I need someone to donate their bone marrow to me. I don't know how much longer I can hold out, quite honestly."

My mouth pops open. I don't know what's more shocking, the fact that Dimitri is sick, like really sick this time, or the fact that he thinks it's appropriate to ask me to what I'm assuming is to donate to his cause. I’m unsure if maybe I just imagined what he said.

"Listen, I know I wasn't the greatest boyfriend, but I really need your help. This isn't about some ridiculous bullshit that happened in the past, this is my life we’re talking about. Like I might actually die if I don't get a bone marrow transplant. No one in my family is a match, and because of my age and gender, it's getting hard to find someone who is. You're the only one I know who can help out. I know it's asking a lot, but—"

"
Asking a lot
? Are you kidding me right now? I don't even know what to say to you—I mean really, I don't. Why on earth would you even think I’d want to help you? Even now, you act like the way you were to me back then was not a big deal. I can't believe you, Dimitri. I think you finally hit a new low. And that's really saying something for you."

And just like before, so many times before in fact, Dimitri plays it off as though I am some psychotic girlfriend. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly at me. "I get it. You’re still pissed off. But come on, are you really gonna let that determine whether I live or die?"

My jaw tightens. "Maybe you think I'm just an idiot, but I'm sorry if I don't believe you that it is
that
much of a life-and-death situation. I understand that you need bone marrow, for whatever reason that you're being so fucking vague about and all, but if you really, truly wanted to appeal to my better senses, then maybe you should try to go about it a little bit differently. You know, instead of rolling your eyes and making me feel like I'm crazy."

I just can't believe him, or really, maybe I can. Who knows?

"What you want me to say, Mona? Sorry for the millionth time? Did it help any other times I've said it? I need bone marrow, you are a match, so please help me out so I can get better and move on with my life. This is affecting my job, this is affecting my relationship with my girlfriend —"

My stomach drops. He has a girlfriend? Oh no . . . that poor girl. "Wow. So I guess you managed to snatch another one up, did you? Tell me, Dimitri, does she know the real you? Has she seen what happens when your coffee isn’t made to the exact specifications? Or what you do if she cries too much because of a movie? Or have you shown her just how much you care by belittling her every spare chance you have? Because if she is still with you after all of that, then I feel so terribly bad for her."

His nostrils flare in response as his dark eyes narrow at me. "Are we really going to go there? You're the one who gets all emotional. You take things too far with all these wild accusations. You were responsible for what happened, not me. And now you're doing it all over again, toying with this thing that you know you can hold over my head. So what do you want, huh? You want me to pay you? I have some money squared away for emergencies, so I can do that if you want. Do you want something else? I work in a pretty big graphic design firm, and I'm sure I could get you a job if you need one, if that's what you want. Whatever you need. I'm tired of arguing with you. You need to understand that this is really important. So please, despite everything that we've been through together, please just consider it. Okay?"

His eyes are wide, no longer intimidating. This was the part that always hurt the worst. I could always take the emotional and physical punishment he thought he was doling out to me whenever I did something he thought was wrong, but it was the way he looked at me after he was done. Like a man begging for a second chance, someone in need of redemption that only I could be the one to give to him. It was the ultimate deception, something people who don't understand domestic violence never truly get. It was always the way he made me forgive him time and time again, for two whole years.

This was the part where I was supposed to melt, cave in, and tell him yes, as long as he wasn't a complete jerk to me anymore. Then usually we kissed and I would let him get away with it again.

I know Dimitri is not a good person. At least he doesn't try hard enough to be one, in my opinion. And I really do think it's bullshit that he is coming to me, asking me to help heal him. How could he possibly expect me to give him more of me, still?

But with the stakes as high as they are . . . how can I say no?

B
enji

E
ven a few beers
didn't help me any last night. I thought it would be easy to at least get drunk and not think about Ramona and that other guy, but I'll be damned if I was wrong. I know I have to get her off my mind somehow, and if she's planning on being with that chump, someone who looks like he fits in with the kind of crowd Ramona gets along with, then the sooner I get over her, the better.

After spending way too much time thinking about it, I just decide to head over to Ramona's place for the last time. I don't know what to tell her, because lying just won't do. I've been a jerk to girls in the past, but I can't do it to Ramona. I can't hurt her.

The GSX purrs under my hand, and it almost seems like a waste that I'm only driving it a couple of miles down the road. I should run, but in case I need to make a quick getaway, the car is probably a good idea.

I make my way up the steps to where her apartment is, this huge feeling of dread overtaking everything else inside. Fuck. And I thought that word didn’t exist in my vocabulary. I don't know why this is such a big deal, and I don't know how I'm supposed to break it to Ramona that I can't be hanging out with her anymore.

I'm just about to knock on the door when I hear voices on the other side, getting louder.
What the fuck?
Are Brie and Ramona fighting in there? I lean in closer, picking up one voice that's definitely not female. It's a guy and judging by the sound of it, he's arguing with Ramona.

Immediately my adrenaline gets pumping, and I can hear even more. I don't care who it is, what they're fighting about—anyone arguing with Ramona like this needs to get the fuck out
pronto
.

The guy’s voice is even louder now, booming through the entire apartment and the outside throughway. I'm ready to charge in, no matter what's going on. Lucky for me, I checked the door real quick and see that it's unlocked, throwing it open and startling both Ramona and the same guy she was with yesterday, who are standing way too close for comfort for him to be yelling at her like that.

"Who the hell is this guy? What is this, you fucking scared of me or something, Ramona?" the guy with the beanie rages, spit flying out of his mouth.

It's all in slow-motion now, and I look at Ramona's face as she's clearly cowering next to the couch, holding her own but still desperate to get away from him.

"You're a fucking monster, Ramona. How could you do this to me? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

My fists ball up and I'm in the middle of them faster than if I had been gunning a ball past the keeper. "Back to fuck off," I warn him, my chin in the air, daring him to make a move against me. Behind me, I push Ramona so she moves backward just in case. But the guy doesn't like it and tries to move around me, toward her.
Oh hell no
. "I said back the fuck off, dude. Leave her alone and get the hell out of here right now," I growl at him as I block his way. "This is your last chance."

The guy just rolls his eyes, hell-bent on making it past me, but I grab the back of his shirt as he spins around, keeping him in check while Ramona backs up even more until she's up against the wall, looking horrified.

"You heard the man, Dimitri. Leave now." Her voice is brittle but loud, and she pulls herself off the wall, pointing to the door.

"Get your guard dog off me, Ramona." The guy turns and looks at me, a quiet rage behind his eyes. "This is between me and her."

I chuckle, because this dude just doesn't get it. "Dude, I don't know who the hell you are, but if you think for one goddamn second I'm leaving her and you alone to
talk,
if that's what you want to call it, you're mistaken. Like I said, bounce."

The guys spins again, yanking his shirt out of my grasp, but I tackle him to the ground, using my body weight to keep his ass down and pinning him to the floor. I am not about to let him get anywhere near her. He tries to head-butt me but I move my head to the side, ending up grunting after he knees me in the stomach.

Sneaky motherfucker. I dive back over on top of him, elbowing him one good time in the nose when he tries to pop back up again, straddling him even more this time, not letting him get away.

Blood gushes from his nose and the guy lashes out again, but he misses when he aims his fist at my face, screaming at me. "I'll fucking kill you, pretty boy."

I laugh at his idle threat, because he’s not exactly in the position to say that kind of shit to me. "Aww, you think I'm pretty?" I say, taunting him with a smug grin on my face. He tries to rage against me, fighting me tooth and nail, but I don't let him move an inch. “Sorry pal, but you’re not my type.”

I may be quick and light, but I pack a powerful punch when I want, and I have enough muscle in my legs and arms alone that this asshole isn't going
anywhere
until I say so.

I look up out of the corner of my eye, not wanting to fully take my attention off of this Dimitri guy, watching Ramona, who's got her phone out, already on the line with the cops.

"Looks like she's calling the cops, man. Sucks for you. You just had to be an asshole, didn't you?"

The guy finally calms down, realizing that I'm not moving. He just glares at me like a kid who got busted by his parents. If it weren't for the fact that I'm still ready to kill this guy myself after yelling at Ramona the way he did, I might've let him up and tried to talk to him, but there was no way in hell I was going to do that now.

* * *

I
shake
the officer’s hand, thanking him for coming by and getting rid of Dimitri. Ramona nods as he lets her know to call if she has any more problems. Both police officers take Dimitri away in handcuffs, and she and I intentionally turn away from him as he spits in our direction.

"You better handle yourself, son, or you're going to regret it," the shorter police officer says as they escort him out of the apartment.

I let out a long breath, glad to be done with that whole fiasco. I drop into one of the two chairs at the small round dining room table, holding my head in my hands.

Now that my adrenaline isn't going lightning fast anymore, I remember why I came here in first place, unsure of what to do now.

"Thanks for your help." Ramona's voice is soft, thoughtful as she leans against the wall.

I look up at her. "Do you mind telling me what the
hell
that was about? And who was that guy? Please tell me he's not your boyfriend that you’ve been keeping a secret from me for the past few months."

I'm only half joking, still wondering why the hell this guy was here in the first place.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out, sliding down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chin. "No, he's not my boyfriend. At least not anymore, thank God. He's my ex-boyfriend, Dimitri. We dated in college."

I think back to what Jasmine told me, how I've put together that Ramona had been keeping something big for me. Piecing it together little by little because I'm not exactly a genius like my brother, I come up with an answer that I don't want to think about.

When Ramona hangs her head and starts sobbing, I know I'm way too close.

"I thought he was a good guy, I swear I did. We had been dating for, I don't know . . . eight months already, and then we were in a car crash. It sucked, and we both had to go to the hospital, but I was pretty much okay. Dimitri was in worse shape, though not like in the ICU or anything. But he needed a blood transfusion and we found out that I'm a match so we did the transplant, and I thought everything was going to go back to normal. But it didn't . . . it only got worse. He got really moody, he would always start speaking in Russian the minute I made him mad, and then he’d do other things that were way worse. It started off with him just picking at me over dumb shit, you know? Over my art, over me taking too long in the shower, me drinking the last water bottle in the dorm room. That kind of stuff. I thought maybe he just had PTSD from the car crash or something. I didn't know what was going on. And then one night I wanted to go hang out with Brie, my new roommate at the time, and he started accusing me of cheating on him and being a slut and all this terrible stuff. He wasn't even drunk or anything like that, I can't even blame it on drugs or him being alcoholic. He's just a fucking prick. We started arguing, I said something he didn't like, and he shoved me against the chair and I fell over and split my lip open. He begged me to forgive him . . . same old, same old. And I did, until the next time, when he actually hit me. He cried all night, he told me he would never do it again. You know what? I don't talk about it anymore. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought it up."

I clench my fists, my jaw so tight I can barely say a word. I had just let his motherfucker go? He deserves a fate worse than going to jail for a few nights, that's for damn sure. Something boils under my skin, the kind of violent anger that I’m desperate to get rid of. I didn’t want to be like him, but he's lucky that he's not here anymore, because I would not be able to hold back if he was.

"This is what you’ve been keeping from me?" I know I should be consoling her, trying to make her feel better but dammit, she hid something like this from me. I thought we’d been something more than that.

She pulls herself up to a standing position, walking over to me until she's sitting down next to me, her head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Benji. It's not a part of my life I want to bring up. I didn't mean to keep it from you, believe me. But people hear about what happened to me and think I'm some sort of fragile little child or something. I hate the way everyone treats me once they know. Yes, I was a victim. Yes, I'm a survivor. I know all of this, but that's not all I am."

I look at her, the tears shining on her soft brown cheeks. She’s silently pleading with me to understand.

"But seriously, thank you. I don't know what I would've done if you weren't here."

"Why
was
he here, Ramona? If he treated you like dirt before, why did you let him back in your house again? What was he talking about, calling you a monster and that kind of shit?" I'm completely confused, torn between whether I should be angry with her or relieved.

She blows a piece of her hair out of her face, looking up at the ceiling and shaking her head to herself. "It was stupid, I know it. He messaged me out of the blue and . . . I thought maybe I could use a little closure. Maybe it would help me with my painting. Sometimes I do stupid shit like that when I'm desperate to finish a piece I’m working on."

I close my eyes, trying to picture Ramona standing in front of her painting, telling herself that this was a good idea. "You can't just do things like that, just to help inspire you or whatever. You could've been hurt, or worse. And then I would've gone to jail because I would've killed his ass, and then there would go my soccer career. It is a
really
good thing I showed up, and probably a good idea I didn't know what was going on beforehand. But still, that was way too big of a risk for you to take just to finish a painting. What was it that he wanted from you?"

I ask again, seeing in her eyes that she's hesitating to tell me.

"Remember I told you about the car crash? Well, apparently Dimitri is sick. He wanted me to go up to the hospital with him and do a bone marrow transplant. And when I eventually told him no, he showed up at my door an hour later. I don’t know how he got my address, but he went crazy. Telling me that I was killing him by saying no, that kind of stuff. It's so ridiculous. Of course he tried to use me, use my emotions. He knows just the right buttons to push with me, unfortunately."

It made sense, but I was still fuming inside, wishing none of this would've happened. I didn't understand that kind of mentality though, so I pushed it aside, just glad to see that she was okay.

"Benji . . . I don't know what's going on between us, but I really do appreciate what you just did for me. I always knew you were this noble guy deep down, the kind of person who doesn't want to see anyone else in pain." Her words are barely above a whisper, slowly working their way across the small space between us, and I don't know what to do, don't know what to say.

"Noble? Come on, I'm hardly that," I say, nudging Ramona. I think about the way I’ve treated the girls I've slept with before and thought about in the past, as if they hardly mattered. A noble person doesn't act like that. "I mean yeah, I'm a nice guy or whatever, but I'm not really that nice. In fact, I can be a huge pain in the ass, and I've heard plenty of women call me worse, trust me. I don't know what this is either, Ramona. I'll be truthful with you, because that's the kind of person I am. I saw you yesterday with Dimitri across the street. I didn’t know what to think, and I got really fucking jealous, believe it or not. I mean he just
looks
like the kind of guy you would go for, you know? The kind of guy who has read War and Peace and knows how to sculpt and some bullshit like that. A real intellectual type, almost like my brother. But different, artsy even. I don't know, a lot of shit went through my brain yesterday and all I could think about was I'm not that kind of guy. Not the kind of guy you can take to an art exhibit that will appreciate things the way you do. I don't see the world and all these beautiful colors the way you do, everything is pretty black and white to me actually. You deserve someone who can go tit for tat with you. I'm not that someone."