The Brink of Destruction

Ten minutes? Could that really be all the time I had left? Jesus, there were still at least fifteen problems I hadn't even looked at, not to mention the one I was hopelessly stuck on.

In sheer desperation, I checked the wall clock to see if maybe my watch was fast. No help there, no miracle to save me. My hands were trembling and my ass had gone completely numb over the last two hours, but they were no match for the rolling chaos in my stomach. Mentally I added up what my score would be if I hadn't made any mistakes so far--and how fucking likely was that?

It was so quiet in the auditorium that my snicker startled even me. I looked around sheepishly at the curious faces, and a cold wash of resignation ran through me. There was no use even trying.

Slowly, deliberately, I laid my pencil down and folded my hands. The professor regarded me with an expression of amusement or sympathy, I couldn't be sure which. It was all I could do not to laugh again. This whole situation was just surreal, ridiculous.

When he called time, the sepulchral silence dissolved into the rustle of papers and a low hum of voices. Arms stretched, mouths yawned, legs stood to relieve novocained backsides.
"Pass your exams down to the end of the row, at the center aisle, please," Prof. Blake said pleasantly, not bothering to set down his ever-present mug of coffee. "Exam scores and end of term grades will be posted by student ID number on my office door by tomorrow afternoon. If you need to leave before that time, your grades will be mailed to your home address within five days of the last scheduled exam. Have a wonderful holiday, everyone."

I didn't even realize I'd been walking until I got to the stairs and looked down just before I missed the first one. Come to think of it, a broken neck might not have been such a bad thing, considering...

Once out of the building, I couldn't think where to go. It was almost 6:30, and I was nowhere near hungry. There was no studying left to do, and since I hadn't decided yet what to do for Christmas break, packing wasn't a rush. The thought of Billie rushed through my mind, warm and comforting as summer sun, but then just as quickly I tried to imagine what to tell him when he asked about the exam.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the sick feeling that was creeping up my throat. It felt as if failure was choking me, gripping my insides with icy hands. Turning toward the hedge that ran along the front of the building, I doubled over, surrendering what little I'd eaten. One shaking hand propped me up against the building, and with the other I tried to hold back my hair.

Behind me, I heard Billie's voice calling my name, and heard the slap of his sneakers against the sidewalk. He was breathless as he stopped short beside me, helping me stand on wobbly knees.

"Let's get you to the bench over here," he was murmuring, his arm protectively around my shoulders. We sank onto the cold marble and he took my backpack, setting it behind us. "Gen, you're white as a sheet! What's wrong?"

I was wrung out and trembling. My voice was a thin thread, and my head didn't want to stay upright, no matter how much I tried. "I need to go home, Billie."

He hesitated for a moment. "I'll take you back to the dorm. Will you be okay here for a minute while I run and get my car?"

I nodded weakly. "Please hurry," I breathed, and before I could say anything else, he was sprinting across the quad toward his apartment.

Minutes later, I was buckled safely in the front seat of his car, bathed in the warmth pouring from the heat vents. He eased the car to the light at the end of the East Campus driveway, but instead of turning right toward Canterbury, he headed straight through.

"Billie, you missed the turn," I said, pointing behind us.

"No, baby, I didn't miss it. Look, you haven't been feeling good since Thanksgiving, and I think you need to talk to a doctor about it. You've got exams out of the way, and now you need to take care of yourself."

"No," I groaned, "I've just finished two hours of sitting for this exam, and I can't deal with doctors right now. I'm okay, I just need some sleep and some food."

His face was stern, but he was thinking about it.

"Please, Billie?" I begged. "I just want to go home and lie down, okay?"

His lips tightened. "Okay," he nodded, "but I want you to come back to the apartment so I can take care of you until I know you're feeling better."

"But you've got work," I reminded him.

"Not this evening, and not until late tomorrow. Gina's cool about schedules, so don't worry about that. Just quit arguing with me and let me do this." In spite of his frown, his voice was soft, and full of concern.

My head sank onto the back of the seat, too limp to protest. Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate on the purr of the engine, and I could almost pretend that as long as the sound thrummed along, nothing else could happen, nothing could fall apart as it was threatening to do. Billie was here, and I could finally rest, and that was all that mattered.

Mike must have heard us coming up the walk, and opened the door with a big smile on his face. "Hey, congratula--" the smile faded quickly when he saw my arm draped over Billie's shoulder for support. "Whoa, what's going on?" he asked, moving out of the way so we could come inside.

"I'm okay, Mike," I reassured him over my shoulder.

"We're just gonna let her stay here and recuperate from exams for a while," Billie told him, but there was brief silence between them before Mike replied, and I knew he was picking up on more than Billie's words.

The heat in the apartment was a bastard. Some days it pumped warmth like magma through every room, until it felt like a sauna and they had to open windows. But today it had decided to snooze, and the windows in Billie's room were frosted in the corners.

"I'm sorry it's so damned cold in here," he apologized. "I've got a sleeping bag I can put over the blankets for you." He was already digging it out of the chaos in his closet.

I realized as I looked around the room that he must have been planning to celebrate the end of exams tonight. There was a string of colored Christmas lights tacked up around the window, and red metallic tinsel wound through the spindles of the headboard of his bed. On the windowsill sat a tiny artificial tree, its little lights blinking on and off, painting the miniature ornaments rainbow colors. And suspended from a red velvet ribbon hung from the overhead light was a large plastic sprig of mistletoe, overlooked and forlorn now.

Billie spread the battered sleeping bag over the comforter, and turned back the corners for me. I slipped off my shoes and slid between the covers, still fully clothed, and motioned for him to join me. He turned on the stereo, and then stretched out beside me, pulling me onto his chest.

"I ruined your surprise," I said, pointing to the mistletoe. "I'm sorry."

A grin of relief spread across his face as he tucked the covers tighter around us. "It's okay. It'll be there tomorrow when you're feeling better." He kissed my forehead, and I fell asleep to the sound of his humming along to the music.

Under Billie's watchful eye, I was feeling a little better when I woke up close to two o'clock the next afternoon. He had already left for work without waking me up, but he'd left a note on the pillow instructing me that I was not to do anything except rest, and eat the chicken and stars soup he'd left in the refrigerator for me.

Once again I borrowed one of Billie's tee shirts and a pair of his boxers, and shuffled across the hall to the kitchen. Standing in front of the microwave as the bowl of soup circled round and round, I was lost in thought when a tap on my shoulder almost made me jump out of my skin. Mike stood behind me, his serene blue eyes crinkled in a mischievous grin.

"Little late for lunch, isn't it?" he asked wryly.

"Lunch? This is breakfast, you big jerk! And why'd you sneak up on me like that?" I said, punching him on the arm.

"It sounded like a prowler stealing our food. I had to protect our provisions!" he laughed. "You feeling better today?"

"I think so," I said, stirring the steaming soup. "It felt really good to sleep."

"Burned it at both ends last week, didn't you? Man, I don't think I could hack all the work you guys have to do."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure I'm hacking it, either. I'm pretty sure my grades are going to be abysmal, and if they're as bad as I think, I won't have to worry about it next semester."

He lowered his eyes sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Gen. I really am. But maybe it's not as bad as you think it is. Don't give up until you know for sure."

"I'm trying, but it doesn't look good. And I'm so tired and frustrated I don't think I even care."

He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a fresh carton of orange juice, pouring a tall glass for himself and one for me. "Whaddaya say we sit down and relax, talk a little?" he asked in a brotherly tone. His big hand on my back guided me gently toward the living room, and he hauled out the TV tray for me. Folding one long leg underneath him, he sank into the other end of the sofa and looked steadily at me.

"So what exactly is going on?" he prodded kindly. "Everything okay with you and Bill?"

Was it? I mean, nothing bad had happened, we were still together, he'd been wonderful last night...and yet, something just didn't feel right. I'd dreamed about Jackie last night, that I'd found her sitting outside on the porch of the apartment, and when I opened the door to ask her in, she just shook her head sadly and walked away. I know, it's incredibly stupid and insecure to obsess about someone from the past. But the funny thing was that, in spite of the fact that she'd hurt Billie, there was something about her that fascinated me, and I couldn't stop thinking that she was the answer to so many questions about him, if I could just figure it out.

"Yeah, we're fine." I wasn't quite ready to broach the subject yet. "School's the bitch. I'm not sure I want to come back next semester even if I'm eligible." And I explained to him what had been going on in my head the last month or so. He nodded, listening quietly, and when I was finished, he rested his chin on tented fingers and thinking. After a moment, he looked up and smiled at me.

"I say, if you don't want to be a doctor, then you need to do something else."

It was so simple, so non-bullshit. It was classic Mike. I shook my head, laughing at his uncomplicated wisdom. "You're right, as usual," I told him. "But now what? I've never given any thought to anything else. Where do I go from here?"

"Well, you need to decide first if you want to go back home or stay here. That's the first step."

Back home? That wasn't an option. It would mean leaving Billie, and that's something I couldn't imagine. It would be like trying to live without hope, without air.

"Genny, you're my friend, you know that, right?" he asked.

"Of course I do. We're homies!" I joked, flashing my "East Side" sign.

His half-smile told me he was serious. "Then do me a favor. Tell me what's really bothering you, 'cause I don't think you're being totally straight with me right now."

How did he know? Was I that transparent? Stalling, I took a long drink of OJ and pushed the tray away.

"Mike, how much do you know about Jackie?" I finally asked. "I mean, what exactly happened between her and Billie?"

He sighed. "He'd kill me for telling you. But there's a part of it he doesn't even know, and maybe it would help if you understood.

"Billie met her at Wellspring Grocery about three years or so ago," he explained. "They were sponsoring a dog wash for the Humane Society, and she was a big softie for animals. He was going inside, and a big, wet sheepdog got away from her. Bill--well, you know how fast that little son of a bitch is!--he took off after the dog and brought him back. Made him some kind of swashbuckling hero for her, I guess. After that, they hung out a lot together, and I started thinking maybe she was getting in over her head. She was really smart, but she just cared about him so much, I was afraid he'd end up taking advantage of her. He used to be like that, you know."

Even now, as close as Billie and I were, I could remember being afraid of him when we'd first met. Not of him, exactly, but of that explosive anger in him, that tendency to bow up and fight anytime he felt challenged. It wasn't hard to imagine how difficult it might have been for her to stand up to him, especially if she had loved him as much as her words on the back of the picture suggested.

"So he was like that even before they broke up?"

"Yeah. Like I told you, it really busted him up when his dad died. Then his mom remarried, and the guy was just a grade-A fucker, made his life miserable. Even when we started playing music together, he'd be chilling out, having fun, and then all of a sudden he'd miss a chord or something stupid like that, and he'd just explode. I mean, total meltdown. Breaking stuff, shit like that." He laughed softly. "Sometimes I wondered if I was crazy to keep hanging around with him."

Not quite looking him in the eye, I risked the question. "Do you ever feel like that now?" The memory of the fight the day Bat died was still painful to think about.

"Nah," he drawled. "He and I have been through so much shit together, it doesn't faze me anymore. Truth is, I know he'd take a bullet for me, if it came to it, and I'd do the same for him. In fact, there's only one time in my life I've ever kept anything from him, and I did it for Jackie."