Chapter 3: Control

Tom is not staying here. I'm not sure how I can go about forcing him to leave, but one way or another that sorry excuse for a primate is leaving. There have been other people who I just don't get along with. I don't live under the delusion that everybody will (or even should) like me. I do not foster the notion that everybody has redeeming qualities. So while I'm not new to the notion that there are people that I simply don't get along with, I am new to the intensity of dislike I hold for Tom. I have never met somebody whose very presence in a room makes me a shudder. Knowing that I'm breathing air he breaths is deeply unsettling.

What irks me most is that I knew this would happen. When Mark first mentioned this party, I had felt then that Tom would ruin everything. Insisting Tom couldn't come is like the Pope banning a book; it is somehow more likely to cause the opposite outcome.

Kim follows me downstairs. I've barely taken my first step out of the stairwell when I'm accosted by Joshua. His speech is slurred enough that I effectively ignore him as my eyes scan the living room for Tom. I'm both relieved and apprehensive when I can't see him in the living room.

Rachel spots me and lifts her drink with a cheer, "Jason!" she waves me toward her. Stepping around Josh, I walk over to Rachel. Her manic grins fades as she takes in my grim expression. She raises her eyebrows in question.

"It's Tom," I say. Rachel nods in sudden understanding. "Have you seen him?" I ask.

"Yeah," she answers and is distracted from continuing by a sudden cheering from the kitchen table. Somebody has managed to land a Ping-Pong ball in a beer cup.

Woop-dee-do. I grab Rachel's beer away from her. "Rachel!"

"Hey, that's my – yeah, Jake dragged him outside. I think Mark went too." She grabs the beer back out of my hand, "Get your own," she says then sticks her tongue out at me. Relief sweeps through me. Mark and Jake are taking care of it. I don't have to get involved. I don't even have to look at him. Maybe this evening isn't going to be that bad after all.

I decide that I may as well cheer myself up a bit. I yell across the room at one of my friends who acquiesces my request for a beer by grabbing one from the fridge and launching it across the room at me. Fortunately, it didn't hit anybody. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with a beer that's ready to explode the moment I try to open it. I look at my beer and sigh. Rachel just laughs at me.

"Poor Jason," she pouts mockingly.

"I know. First-world problems right?" I answer.

"Rachel! It's been forever! Hi Jason! Fun party." It's one of the Pi Beta Phi girls. I don't remember her name. Her friend is next to her and I don't remember her name either. Joshua stumbles across the room and joins into our conversation. Once Jess comes downstairs, she joins us as well. I open my beer bottle and manage to stop it spilling everywhere by drinking the rising foam as it tries to escape the bottle. The girls start having a grand time at my expense, insinuating that my ability to control the beer shows a natural talent for blow-jobs. My hurt is mostly feigned as it's hard to feel the indignity of having my sexual orientation brought up for question while four girls are all drunkenly trying to flirt with me. One of the Pi Phi girls notices a new arrival.

"Oh. My. God! Is that Abby!?" says anonymous Pi Phi Number 1.

"It is! Abby's at a party. Wow. Well, that is a first!" says Pi Phi Number 2.

The first girl starts jumping up and down in excitement, waving her hands frantically back and forth, "Abby! Abby!" she yells.

Abby's attention quickly focuses on us and she marches through the crowd of partiers. She greets us with a smile and a quick hello. Abby politely turns down Pi Phi Number 1's immediately offer of something to drink.

"I drove here," says Abby, then turns to look at me, "Hey, I think your roommates might be getting into a fight out there." She glances toward the entrance, waits a moment, then shrugs, "I'm not sure though, I've never really met either of them..."

Though she's never talked to them, Abby has seen Mark and Jake at the cafe before so she is probably not wrong. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Steeling myself, I head for the front door. The two Pi Phi look a bit confused, Jess stays behind, and both Abby and Joshua follow me as I leave.

Outside, a group is quietly gathering around Jake and Tom. Their yelling continues to escalate at I approach. Mark is hovering nervously nearby. Tom is yelling incoherently, waving his arms back and forth. Jake is not one to back down; he's yelling back menacingly. I don't think I've ever seen Jake angry before. I'm torn between being scared and impressed by the scene in front of me. Both Tom and Jake look like they're seconds away from a confrontation. They're both much bigger then I am. This is a bad idea. In one short moment I think of every possible reason not to get involved and yet I cannot shake the feeling that Jake's involvement here is entirely my fault. Mustering up some courage, decency, or something, I wade through the gathering crowd and into the fray.

Tom notices me. My presence instantly diverts his attention from Jake. "Oh look! Hero-boy again. Savior of all the sluts and bitches." The sneer on his face is so repulsive that I hardly notice how he isn't making any sense. "Here to save your bum-boy?" he asks, jerking his thumb toward Jake.

"Fuck you!" yells Jake.

"You can't make me leave, bitch-face!" retorts Tom.

I pull out my phone and the crowd suddenly quiets down in an effort to hear me, "You're on private property Tom," I say calmly, as though commenting on the weather, "I'm not going to make you leave ... but if you're still here when the cops get here – trust me, they will."

I look down at my phone and pretend to dial. The last thing I actually want is for the police to arrive, but I doubt Tom is going to call my bluff. Looking down at my phone turns out to be a horrible idea. Tom doesn't bother to call my bluff. Instead of doing the reasonable thing and just leaving, he decides to introduce his fist to my face. I'm taken my surprise as his hand impacts against my cheek. Pain blossoms along the side of my face and reverberates through my skull as I'm launched to the ground.

Fireworks erupt in my brain. For a brief moment I feel no pain whatsoever as my mind feels like it's collapsing into itself. Suddenly all the pain comes back and nausea hits me like a freight-train. Without warning, I start emptying my bowels onto the ground. The world is spinning so violently that I'm lucky I don't throw up all over myself. I'm only vaguely aware of the sudden increase in volume and commotion around me.

Somebody is grabbing my skull and calmly telling me not to move. I hardly have enough time to feel disoriented before the world around me goes black. Next, the world seems to be bumping strangely up and down and there's a mask over my face. The mask is quickly removed and a man I don't recognize is talking anxiously at me. As the world comes back to me a second time, I recognize the bumping sensation as the movement of a car. I must be inside an ambulance. The paramedic that was talking at me earlier is looking toward the front of the ambulance. He turns and looks down at me, then quickly removes the mask again.

"Can you hear me?" he asks.

I try to nod, but my head is held into place by some sort of vice. "Yes," I answer. My voice sounds somehow strange to me.

"You've suffered some head trauma; I need you to try your best to stay awake. I'm going to ask you some questions. Answer me if you can."

So for the next five minutes he asks me questions about myself. My name, age, phone number, field of study, and so on. Somehow, by the time we arrive at the hospital, I'm feeling significantly better. I'm assured that once the pain killers ware off, I'll likely have a killer headache. That I'm so lucid, explains the paramedic, is a good sign. Inside the hospital, I'm given a scan and the doctor lets me know that I'm in the clear as far as serious spinal injuries are concerned. That's a relief.

"Hey Jason." I hear a voice next to me. Looking over, I see Abby and Rachel. "We followed the ambulance," explains Rachel looking suddenly much more sober.

I touch my cheek and wince, "how bad is it?" I ask.

Rachel laughs half-heartedly, "Well, I thought he snapped your neck." Her eyes take on a haunted look for a moment, "so you ... you're looking great."

"God, Don't think of me as a wimp for saying this, but I had NO idea being punched could hurt so much."

"Jason," says Abby, "he hit you with a wine bottle; A full wine bottle. That the doctors think a concussion is the worst of it is a miracle."

"Oh." That's all I can think to say to that.

"Sooo," I say, trying to break the tension, "Guess that's one way to end a party."

"No way," says Rachel, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "one boy with a wine bottle smashed over his head, a second with a knife in his thigh, and a third one unconscious on the pavement ... the police were downright eager to let us keep partying."

I try to sit up but find I'm unable to muster the strength, "somebody got stabbed?" I ask, wincing in pain from the attempt to sit up, "what happened?"

"How much do you remember?" asks Abby.

"Not much," I concede.

"Well," says Rachel, "Tom hit you with a wine bottle. You didn't see it coming at all so you couldn't defend yourself. It looked gruesome." Abby is looking at Rachel disapprovingly, but Rachel keeps going, "I thought you'd have a ruined face, or a broken spine, or ... something. God it looked awful." Rachel pauses and looks at me for a moment. Convinced I'm still alright, she continues, "Jake freaked out. He screamed like ... like I can't even compare it to anything, but he yelled and then decked Tom in the face. Tom kind of stumbled a bit and then, God, I don't know where he got the knife, but then he tried to stab Jake." I'm trying to take this all in, it doesn't seem real. "Jake saw the knife and tried to get out of the way, but Tom got him in the leg. Then our resident badass over here," Rachel points at Abby, "used her Kungfo magic to beat Tom. God! The look on his face! I wish I had a camera!"

I look over at Abby, "you do martial arts?" I ask.

"Yeah," she answers, and then shrugs, "never thought I'd have to use it though."

"Well, I'm glad you were there." I reply, "How's Jake?" I can't shake the feeling that I'm the reason Jake has a hunk of metal imbedded in his thigh.

"Getting stiches right now" answered Rachel, then she smirked, "They hadn't even gotten him into his ambulance before he was making jokes about how awesome the scar is gonna look, so I think he'll be fine."

"They called your parents," says Abby, "they're probably on their way."

My face is starting to throb and my head is aching a bit, but I don't feel like my injuries warrant this amount of worry. My parents live a two hour drive away, I hope they don't break their busy schedule for this.

"And Tom?" I ask.

"Well, he's -" starts Rachel.

Abby interrupts her, "Jason," she says, sounding serious, "who cares?"

"Hope he rots..." I mumble.

Abby leans over the bed to look me in the eyes. Assured that she has my attention, she says, "He is beneath you Jason." For a moment, a very brief moment, the look of contempt on her face is undeniable.

Abby and Rachel kept me company for a while longer. A nurse would open the curtains around my bed every fifteen minutes or so to check that I was well. I was hooked up to a series of monitors and the girls spent some time trying to think of conversation topics that were appropriate to a hospital setting, but would change my heart rate or blood pressure. When that failed, we played I spy for a time. The next game was Truth or Truth, which is the same as Truth or Dare but altered so that there are no dares. It should be called, "Spill your secrets." I always thought it was a bit of a silly game. I'm no less likely to lie about something just because the rules of a silly game say I need to tell the truth.

"What's your favorite number?" asked Abby. We're partway through the game and the girls have already learned I lost my virginity at age eleven, so this question is rather tame. I can see Rachel give Abby a strange look, but I'm not too surprised. It's the same question she asked me while I was in her mind.

This time, however, I can answer with the truth. "Eight," I reply. Abby seems a bit surprised. Was she expecting me to say twelve?

I'm about to ask Rachel my next question when Abby interrupts me, "Why eight?" she asks.

"It's not your turn," I smile, then I look I Rachel, "How old were you the first time a boy broke your heart?"

"That's better!" says Rachel, "I was in Grade 2 and everybody was getting married, but when it was time for me and Mark. He ran away."

"Just started running?" I ask with a chuckle, "Clever, clever, boy."

"Hey!" says Rachel, laughing a bit too, "Okay Abs ... what is..." Rachel pauses as she thinks, "the last time you went on a date?"

Abby shrugs, "Never been on one," she answers. Rachel stares at her for a moment. While she isn't Jessica, Abby wouldn't look out of place on the front cover of a magazine. She has an athleticism and sense of purpose about her that may intimate some, but there has to be a ton of guys who would go to great lengths for a chance to be with Abigail Torres. Even so, I'm not too surprised. I don't know her well outside of class, but I've never been given the impression that she has any interest in flirting or dating.

Abby turns her gaze back on me, "so why eight?" she asks.

I laugh, "Persistent huh? Well okay, this is going to sound dumb, but when I was little, I used to give all the lower numbers personalities. Like, seven was always kind of mean and nine was always a bit of a bully. If either of them picked on six, though, eight would stand up for him."

"That's adorable," teases Rachel.

"Also," I continue, "I like that on those old digital displays, like on a microwave, every single number is just a subset of the seven bulbs used to make the eight."

The curtain opens again, but this time it isn't the nurse checking in on us yet again. Instead, two familiar faces appear.

"Hi Mom, hi Dad," I say, smiling weakly.

My mother bounds forward and wraps me in a tight hug. I wince in pain as her efforts cause my head to jostle back and forth a bit.

"I'm glad you're all right," breaths my mother, and then – "What were you thinking? Getting into a fight? I raised you better than that. You could be in a comma, you could have died, you could have," she pauses, trying to think of something worse than being dead, evidently she can't, "I was so worried!"

I look over my mother's shoulder and see my father standing back with a knowing smile on lips, "How are you feeling, son?" he asks.

I can't help but smile, "I'm well. A bit bruised, but that's all."

My mother finally lets me go, "I'm so glad you're all right." Then she looks up at Abby and Rachel, "It's nice to see you again Rachel," she smiles at Rachel and then turns to Abby, "Hi, I'm Jason's Mom," she says by way of introduction.

"Abby," says Abby, staring back and forth between my mother and father.

My Dad gives her a critical look, "You were there when this all happened?" he asks. Abby returns his stare. The tension between the two of them is strange. I've never known my father to be rude, but the look he's giving Abby is anything but friendly.

Rachel answers, trying to defend Abby, "She's the one who stopped the guy from stabbing everybody!"

"Stabbing!?" asks my mother, her eyes suddenly bulging again.

A nurse quickly appears, and seeing that I was okay, warns us all to be quiet. The quiet helps calm my mother down again. Abby abruptly leaves to go check on Jake. She drags Rachel with her. My parents and I talk for a while longer. I try to retell the evening as best I can. The doctor appears and informs me that I'll be staying the night for observation. I have fifteen minutes before I'm moved from the emergency room into my own room.

"At which point," says the doctor, "there will be a no-visitor policy." He looks at my parents, "Should all go well tonight, he will be free to go at 7:30 tomorrow morning"

He quickly leaves, giving us no time to ask questions. The next fifteen minutes are filled with a flurry of goodbyes. My parents let me know that they're staying at a hotel and will see me bright and early the next morning. Yawning, I wish them farewell for the evening.