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“Going somewhere?” asks Troy, turning his back on the dining table on which they have a board of Snakes and Ladders set up. Except it looks nothing like any Snakes and Ladders she has ever seen. There are some extra pieces on and around the board, and she couldn’t even try to guess their purpose. Or their origin. But at the moment, frankly, my dear , she doesn’t give a damn either.
“If you are going out anyway, can you bring me a pack of mini pretzels?” Abed joins in, leaning to the side so that she can see him better. “With the red label, not the green.”
She decides to graciously ignore that request.
“I’m going to the library,” she says instead, keeping her voice nice and even as she goes to the kitchen to fetch a banana, a granola bar and the last juice box. She could swear they had six or seven in the morning. But she ignores that too. Their list is already long enough as it is. She takes a second banana instead.
Troy follows her with his eyes, then bites his lower lip before speaking again: “In this weather?”
“It’s no longer snowing,” she states as she puts her snacks into a ziplock bag, and then into her backpack and quickly checks if everything she needs is in it. Her laptop, her notebook, sticky notes – small, medium and large – pens, pencils, sharpener, eraser, correction fluid; check. A pack of tissues, a small mirror, a box of mints, hand sanitizer, hand cream, lip balm; check… “Anyway, some fresh air will do me good,” she says with a shrug. “It will help clear my head.”
“It’s a little more than fresh out there,” Troy argues. “And there is another blizzard coming later on.”
“Your tauntaun will freeze before you reach the first marker,” adds Abed.
She takes a deep breath before answering them. “I have less than twenty hours to finish, check, grammar-check, double-check and format my essay,” she says, stepping into her boots and reaching for her coat, because she knows she needs to leave quickly. Her throat already feels tight with tears. “I just… need some space.”
“Annie,” moans Troy as he gets up from his chair and walks up to her, closely followed by Abed. “Don’t go!”
“It’s alright.” She clears her throat and wraps her scarf around her neck high enough so that she will be able to cover the lower part of her face in it as well. “And I’ll get you your pretzels too,” she adds, nodding towards Abed with a half-hearted smile to diffuse the tension so that she can cut the conversation off and leave. “Red label, not green.”
“There’s no need…”
“Annie,” Troy steps even closer. “Don’t go. We are sorry. We will keep it down, I promise. We promise, right?” He turns to Abed for backup.
“We promise,” he says without hesitation, with one hand raised and the other above his heart, to make it seem even more sincere.
She wants to believe them, but she just can’t. “Guys…,” she says with a sigh. “You can’t. You know you can’t.”
“But we can. Just let us try!” Troy begs her.
“You have been trying since yesterday,” she reminds them. She can tell it truly hurts them. Most probably because it’s true.
This is why she hates such bursts of anger; they come and go, but they never fail to leave her feeling like a terrible person. Because while just a minute before she was so mad at them she could have screamed their heads off, now she is feeling worse and worse with every word she says.
“Maybe we could try one last time,” suggests Troy in a low voice.
“Look, guys, this is your place, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you to let me move in with you,” she says. “But I just really need some peace and quiet today.”
“Then… at least let me give you a lift,” says Troy, already reaching for his coat and car keys. “And you can call me when you are done too.”
She refuses to listen to the evil little voice inside her head that tells her that this is the least he should do after practically driving her out of the flat. “That would be nice,” she accepts the offer.
“You wanna come along?” He turns to Abed. “We could get your–”
“No,” he says flatly, then turns on his heels and leaves them to go to the kitchen. Another jab at her heart.
“Well…” Troy clears his throat.
They both flinch when they hear things falling out of the cabinet under the sink, but before they could even start running to check what caused it, Abed returns, holding a pair of scissors in one hand, and their roll of duct tape in the other. It’s the good one. The one they bought when they needed to fix the leg of the dining table that practically broke into two.
“Abed, what are you–”
“We will keep it down,” he declares, unrolling 5-6 inches of tape, then taking the loose end between his teeth to pull it taut enough so that he can cut it off. Then before any of them could say another word, he puts it over Troy’s mouth who does not only let him, but runs his hands over the tape too, to make sure it sticks. “We promise.” He cuts another piece, for himself, then slams both the roll and the scissors on the kitchen counter, and puts it over his own. And presses it down. All the way, to make sure there isn’t a sliver of it not sticking properly.
It will hurt like hell when it comes off. They know that. They tried it before. They both wore white goatees of antiseptic cream for two days after they did. But they both turn to her with their heads held high and their hands on their hips, in a well-rehearsed superhero pose, so she has no other option but to give them a nod in recognition of their grand gesture.
“OK,” she says as solemnly as the situation demands, and lowers her backpack from her shoulder. “I believe you.”