Текст книги "Triangle: The Complete Series"

Автор книги: Susann Julieva

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On top of it all, I can feel that familiar nausea starting to build half way between my stomach and my

throat.

“Nick, calm down. Mrs. Bancroft, really, if we could just talk…”

But mom’s already out the door. I know she won’t be back again. Doc will have to figure out some

other way to fix me.

For now though, I have to go throw up and not think about what just happened.

Might be easier to forget if I had something around here to drink…

***

Our lights-out time is 10:30 every night, and even New Year’s Eve isn’t going to change that. So I’m

laying in bed when I should be out getting wasted and partying like everyone else is tonight.

New Year’s Eve.

A whole new year.

A whole new year with nothing that’s going to change. It’s going to be the same shit that the past

however many years have been, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Doc and I were talking about it a little after the whole fuckup session with my mom, and Doc was

saying that I could make this year different if I tried. Like she wants me to, I don’t know, get clean and

stop screwing everything that moves, and go back to classes and apply myself or some shit like that.

She said it was a good time for me to be in here. That my resolutions can actually mean something

this year, instead of just making them out of habit because it’s what everyone always does. That it can

be a new life instead of just a new year. I don’t know what she’s expecting from me, though.

So I’m laying here in bed, and I’m thinking how they say what you’re doing at midnight on New

Year’s is going to set the tone for the rest of your year, and it just doesn’t seem worth it. I never asked

for this. I never asked to be trapped in here, forced to change everything I’ve become. What’s the point

of me changing if no one else around me is going to?

What’s the point of anything?

***

I’m in the TV room. Visiting hours, yeah, but the people that don’t get visitors get to watch TV during

that time. It’s where I always am during visiting hours. Sort of a consolation prize since no one loves me

enough to come and visit me. Or something like that.

“Keller!”

It takes me a second to even realize someone’s talking to me, because I don’t expect anyone to come

find me during visiting hours. It’s Jerome, the on-duty nurse. He’s probably my favorite nurse here,

actually. I vaguely remember him tackling me one night right after I got here, but it’s one of those

memories I’m not quite sure of. He’s pretty cool though, if you manage to redeem yourself after getting

tackled. Which I think I’m maybe managing to do.

I must have just been staring at him, because I don’t remember saying anything. It happens every

once in a while, I guess. Doc says it’s like I’m looking across the room at something, but my brain is

completely gone. She says it’s due to the meds, and it should stop eventually. I hope so.

“Keller, pull your head back to earth. You’ve got a visitor.”

A visitor. Me. But I don’t get visitors, and can’t even think of who it might be. But Jerome doesn’t

lie about shit like that, so I heave myself out of the chair I’ve been in for the past hour and go out to the

visitors’ room.

And there he is. Rizzo. Beautiful as always. It makes me stop and stare for a few seconds, just like it

always does. He even looks comfortable sitting there. Asshole fits everywhere, and makes me feel a

little smaller in comparison.

It’s a struggle to work up the courage, but I finally walk over and sit across the table from him. I

don’t really want him to see me like this, but I don’t have a choice now. Refusing to see him would

cause more trouble here than just going along with it. He looks at me, and it takes a few seconds for

recognition to register.

“You look…”

I can tell he’s searching for words, so I offer up a few.

“Like shit? Worse than usual? Like I need a bag to put over my head?”

He laughs. He’s always laughing at me. “I was going to say ‘different’.”

Different. Yeah. I’m sure I don’t look anything like he’s used to. None of the black, none of the

fishnet, none of the makeup, none of the piercings. None of the stuff that made me me. They took it all

away from me, saying I’m more likely to recover if I leave behind the things that link me to my old

lifestyle.

Right. All it does is make me feel worse most of the time. Or like I’m in some strange play that no

one gave me the script to. And I think it might be a comedy, only no one’s let me in on the punchlines.

I’m beginning to think maybe I’m the punchline.

Even my hair’s different. I haven’t dyed it in a while, and they gave me a haircut last week, so most

of the black is gone now, leaving the natural light brown behind. Not quite the “little goth boy” that

Rizzo’s come to expect. Plain jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt. And slippers. Because it’s always cold

in here.

“Different. That’s an awfully nice way for you to put it.”

We sit in silence for a while. After about two seconds I can’t look at him anymore, and can’t

stomach the thought of him looking at me like this, so I stare down at my hands instead. Pick at a scab

from a scrape that I’m not sure how I got. Every instinct I have is telling me that I should just tell him to

go, because I can’t imagine why he’s here in the first place. Rizzo always had better things to be doing.

Eventually I can’t handle just sitting there anymore. I have to say something. “Why are you here,

Rizzo?”

He tilts his head to the side, still looking at me intently, taking his time to fully study the different me

in a way that makes me fidget in my seat. There’s an almost thoughtful smile on his lips when he

speaks. “You overdosed. I found you.” There’s no reproach in the words, nothing patronizing, just

stating a fact. Like this should be answer enough.

It’s not enough though. The information shocks me, even though somewhere in my mind, I had to

know that someone found me. I guess I just didn’t expect it to have been Rizzo. And it creates more

questions than answers, especially with the way he’d been ignoring me at the time.

I can’t even manage to hold eye contact as I try to come up with something else to say, running a

hand awkwardly back through my hair, and wincing as I realize that probably only draws attention to

how different I look now. I manage to get my voice under enough control that it doesn’t falter when I

finally think of something to say.

“Well. Sorry about that then, I guess. Huge downer on a booty call, right?” I force a laugh and shrug

a little.

He grins, and it’s confident, but it’s not the go-screw-yourself grin I’m used to. “I hope you can

handle the shock, Keller”, he replies with a smile, “but it wasn’t one.”

Everything about this conversation so far is confusing, Rizzo’s attitude, what he’s saying, the fact

that he’s even here in the first place. It makes me even more nervous, and the way I’m fidgeting

probably looks a lot like it used to when I’d start craving something. I try to cover it up by laughing

again, but I can hear how flat it sounds.

“You don’t exactly seem the type to stop by to borrow a cup of sugar or something. And I’m not

really the type to have a cup of sugar to lend, so…” I don’t know why else Rizzo would’ve been coming

by. The only thing that comes to mind is something regarding the play, but that doesn’t make sense

either.

I can feel my fidgeting getting worse, twisting my fingers together to try to still them, and I actually

force myself to start one of those breathing exercises Jeff was always teaching us to control our nerves

onstage. I send up a quick prayer that Rizzo doesn’t notice how hard it is for me to keep playing my

usual part in all this.

He leans forward slowly, glancing at my hands before looking back up at my face. “For god’s sake,

Nick, relax”, he says softly. “It’s okay. Okay?”

Okay. I feel like laughing at that, actual real laughter, because things are so far from okay right now.

I manage to untwist my fingers and reach up to rub at my eye, a nervous gesture I thought I’d trained

myself out of when I started wearing eyeliner every day.

“What’s the definition of ‘okay’ in your world, Rizzo? Because this?” I gesture around at the lounge.

“This doesn’t really qualify as ‘okay’ to me.”

He arches an eyebrow, and something dark flickers in his eyes briefly, but it doesn’t show in his

voice. “I don’t know, Nick. Given the fact that you almost died on me that night, I’d say this is pretty

‘okay’.”

I don’t even know what the look in his eyes means, and I can’t help shaking my head. “No. It’s not.

I’m trapped here, and I’m not even me anymore. Not that it was that great being me before, but it’s even

worse now because I have to think about it. And about how much of a screw-up I am.”

I finally look right at him again, trying to find some answers there, but he’s not Woodhaven’s best

actor for nothing. I try to match his don’t-care attitude, but I know that I’m not anywhere near as good

of an actor as he is. “And on top of everything else, now you’re here. And I have no idea why you’d

even want to come around. Because honestly, other than my family, you’re probably the last person I

expected to show up.”

He thinks about this for a second, and seems to come to a decision. Then he leans forward in his

chair and looks me straight in the eye, suddenly focused and serious. Suddenly real. Like a completely

different person. It reminds me of the time I woke up in his bed before he did, of the way he looked

then. It’s unsettling to see, when I’m so used to the other Rizzo.

“I really didn’t want to come”, he admits with a nonchalant shrug. It’s followed by a smile, though, a

genuine one. “But I wanted to know how you were doing, and those assholes wouldn’t say over the

phone.”

It’s enough to startle me into staring at him for a bit. It looks like Rizzo, and it sounds like him. But

the things he’s saying… “You called?” I can feel the confused frown on my face. “Why would you call?

Why would you want to know?” Why would he care? None of this makes sense. “You… know that

being screwed up isn’t contagious, right?”

He looks at me in a way that seems to say, ‘god, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?’, but there’s

warmth in his eyes. “Yeah, and I sure hope that being stupid isn’t either. I didn’t know I wasn’t

supposed to care whether you live or die.”

“Do you?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I wince at how pathetic they sound. One

of the things I’ve been trying to tell myself since I got here is if they ever let me out, I have to stop

caring so much about what Rizzo thinks. But it’s hard to remember that when he’s sitting in front of me

with that smile that, for once, doesn’t seem to be mocking me. I try to get at least a little of my self

respect back, but it’s long gone, and everything comes out wrong. “Or is it just that you thought twice

about losing an easy lay?”

I shake my head and wave off the question before he can even respond, looking down again so that I

don’t have to see whatever his reaction might be. “Damnit. That… It’s not what I meant. Ignore that…”

There’s a smile in his voice, just barely audible. “It’s kinda hard to ignore that you seem to think I’m

the world’s biggest asshole.” There’s a pause before he adds: “Guess I deserve it.”

I barely even want to look up at him, because this has quickly turned into the world’s worst

conversation, but I glance up anyway, shaking my head. “No. I’m just saying shit without thinking, as

usual. Just ignore me, seriously.” I try to push away the thought that it’s what he’s used to, clenching my

teeth to keep from actually saying it.

“I don’t think so. You’ve got something to say – just say it.” The warmth seems to go out of Rizzo’s

voice a little, but it’s more familiar now, more like what I’m used to.

“What, you really want me to talk about my feelings now, Rizzo? You never wanted to hear it

before.” I pause, wondering if I should continue, and the words slip out, quiet but sincere. “That wasn’t

ever the way we worked.”

“Yeah. And you knew what you were getting into with me.” He looks like there’s more he wants to

say on the matter, lots more, but he pauses to think about it for a moment. Then he leans back in his

chair, giving me some space.

“Look, Keller. Whatever you wanted to see in me, I was exactly that, apparently. That’s why you

kept coming back for more. And now you’re sitting here, telling me that I treated you wrong, when

you’ve been treating yourself like shit all this time.” He looks into my eyes. “What do you expect me to

say to that?”

I shake my head a bit and a sigh escapes. Why does he always have to be so frustrating? “I don’t

know what I expect you to say. If anything.” My fingers twitch with want of a cigarette, but we’re not

allowed to smoke inside, even if I had any. “And I know that I was messed up. I still am, if you haven’t

noticed.” I gesture again at our surroundings as I keep talking. “But you haven’t exactly made it easy,

either. And do you want to know why I kept coming back? Because you’re hot and talented and actually

paid attention to me for a while, and it felt good. And you can’t lie and say that you didn’t get off a little

on our whole… arrangement.”

A smile flashes across his lips. “I liked sleeping with you. And yeah, it was convenient.” He tilts his

head to the side. “What you did with the rest of your time wasn’t my business, and vice versa. That was

the arrangement.”

He looks into the distance for a moment before his eyes focus on my face again. “I knew you were

messed up. But I was too messed up myself at the time to care.”

I’m a little surprised that he’s even admitting to such a thing, but I have to smile a bit myself. “Well,

you hid it pretty well most of the time. I have to give you that. No wonder you get the leads in all the

plays.” I go quiet for a bit as the thoughts move through my mind. “So. We’re both screwed up. Glad we

can admit that. What now?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when he grins at me. “We each get our act together. ‘Cause couples

therapy is not an option.”

His attitude is contagious now, something seeming lighter between the two of us than I can ever

remember it being before. The laughter’s hiding just under the surface of my words. “What’s the matter,

Rizzo? Don’t want to sit here and listen to me talk about my feelings? I’m told it’s what I’m supposed to

do here. And I’m sure Doc would be happy to include you in our appointments.”

He grins. “Sure. I can see that happening. We’ll sob in each other’s laps, and we’ll share, and

everything will be wonderful. When do we start?”

Laughing with Rizzo is unfamiliar, but it feels good to joke with him. “Doc’s been pushing for

family therapy, but you’re the closest thing to a family member that’s actually shown up for more than

two minutes. And I think I’ve said more to you than I have in a session since I got here. She’d probably

pull you into her office right now if she knew you were here.” I try not to wince at how pathetic parts of

that sound, letting the laughter cover it.

He smiles, but he doesn’t laugh. Just looks at me thoughtfully. “Yeah well, parents – can’t live with

them, can’t kill them.”

“I’d have to be able to find them first.” The words slip out, just like they have been, without me

thinking about them first. I realize how bad most of them probably sound, but I try to soften everything

with a smile. “And then I’d probably have to schedule time to do it.”

He winks at me, leans forward and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Say no more. It can be arranged.”

I smile again at the return of the banter, and lean forward in my chair a little as well, dropping my

voice to match his. “I’m not sure you’re the ‘Godfather’ type, but thanks anyway.”

He grins. “You ain’t seen my ‘Pacino’ yet.”

While my laughter comes easy in response, I’m surprised by the comfortable feeling behind it. It’s

something I’ve rarely felt with another person. In the moment, I’m able to forget our history and just

enjoy sitting and talking with Rizzo.

“The anticipation is killing me.”

***

It’s cold outside, and gray like it gets in early January. I hate it, but there’s really no escaping it. There’s

a steady stream of visitors coming in today, and even in my chair in the TV room, I can feel the draft

that cuts across the floor from the constantly opening doors at the front of the building. There’s nothing

good on the TV, the weather channel murmuring out the 7-day forecast at me.

I can hear it when someone else comes into the room, but my back’s to the doorway, and I don’t feel

like turning around, so it’s a surprise when whoever it is stops near my chair. I turn my head just enough

to peer up at a familiar smile, shocked to see it again.

“You came back.” My words slip out without my thinking, and Rizzo’s smile widens just a little.

“I wasn’t doing anything important today. Had the time.”

The words alone might’ve hurt way too much at one time, but this time I catch the look in his eye,

the lightness to his tone, and I grin back up at him. “Well thanks for stopping by again. Is this going to

be a regular thing now? Because I can pencil you in on my calendar if it is.”

I’m trying to match Rizzo’s tone, but he just shrugs at me and smiles. “We’ll see.”

Chapter 4

Unhappy New Year

JAMES: You know how things tend to go when you break up with someone you still love. How you

say to each other: “I’ll never stop caring about you. Let’s always be friends!” And then you go and just

drop off each other’s radar completely. Well, big surprise: Things are no different with Casey and me.

It’s January and the world is about as colorless and worn out as I feel. Christmas at home was

draining, as per usual. Mom and I do our best to pretend that we’re happy during the holidays, and we

know that we’re not, and it’s all pretty messed up. We try not to think of Simon, and she feels compelled

to tell me stories about my father from when I was too little to remember. I’ve heard them all a thousand

times, but I like hearing them. I like the look she gets in her eyes when she talks about him and his

family. We lost touch with them when she married again. “Your father would have been so proud of

you”, she always tells me. I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t have.

It’s weird to think that I don’t really have any family besides her. Mom’s parents are gone, Simon’s

folks hate my guts, and I don’t blame them. As far as I know, the only relatives I have left on dad’s side

are my German grandmother whom Mom thinks moved back to Germany with dad’s sister years ago.

So I guess it’s possible that I also have cousins across the Atlantic, somewhere. Mom says I should try

to find them when I go to Berlin. I told her that over 82 million people live in that country, and I don’t

intend to ring on every door.

As far as Christmas gifts are concerned, I’m happy to report that this year she knitted me a sweater

that actually fits. It’s gray, which she knows I like. She gave me that look and said: “I don’t know why

you would like a color that isn’t even a color.” To which I replied: “Maybe I do because it isn’t.” I guess

gray is less of a color than a state of mind. One that was tailor-made for me.

New Year’s went by quietly, with us watching the Times Square celebration on TV, making snarky

remarks, and clinking glasses with herbal tea at midnight, because she’s not supposed to drink alcohol. I

thought about giving Casey a call the next day to wish him a happy new year, as you do. I didn’t

though. Because I realized the one I really wanted to talk to was Rizzo.

Casey hangs out with his artsy people now, and he seems to be doing alright. He spends a lot of time

with that red-head Leo who gazes at him like he’s god’s gift to womankind. It fills me with evil glee that

she doesn’t seem to know that he swings another way.

Casey and I aren’t ignoring each other or anything. Our ways just mysteriously don’t seem to cross

much anymore. This would leave me all by my lonesome if Anna had not – for reasons unknown and

better not questioned – decided to take me under her wing, and make me hang out with her scary dykes.

On occasion I find myself almost enjoying their company. I don’t even want to know what that says

about me.

Anna is dating Rhea now, who happens to play the Queen in the Hamlet production. So it’s just my

luck that she keeps me well informed of how Rizzo is doing – regardless of how much I assure her that I

do not want to know. According to her, the mourning period is definitely over. Which means in plain

English: He’s out there shagging his way through the one half of campus he hasn’t had yet.

So yeah, Rizzo. I’ve taken to calling him that again, even in my head. It helps me be less of a mess

about it all. At least that’s what I tell myself. I know that I’ve screwed this one up for good, and I guess

that’s just what I’d meant to do. To break this beyond repair. To cancel out any possibility of anything

ever happening between us again. What can I say, apparently I succeeded. When you tell someone that

you’re through, you can’t expect them to not take that personal. Even more so when you treat them like

thin air afterwards, which yes, I have done, and yes, it was necessary. If I hadn’t, I would never have

been able to go through with this.

I wonder how many times Rizzo has even been dumped before, if ever. And just when he’d started

to open up, which is wow, probably as un-Rizzo as it gets, I do this shit to him. Why? Because my exboyfriend

was so hung up on him that I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking his heart like that. I don’t

even know how Casey feels about Rizzo now, since he seems to stay as far out of his way as I do. This

is exactly why one should never try to do a noble thing. ‘Cause now I’m both Casey-less and Rizzoless.

Go figure.

* * *

“That is so sad”, Rhea says as we leave the building after Medieval European Literature class. She

blows strands of dark hair out of her eyes, and looks at me like she wants to wrap me in a blanket and

make me soup. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen ‘The Princess Bride’!”

“I know”, is my sarcastic reply. “I feel seriously deprived.”

“Oh, Foley, but you totally are, I swear.” She shifts her books and moves to put her free arm around

me, and I completely fail at slipping away in time.

“She’s right, you know”, Anna chimes in on my other side, and forcefully takes my arm. Her

Mohawk has turned a dark shade of purple during the holidays, and compared to the previous pink, it

makes her look slightly less aggressive. Very slightly, though. I feel like I’m being dragged off to

prison.

Rhea tilts her head to the side as she looks at me. “We must change that.”

“Tonight”, Anna decides, and they beam at each other. We pass a window and I notice that it’s

snowing again. But the flakes are tiny, at the harsh wind’s mercy that twirls and spins them in the air.

I shake my head sadly. “Tonight? Too bad. I’m busy.”

“You’re not. You left your personal organizer open at lunch.”

“Geez, you ever heard of that thing called ‘privacy’?”

They both grin. “Nope.”

I roll my eyes. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Anna seems delighted at the opportunity to explain. “You’ve been a very naughty boy. Not quite as

naughty as one would hope, but you get extra points for the effort.”

“This is hell, right? I’ve died and gone straight to the Ninth Circle.”

Rhea gives me a sweet smile. “Aww. Come on, Foley, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

I eye her warily. “You said that before, and then you made me watch ‘Tipping the Velvet’.”

But they just laugh and ignore all my efforts to slip out of their affectionate grip as we make our way

towards the library. God, I am so doomed.

* * *

I turn up the collar on my coat and shiver as I step outside into the darkness. I’m on my way over to

Rhea’s dorm, because if I don’t come freely, the dykes will turn up on my doorstep to get me. It might

involve kicking and shouting, and I’d rather avoid that, thank you very much.

The snow that fell this afternoon has already turned into slush that makes smacking noises under my

brisk steps. It isn’t far to Kennedy House, so chances of me not freezing to death on my way there are

reasonably high. At least until I stop dead in my tracks and stare in shock.

I’ve spotted Rizzo a small distance ahead. I can just make him out at the edge of the shadow of a

building, but I’d recognize his tall, slender figure anywhere. That in itself is no cause for alarm, but he’s

talking to that scumbag of a dealer who always hangs around campus. I don’t even know what to think

for a moment, but my mind is racing, and my stomach feels like a tightening knot. Please tell me he’s

not buying. Please. Because if he is, I don’t care what I did and what he thinks of me, swear to god I’m

gonna stop him, by force if I have to.

But it looks like they’re just talking. No, arguing. And I’ll be damned – Rizzo looks pissed off. I’ve

never seen him like that. What the hell? He doesn’t raise his voice – doesn’t have to – but there’s

something so sharp about his tone that it worries me. Whatever is going on over there, it’s not just

something minor. It’s something that must really matter to him. I can’t help it, I need to know what’s

going on, so I carefully move closer, leaving the safe shadows of the trees lining the path.

Scumbag seems to be trying to talk his way out of something, to calm Rizzo down, but it has the

opposite effect. I’m not yet close enough to quite make out what they’re saying, but Rizzo’s voice is a

subzero threat that makes me shudder, and I’m not even the one he’s talking to.

Whatever Scumbag replies, it’s exactly the wrong thing. What comes next is so fast and unexpected

that it gives me a start; Rizzo punches the guy in the face, knocks him down with what seems like very

little effort.

Blood is dripping from the dealer’s nose, leaving a red trail on his face, and now I can hear what

Rizzo is saying. Very slowly, calmly, and as icy as the North wind.

“You’re going to stay away from him.”

Scumbag stares up at him for a moment, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Then he nods,

looking defeated, and might I add, pretty pathetic, too.

I manage to slip back into the line of trees just in time before Rizzo turns around and steps onto the

smaller path that leads right past where I’m hiding. My treacherous heartbeat is trying to give me away

as he approaches. I can literally see him relaxing as he’s passing through the mild light of a lamppost.

The anger just rolls off of his handsome face. It’s replaced by something that I know will haunt me for

the rest of the night: a small frown and a fleeting sadness. He puts his hands in the pockets of his suede

jacket as he saunters past me. I follow him with my eyes, everything inside of me just aching. Aching to

talk to him, to find out what just happened here. To find out what’s wrong, because so much seems to

be. Because this isn’t the Rizzo I know, the Rizzo everyone knows. This is Danny. And it just hits me

how much I really miss him. And I want to tell him so badly.

What I do instead is wait until he’s gone. Then I step back onto the path, my shoes soaking wet, my

face freezing. And I continue on my way to watch some stupid fairytale movie that according to two

crazy dykes is supposed to cheer me up forever. Well, good luck with that.

Chapter 5

Phoenix

NICK: Saturday afternoon means weekend visiting hours, and I’m actually in the main area, waiting

again. I never thought I’d be one of the patients that waits for people to show up, but it’s what I’ve

become. Rizzo’s still the only one that comes to see me in this hellhole, and he doesn’t visit all the time,

but he’s been here enough now for it to be a regular thing.

We’ve been talking about stuff more, and last time he visited, he mentioned the play, and how

rehearsals are going to start up again soon. I was surprised that it took him so long to say something

about it, but I guess I’m learning that he does have the ability to be tactful when he wants. Him

mentioning it got me thinking about it again though, and although Hamlet isn’t the sort of reading you’d

expect to find in the psych ward, I asked Doc to get a copy for me. She seemed a little surprised when

she handed it over, like she didn’t expect me to want to read it after everything that happened leading up

to me landing in here. I don’t blame her. Most of the times that she’s tried to talk to me about the play,

it’s been like pulling teeth. It’s not exactly an upbeat conversation topic for me.

And yeah, it’s almost a little like torture to read it again, especially Horatio’s lines, which I’d had

just about memorized when Jeff gave me the part of Marcellus. It’s something I need to do, though, for

myself. The play’s going to be all over campus if I ever get out of here, and I’ll have to deal with it. So I

guess this is just my way of forcing myself to get used to it now, when I can try to handle shit on my

own terms. It’s taking me a while to get through it, just because I keep setting it down to think about

things, but I figured that waiting for Riz to show up would be as good a time as any to get through a

little more of it.

Ophelia’s breakdown keeps me occupied for a while, and I have to laugh to myself a little. I’d

always thought she was just an annoying add-on character, someone that didn’t even need to be there.

But her confusion – the way her world breaks apart as Hamlet messes with her – well shit. Forget

Horatio or Marcellus, because Jeff should’ve just cast me as Ophelia.

I suppose it’s not the nicest comparison to make, and it’s not like Rizzo killed my family or

anything. I actually feel bad about the comparison, especially when a familiar figure eases comfortably

down onto the other end of the couch. I finish the line and mark my place before tucking the book down

between my leg and the cushion and looking over at him with a smile, pushing my previous thoughts

away. “You’re late today. Hot date keep you away?”

Rizzo leans back against the arm of the couch, body a long line of satisfaction that I can’t help

glancing down at for a second, and grins at me. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘date’…” He tops it off with