Dare Me to Live

Chapter 11 (Part one)

It was nearly dark by the time Tyler pulled into the parking lot next to my dorm. The campus lights had flickered on one by one sending the shadows scuttling into the bushes and dark corners of buildings. But in my experience, it was always the concentrated shadows where the biggest fears hid.

It was from one of these dark places that Chris emerged, an equally forbidding shadow on his face when he saw me step out of the car. I closed the door a bit harder than I intended in my annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral. There had been a handful of texts from him over the last few days I had responded minimally to, enough that he wouldn't latch on too tightly with renewed hope, and precisely so he wouldn't show up unannounced again.

"I thought I'd surprise you," said Chris. "You seemed off the last few days and you hadn't answered at all today so I—" He stopped at the sound of a second car door shutting and I watched his eyes track Tyler's progress around the front of the car.

I could see him sizing him up, the way he used to size up opponents on the soccer field in high school. He took in Tyler's stance, the way he angled his head, the distance in between us when he stopped next to me; far enough away that we weren't intimately involved but close enough to assume we knew each other. Chris studied the mud on our shoes, the burrs that clung stubbornly to our pants, the rust flakes that flecked our hands and nails.

"This the friend?" asked Chris, gesturing with a sharp thrust of his head even though it was clear he was talking about Tyler.

"Chris, Tyler. Tyler, Chris," I said, waving my hand carelessly between the two before stuffing it deeply back into my jacket pocket. My palms had begun to sweat.

Words, apprehension, and anger bubbled in my throat, but I didn't voice them yet, aware that I was treading on egg shells.

"Nice to meet you," said Tyler. His voice was even and polite, but he was reading the energy of the conversation same as me.

"Tyler is a friend from class," I said, before Chris could say anything. I felt rather than saw Tyler's gaze slide over to me.

Chris took a step towards me, towards us, so that he was fully illuminated by the pool of light cast by the wrought iron lamppost. He was wearing my favorite sweatshirt again and he had gotten his hair cut since that last time I had seen him, but his face was no longer lifted in the eager smile. Instead, the light threw the tension in his jaw and the cords in his neck into relief.

"The one who helps you with homework?" Chris asked, once more looking at my muddy boots and tousled hair.

"Everyone needs someone to suffer through philosophy with," answered Tyler, shrugging.

"I didn't know philosophy required the entire day," Chris replied. His right hand curled into a fist by his side, the tendons in his forearm mirroring those in his neck. I didn't like the glint the lamppost was lending to his eyes.

"It can take a lot of time to really understand it, if you know what I mean," said Tyler with an edge to his voice.

I stepped forward and shifted my weight to my left leg so that I blocked Tyler from Chris's view. A chilly breeze cut through my light jacket, but I refused to shiver.

"What do you want, Chris?" I said exasperatedly.

He turned his focus on me and though his gaze softened, the lines of his body didn't release any of his anger. "I told you, I wanted to stop by and see you, but I didn't realize you were so busy," he said, his voice curling around the implication.