Page 59 of Wrong For Me

Leo

“You wanna tell me what has you so freaking worked up?”

I stop mid-punch and slump my forehead against the bag. After spending the weekend holed up in my room, trying to lose myself in work, Bodhi finally had enough. “It’s starting to smell in here,” he’d informed me. “I didn’t sign up to live with Howard Hughes, man. You need to get out of this room.”

Since working had done little to make me feel better, I’d reluctantly agreed and followed him down to the shitty gym in our apartment complex. The place is seriously lacking in decent equipment. On the other hand, there’s not another soul in here at eight pm on a Sunday night, so it’s not all bad.

My muscles are screaming at me, my eyes stinging with sweat. Yet still I want nothing more than to keep punching, to beat the shit out of this bag and all the other bags in this gym until I make myself forget that terrible expression on Rose’s face Friday afternoon.

I was such an asshole. Such an unbelievably huge asshole. She didn’t deserve for me to lash out at her like that. Hell, she was doing me a damn favor. Not only did she provide me with my first decent meal in a week, she offered me a ride home. Like it was no big deal, even though I’m sure our modest apartment complex is nowhere near whatever mansion Rose Ransome surely lives in.

You’re doing it again,I tell myself, letting out a huge groan against the nylon of the punching bag. “Why am I such an asshole?” I ask Bodhi.

Predictably, my best friend laughs. “I’ve been wondering that for years.” I pull away from the bag so I can glare at him. He holds his hands up. “You asked!”

I groan again before getting back into position to start another round of reps. But Bodhi grabs my shoulder before I can throw the first punch. “Let’s grab some water, man. Chill, for a second.”

I don’t want to chill. If I chill, I’ll be able to hear the way her voice caught when she told me off. I could tell she was trying so hard to be strong, to keep from showing me how hurt she was. But there had been this tiny little catch in her voice. A slight sheen of moisture over her eyes.

And that expression. That expression that told me I’d hurt her.

Damn it.

“I fucked up,” I mutter to Bodhi. “With Rose. I was…I was a giant dick. And I hurt her feelings.”

My friend nudges me towards the bench where we’ve both stashed our gym bags. He pulls two bottles of water from his bag and hands me one as I collapse onto the bench. He studies me out of the corner of his eye while I down half the bottle at once.

“She hurt your feelings pretty badly in Lake Tahoe,” he points out. “I guess it’s understandable you would be tempted to lash out at her in response.”

I shake my head, pushing sweaty locks of hair from my eyes. “It wasn’t even about that. I wasn’t thinking about what went down this summer.” I groan, not wanting to admit this to Bodhi. “I was just acting like a bitter, whiny asshole because she mentioned going after the same fellowship as me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The William-something one? The one that funds your tuition for an entire semester? Why wouldn’t she be trying for that? Hell, most of the students in your department are probably gunning for it.”

I groan in frustration, running my hands through my hair. “I know. But when she said it, all I could think about was how that fellowship would literally change my life, money-wise.”

“And she doesn’t need the money,” he finishes for me. “You know, there are a lot of reasons a person would want a fellowship like that. Every field is competitive, man. Any serious student is going to be looking for ways to make their resume stand out.”

I feel sick with myself. Bodhi is right. This fellowship is merit based, not need-based, the way some of my financial aid is. So why am I acting like I’m somehow more entitled to the money than Rose?

“I don’t want to be like this,” I blurt out. “I don’t want to be this guy.”

“What guy?”

“I don’t want to spend my life jealous of people that have more than me. I don’t want to be bitter and entitled. Always putting my shit on other people. It’s immature and…” I trail off before I can tell him that this is exactly the way my mom used to act.

“Look, dude,” Bodhi says. “You’ve been dealt some shitty hands when it comes to finances and, uh, family stability.” I snort at that last part. Understatement of the fucking year. “I think it’s normal for you to feel jealous or pissed about it on occasion. But it’s entirely up to you how much weight you give that shit in your life. You don’t want to be that person? Then don’t be.”

I scrub my hands over my face. “Any advice on how to actually do that?”

He laughs, clapping my shoulder. “How the hell should I know? Aren’t you the one getting yourdoctoratein psychology? This should be right up your ally.”

“It’s so annoying when you’re right,” I mutter.

“Good thing for you it doesn’t happen often, huh?” he asks, grinning that good-natured Bodhi grin at me. Then his face grows more serious. “As far as advice goes, I will say this—you need to talk to Rose. I’m pretty sure it’s not just the money stuff that’s causing you to lash out at her. She hurt you, man, and until you work that out, you’re going to be on edge around her. Is that how you want to spend your semester?”

I think about the hours we spent in the office together on Friday, sharing food and arguing about music and books. Working together in easy silence. On edge is not at all how I would describe that time with her. It had been…damn it, it had been really nice. And then I had to go ruin it with my bullshit.

“Talk to her,” Bodhi urges me. “Clear the air. I bet you’ll feel better.”