Chapter 8: Broken Sightlines
The bass thumped through Mark’s chest before he even pushed open the heavy oak door. Sweat and cheap beer fumes hit him like a wall. He scanned the writhing mass of bodies in the Zeta Pi common room, searching for Amy’s familiar dark hair. His stomach clenched. She hadn’t answered his texts.
Then he saw them.
Chad. Tall, blond, grinning like a shark. His arm was draped possessively around Amy’s corseted waist. His other hand wasn't resting. It was gripping, kneading the curve of her ass through the tight, shiny fabric of her skirt. Amy stumbled slightly in her clear heels, her face flushed, eyes wide but unfocused. Chad steered her forcefully towards a dim hallway leading deeper into the house. Towards the bathrooms.
Mark shoved forward, knocking into a swaying guy holding two cups. "Hey!" The shout was lost in the din. "Amy!" Mark yelled, his voice raw. She didn’t turn. Chad did. Over his shoulder, Chad met Mark’s eyes. The grin widened, predatory, triumphant. He gave Amy’s ass another deliberate, hard squeeze, pulling her tighter against him as they rounded the corner.
Mark lunged after them, but a wall of frat brothers surged into his path. They were chanting, faces flushed with alcohol and vicarious excitement. "Chad's getting laid!" one bellowed, sloshing beer. Another laughed, pointing down the hallway Chad and Amy had vanished down. "Yeah! Saw him drag that skank in! Gonna fuck her brains out!"
The words were ice picks in Mark’s ears. Skank. He shoved harder, desperation lending him strength. "Get out of my way!" He elbowed past, ignoring the angry shouts. He reached the hallway. Empty. Just closed doors lining the dim corridor. Which one? He ran, pounding on the first door. Locked. The second. Locked. The third… silence. He pressed his ear against the cool wood. Nothing but the muffled thump of music from the main room. Or was that… something else? His imagination screamed possibilities. He hammered on the door. "Amy! Open up!"
Silence. Then, from inside, a low male chuckle. Chad’s. Distinctive. Mocking. Mark slammed his fist against the wood, splintering the veneer slightly. "Amy!" His voice cracked. Nothing. He stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched, the frat boys' crude chants echoing in his head. Skank. Fuck her brains out. Time stretched, thick and suffocating. He leaned his forehead against the door, the bass vibrating through his skull. What was happening behind that locked door? The image of Chad’s hand on her ass, squeezing, burned behind his eyes.
He didn’t know how long he stood there. A minute? Five? The party raged on, oblivious. Finally, a click. The door handle turned. Mark jerked back.
Amy emerged first. Her hair was mussed, strands escaping her ponytail. Her lipstick was smeared, a dark blur across her cheekbone. Her eyes were glassy, pupils huge and dark even in the dim hallway light. She blinked rapidly, swaying on her heels. Her corset seemed even tighter, digging into her ribs as she took shallow breaths. Behind her, Chad sauntered out, adjusting his belt buckle with deliberate slowness. His shirt was rumpled. He looked utterly satisfied.
Amy’s gaze landed on Mark. A flicker of something – recognition? Guilt? Panic? – crossed her face before it smoothed into a vacant, flushed smile. "Mark!" Her voice was too loud, too bright. She stumbled forward, throwing her arms around his neck. Her skin felt unnaturally warm. She smelled faintly of sweat, cheap perfume, and that underlying, cloying sweetness Mark couldn't name but always associated with Chad’s presence. "Baby! You made it!"
Mark’s arms hung stiffly at his sides. He couldn’t bring himself to hug her back. Not with Chad smirking behind her, not with the smear of lipstick, not with the memory of that hand. "What… what happened?" His voice was flat, dead.
"Nothing!" Amy pulled back slightly, looking up at him. Her blush deepened. She giggled, a high, nervous sound. "Honest! Nothing happened. We were just… talking." She patted his chest, her touch fluttering, insubstantial. "Just talking, Marky." Her reassurance felt brittle, rehearsed.
Chad chuckled, stepping closer. He draped an arm loosely around Amy’s shoulders. She leaned into him slightly, instinctively seeking the contact. Mark saw it. Chad’s smirk deepened. "Yeah, just talking," Chad echoed, his voice dripping with lazy amusement. He winked at Mark. "Deep, meaningful conversation. Real… stimulating." He paused, letting the innuendo hang. "You know how it is with lab partners. Sometimes you gotta put in the extra hours. Do that… extra credit." He squeezed Amy’s shoulder.
Amy giggled again. Louder this time. A forced, breathy sound that grated on Mark’s nerves. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkling as if Chad had said something genuinely witty. "Oh, Chad!" she breathed, nudging him playfully with her hip. "Stop it!"
Mark stared at her. At the giggle. At the way she leaned into Chad’s touch. At the smeared makeup and dilated eyes. The frat boys' words echoed: Skank. Fuck her brains out. His stomach churned, a cold, sickening dread spreading through him. This wasn't just drunkenness. This was something else. Something wrong. Something stolen. He looked past Amy’s vacant smile, past Chad’s triumphant leer, searching for the girl who used to argue thermodynamics with him under the bleachers. He saw only a reflection in glassy eyes, distorted and fading fast. The music pulsed, a relentless heartbeat underscoring the hollow reassurance and the cruel, knowing smirk.