The elevator pings, delivering me to the second floor. As I exit I make a right and walk down to the end of the hallway, stopping in front of the last door straight at the end of the hallway. I stare into the black of the metal that leads into my brother's apartment.

I could hear music blaring from the elevator. Something with a deep bass and inaudible lyrics. I wasn't one hundred percent, but now that I'm standing here I know for a fact that it is coming from beyond Cal's door. I drop my head for a second and take a deep breath. I attempt to muster up the courage to knock on the door, even though I have no desire to be a part of whatever lies on the other side. But desperate times call for even more desperate measures.

I knock three times in quick concession, but there is no answer. I pull my phone out to call Callan instead of injuring my knuckles to make a knock loud enough to be heard over the song that I can now hear clearly. The lyrics are sung by Kanye, although I have no idea what the song is. I was only tipped off because someone on the other side of the door yelled a very loud, "YAY!"

Just as I swipe to my most important contacts and press his picture the door swings open. I'm met with the white t-shirt covered torso of a person who isn't my brother. My eyes scan upwards to put a face with the body not stopping until the head of a cowboy meets the collar of the shirt. I can tell he's tall from the way I have to crane my neck up past my already five foot seven frame to meet his face.

Instinctively, I complete a full body scan. Brown hair trapped underneath a backwards ball cap, the strap high on his forehead. The locks continue past the edge of the cap, cascading down the back of his neck in messy waves stopping just past the collar of his plain white t-shirt. The shirt is stretched thin across his broad chest, the outline of his muscles clearly visible under the sheer fabric.

I refer to him as a cowboy because as my scan continues he is wearing a pair of obviously well loved bluejeans with a single rip on his right knee, neglecting to conform to the fact that it is easily ninety degrees outside still. On his feet, I can see a pair of brown boots, the pointed toe poking out beneath the bootcut fabric of his jeans. Again, a questionable choice considering the current conditions outside. I quickly find his eyes again and find them looking directly into mine. On second inspection, I can see that they are clearly green. The brightest shade of emerald, actually. Of course they are though. Only males are blessed with features that us females can only lust after.

"Where's the food?" he says with a slight emphasis on the ew sound in food. Giving even more conviction to the cowboy persona he displays.

"Excuse me?" I spout.

"I may be wrong, but when you deliver food you are supposed to hand me the food," He says as he mimics the motions of me offering food and him taking it. I nearly miss it though as I continue to watch the mustache above his lips move with each word he utters.

"What makes you assume I am delivering your food?" I scoff.

Before I can answer I can hear my brother's voice yelling over the music in the background.

"Callan!" I yell, having to duck under the cowboys arm that rests on the door frame just as Cal pokes his head over the cowboy's shoulder at the same time and says, "Ryn come in!" The cowboy and I exchange a glance as he slides his body sideways to let me pass him. I show him a middle finger in return, my form of a thank you.

I follow Cal into the living room of his apartment. The small space has been transformed since the time I toured this same unit with him, four months prior. A sectional sofa creates a room divider between the open concept living room and kitchen where there are a handful of guys and girls lounging around playing a drinking game with cards on the coffee table. Everything is in shades of grays and whites, leaving the space looking modern and sterile. It looks far more like a space made for an up and coming social media influencer requiring bright spaces and perfect glow lighting. Not a space for two college athletes to drink copious amounts of booze and have sex on every single surface with multiple girls, potentially at the same time. Cans and bottles litter the various open surfaces in the room already diminishing the sleek vibe the property manager presented prior to Cal's moving in.

The cowboy moves past me and walks further into the room. I watch as he lifts a blonde by the arm out of her seat, but places her on his lap in return. He turns his attention back to the game without another glance in my direction.

Cal doesn't introduce me to his friends, mainly because I don't give him the chance. Instead I make my way to his bedroom with him in tow.

"Where are they?" I ask, referring to the reason for my visit.

"What's your hurry? We're just about to hit the bars, you should come!" I roll my eyes at my brother and continue to look for his car keys.

"You don't have to drink Ryn. Bars do serve more than alcohol you know," He says.

"It's not the bar, it's the company," I mumble under my breath. My brother doesn't seem to hear me because he steps into his closet emerging in a white and red striped polo shirt instead of the t-shirt he was wearing when I arrived.

I stop to contemplate the offer for a split second because I don't really want to go sit alone in my dorm for another night. The mediation in my brain is cut short by the cowboy entering my brother's room.

"Nine, let's go! I need to go get food since she forgot to bring it!" he yells as if the volume of the music stayed the same even though it's no longer right next to him. I roll my eyes in his direction, but his eyes are looking down at his phone screen.

I return to ignoring them both as they retreat from the room, leaving me to my search. I pick up a pair of dirty shorts of the several that litter my brother's floor. I've known him long enough to know that he isn't about to help me search, and he has a bad habit of sending things through the wash that are not washer friendly.

Sure enough, the second pair I grab feel heavier than the rest. I dig his keys out of the back pocket and make my way towards the front door. I'm almost to safety when I hear my brother yell my name. I pause a second to take a deep breath before turning around.

Callan begs me to come back towards him in a whiny little voice. I do, but only so I can raid his fridge for something to drink before I leave. I grab a sports drink from the fridge and take a few large gulps before I turn back to the group. Cal proceeds to introduce me to the group standing in the kitchen, but the lack of interest is mutual. I survey the crowd for the cowboy, but he isn't present. I back up trying to distance myself from the group, but only make it a foot away before I bump into something, or someone.

"What the fuck!" a high pitched voice says.

I turn around to see a blonde so platinum I wouldn't be surprised if she has missing chunks of her hair from the bleaching process. Her face is pinched in disgust as if I just told her that her favorite makeup is being discontinued rather than very gently bumping into her. As I look at her again I can see that the pink of her top has gotten darker, obviously covered in the liquid she was drinking.

"Watch where you're going, freak girl!" the girls proceeds to yell over the music.

"Freak girl?" I question. The girl doesn't speak, just continues to stare a hole through my face.

"What is this, a horribly made high school drama? Oh don't tell me...any second your army of followers are going to swarm around and give me dirty looks until I wither away. Ooh or better yet your meathead boyfriend will appear and tell me how gross I am and call me a hag or a slut and tell me how no one will ever sleep with me," I spout.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oooh our rating just went from PG-13 to R. Might as well drop a few more fucks or a cunt while you're at it. Really earn that R rating," I say, not totally hating the interaction.

Before she can make another move, just as I predicted, the guy I presume was the one she was making out with when I arrived has appeared at her side. He whispers something in her ear, she whispers something back and then they both glance in my direction.

The guy studies me for a second before saying, "Do I know you?"

"No," I say flatly.

"No, I definitely do. Give me a second..." He pauses and someone yells something resembling my name from the living room.

"Lyn, that's right. Well Lyn I think you owe her an apology. She just bought this shirt today, and now it's covered in Twisted Tea." The girl wraps her arms around the buffoon and leans into him, nodding along with every ridiculous word. I feel sorry for her, for thinking that she needs to let this guy talk for her, to handle her battles. Especially one that is not so much a battle but a civil dispute. With this reaction, you would think I purposely took the can from her and poured it over her head.

"Write this down honey, 800-799-7233. Just in case you bring him a Budlight instead of Budweiser and then he uses it as a weapon."

I turn to walk away with keys in hand. I can see the front door, but just like the capture in a bad thriller Cal is right there to step in front of the only exit out of my own personal hell.

"Whose number did you just give her?" He asks.

"Domestic violence hotline," I say shrugging.

"How do you even– nevermind. What do you think you're doing?" Cal asks, eyeing me.

I shrug again. When you spend enough time in a counseling center waiting room you read a lot of pamphlets. "I need to go to the store and get dinner because this god forsaken town can't keep anything open past six pm apparently," I say.

"Not in my car," Cal says instantly.

"Well you are in no position to drive me." I look over my shoulder at the tower of beer cans that has grown by a few since I first walked in only ten minutes ago.

"Call an Uber," Cal suggests as I almost immediately answer, "I don't do random dudes driving me around."

Cal crosses his arms over his chest, "Wait until tomorrow then."

"So you can forget again or tell me you have football? I don't think so."

Cal melts into his whinny self again before saying,"Come on, stay here then. Four-two went to go get food. You can eat some of his, he always orders enough for the whole offensive line."

I don't even begin to understand what four-two means or contemplate any reality where I would voluntarily stay to share food with a guy who goes by two numbers.

"No thanks. I'll see you later," I say shouldering past him, but he stops me and digs the keys out of my hand. I decide not to fight him on this because I know it will get back to my dad, and that is a fight I don't have the energy to have again.