If Only She'd Loved Him

Thursday 8:00 am

Neon orange blinking incessantly into her eyes, Jean stared at her alarm clock.  Aw hell, she had class in twenty minutes.  Guess I'll have to skip that one, Jean decided.  Eyes closed, she fumbled around before she got the nasal whine of the alarm to finally be quiet.  Rolling back on her side, she burrowed under her covers and shut her eyes.  But her eyes refused to stay closed.  It was useless.  She was up for the day.  Her stomach rumbled.  Pancakes.  She could really go for some pancakes dripping in maple syrup.  The tall stack, not the short one.  Due to an outgrown sweater collection, and barely cresting five foot three, Jean hated both the words "short" and "stacked."  Climbing out of her bed, she decided to check on Megan and see if she wanted to eat breakfast out with her.  Deciding what to wear wasn't a challenge.  She threw on jeans, a pale green tee shirt and was ready.  After years spent in plaid skirts and crisp white shirts, the freedom of  jeans never failed to make her happy.  After a quick glance in the mirror, Jean passed a comb through her short red hair, got it stuck in the curly mess, and quit. Crossing the hall, she knocked on Megan's shut door.

"Are you guys decent in there?"

Getting no answer back didn't disturb her a bit.  Megan liked to sleep in almost as much as Jean.  She opened the door, but the room was empty.  It looked exactly as it had last night before they'd raced to the Game.  Jean frowned.  Megan could have spent the night with friends, but she had an early class today and Megan had always refused to sleep over if she had to get up early the next day.  She glanced around the room.  For a slob like her roommate, it looked normal: books strewn on the dresser, makeup piled all around her mirror, clothes both on the bed and hanging over the closet door handle, but the bed had definitely not been slept in.  Clean yellow sheets lay in a heap on the stripped-down mattress.  Jean shook her head.  Megan's a big girl, she told herself.  She doesn't need you to worry about her.  She's probably just out getting some breakfast.  But still, something bothered Jean. Megan had never spent the night out when she had an early class.  And Jean meant never.  Megan was positively neurotic when it came to being late.  Uneasy at her thoughts, Jean left Megan's bedroom and went into the kitchen.  Paul's number, highlighted in yellow, was scribbled on a notepad on the counter.  Jean dialed and waited for his phone to ring.  Three buzzes later, she got his voice mail.

"This is Paul.  Matt and I are busy right now reading the articles in Playboy, but if you'll leave us a message listing your turn ons and turn offs, we'll get back to you fast, just not too fast."  The message ended with wild laughter.  Jean slammed the phone down.  Could they be more juvenile?  Reluctantly, she re-dialed and left a message. 

"Paul, it's Jean.  Look this is silly, but Megan didn't come home last night.  Her bed hasn't been slept in, and you were acting so weird last night I wanted to call and make sure everything was okay.  Call me back.  You know the number."

Jean had just decided she was acting more like a mother than a friend and was about to head out the door for her coveted pancakes when her phone buzzed. 

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was soft and full of fuzz.  It sounded hung over.  Big surprise.                       

"Jeanie, this is Paul.  What do you mean I was acting weird last night?  I wasn't near your place. I knew Megan wanted to play her little Game, so me and Matt went out and got some beers."

"What?" Jean interrupted him.  Were blackouts part of Paul's beer blitz last night, too?  Couldn't he even remember what he'd done to her wrist with his stupid "no lights" crap.  "Don't be an ass, Paul.  You were here when we got back last night.  I saw you."

"You must've been on something then Jean, cause I was at The Slate.  I left a message."

"No, you didn't.  Quit kidding around.  You were waiting in our apartment when we got home.  You know you were."

"Jeanie, I don't know what you're talking about."

Paul sounded sincere—confused but sincere.  Wetness, warm and salty, spread through Jean's hands.  As the phone slid through her fingers, it got heavy in her palm.  Her right wrist ached.  Suddenly, her mind flashed back to last night.  She felt Paul's fingers on her wrist closing down, keeping her away from the light switch.

"Oh Jesus," she whispered.

"Jeanie, what's wrong?"  Paul's voice was clearer now.

"Megan didn't come home last night."

"So?  You said she was with you."

"No.  You don't understand.  After the Game, we came back here and someone was waiting for her.  We thought it was you.  He wouldn't let me turn on the lights."  Jean's voice rose, began to squeak as it got faster, higher. "Megan left with him.  Oh God."

"Jeanie, calm down.  I'm sure it was someone playing a joke on you.  Probably someone with the Game.  Megan's fine.  Just relax.  She'll probably show up in an hour or two."  He snickered.  "Maybe you'll even get a ransom demand, and if you do I'll pay it.  I'd love for her to be in debt to me.  Just try to calm down.  You're getting hysterical over nothing."

A faint giggle laughed in the background.  It sounded a lot like Megan. Were they playing a stupid joke on her?  What were they up to?  Jean didn't feel like screwing around.

"Who's that with you?" she demanded.

Silence.  Jean heard frantic whispering before Paul got back on the phone.

"Oh, that's Liz," he sounded much calmer now.  "She stopped over to give me the notes for Zo."  Another whisper and his voice got short, clipped. "Look, we have to get class.  But if Megan comes over here later on, I'll let you know."  Jean could have sworn she heard something funny in his voice.  She heard another laugh, quickly muffled.  Frowning, she strived to remain civil.

"Yeah, okay.  Umm, thanks, and don't forget to come to the party we're having on Saturday.  It's for the Game but we'll let you in anyways."

"Great," he replied dryly.  "I'll see both you girls Saturday.  Later." 

Jean snapped her phone shut.  Paul had made her feel like an idiot for worrying about Megan.  She glanced at her watch. Damn, this idiot had better get to at least one class today.  So much for breakfast.  Only later as she sat in class nibbling on the end of her pencil, listening to her professor drone on about stratification in shales, did a thought begin to gnaw inside her:  Why hadn't Paul sounded concerned about Megan being out with another guy?