Isaac Byrne - The Tolerant

He kicked himself a little; he’d had experiments in mind for Dr. Missy pursuant to his questions from the night before. Oh well, he’d see her Wednesday. In the meantime, he had to get back in time for duty.

Driving back home, washing the taste of bad Italian food out of his mouth with a soda, he had to ask himself why he was even bothering. Not like he could be fired for not doing his job. Not like he needed the money from the job any more in the first place. (His credit cards had arrived in the mail over break, and he patted himself on the back for arranging them to have no spending limit and for the payments to be handled by the company itself each month.)

Really, if he wanted to, he could just move into a sorority and live it up, or round up the college cheerleading squad and go on a world tour on a stolen (donated) private jet, or move into a mansion on the beach somewhere and stock it with super-models. So why not?

If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t really want those things. Not yet, at least. Context was part of what made his enjoyments enjoyable, and he decided to pardon his lack of ambition.

He arrived a few minutes late for duty; Emily had already picked up her set of master keys and signed in, then probably head back to her room to wait for rounds. DJ did the same, stopping by Brittney’s room to snag her, apologizing to Mercedes for interrupting their viewing of some sappy rom-drama they were watching.

“Heya, DJ.” She smiled her sweet Brittney smile, gave him a sweet Brittney kiss. “Good day?”

“Yeah, decent. Lousy dinner, but otherwise pretty good.” (“Pretty good” for DJ Swanson now entailed hour-long grope-sessions and blowjobs from beautiful strangers. He never did bother learning that girl’s name.)

“Good. We had a pop quiz today over the break readings that I totally bombed, but yeah. Otherwise pretty good.”

“Sorry about that—I guess that’s my fault, huh.”

“You’ll have to make it up to me,” she said, poking him softly in the tummy.

“That I will.” He kissed her again. “I figured I’d give you the night off, though—let you and Mercedes do your thing, and I guess get caught up on that reading. I just wondered if you’d do me a favor.”

“Name it, and I’ll do my best.”

He adopted a concerned expression. It should have been easy; Brittney was wonderful, and more so than any other girl he’d been with these past weeks, he really did value her. It should have been.

“Well, it’s just me worrying, I guess, but I know things have been kinda wild for you lately, and, um, I guess I just wanted to make sure you were holding up OK.”

“That’s very sweet of you to worry about me. Most guys never bother to ask how I’m doing.” Her smile brightened, radiant; big blue eyes watered up with her effortless gratitude. He’d had a game plan, but caught in the wake of her sincerity, he found himself, for once, being honest with her.

“Sweet? Um, Brittney, I loaned you out to a girl as a playmate last week. I had sex with you in front of dozens of people. I’ve been terrible to you.”

Her smile wavered; she seemed to consider these events. “You didn’t have fun? I’m trying to be a good girlfriend for you. Is there something I could do differently? Better?”

He just stared a moment uncomprehendingly, before it dawned on him that she internalized his mistreatment of her as a result of something she’d done wrong. “Oh God, Brittney, no. That was my way of apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about any of it.” Her lower lip threatened to pout, as effective as a loaded gun to his head.

“No. No no no. Brittney, you’re incredible and I’ve been horrible to you and I’m sorry and you’ve been nothing but amazing to me.” He pulled her into his arms, burying his head in the golden hair cascading over her shoulder. She hugged him back tightly.

Well this isn’t how this was supposed to go at all. C’mon, DJ, you have an agenda. Get to it. He let her go and tried to segue back to his original plan. “Anyway, I was just worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m a big girl, and I had a lot of fun last week. I even finally got all the pebbles from your step-mom’s roof off my butt.”

He laughed. “Good, good—still got a few in my knees, I think. But look, I know our relationship is kinda weird, and I worry it might be a little much for someone as nice as you. Do you keep a journal or diary or anything? Something to write down your feelings about things?”

“No. You want me to write down how I’m feeling for you? I could just tell you, save a tree.”

Tempting, but sweet as she was, he didn’t trust her to be fully honest with him. She had to think it was something private. “No, I’m not trying to force a confession out of you or anything; I just know it’s one of those things emotionally healthy people do. To help make sense out of things, process them. It wouldn’t be for anyone else but you.”

Brittney twisted her lips a bit from side to side. “I dunno. I don’t usually do a lot of writing, but if you think it’ll help, I’ll do it for you.”

He smiled sweetly, and kissed her again. “Do it for you, Brit.”

She smiled back angelically. “OK. I’ll do it. Thanks for worrying about me, love.”

His heart skipped a beat at her choice of address, but he tried to mask it. “All right. You guys have fun, and I hope the writing goes well. Remember, it doesn’t need to be an essay; just write down how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking about, whatever’s going through your head.”

She nodded. “OK.”

DJ released her (after one more kiss—she really was just too beautiful to be ignored) and let her go back to her room, then settled in to wait for rounds with Emily.

Emily Turner gathered her gear for rounds with a sigh. She’d wanted to put in a request to switch shifts with someone else, but she knew she’d hurt DJ’s feelings, and that was unseemly. She was raised Catholic, and her guilt was as much a part of her as her fingernails. Maybe more so.

It had been more than two weeks since that incident in the lounge, when he’d guillted her into giving him a blowjob while he fingered that chesty girl from the sixth floor. Ashley, she thought her name was. Then he’d talked her into finishing rounds naked, his cum on her face, in front of God and everyone.

She’d lost her family’s trust and support as a result of the pictures that had gotten out. Maybe their love, too, though she couldn’t make herself think about that. These past weeks had been hard enough without that.

Two weeks of getting leered at, cat-called, slut-shamed and propositioned wherever she went. Last night she’d encountered one of her residents’ boyfriends by the water fountain, and even as that wolfish grin appeared, his girlfriend rushed over and literally dragged him away, glaring at Emily like she’d been been caught in the act of seducing him.

Emily had a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake, a Marine overseas in Afghanistan, and she was content to wait. (Well, she used to have one, anyway; she didn’t know if someone had told him about the photos yet, and how he’d react when he found out.) She had urges, sure, but nothing a few minutes with her vibrator couldn’t quell. Only now, half the guys she ran into treated her like she’d been asking them to bend her over.

It was a hard line to walk, for sure. On the one hand, having everyone think she was a slut was mortifying after working hard to cultivate a hands-off demeanor where men were concerned. She wasn’t frigid; she was just a good Catholic girl and a loyal girlfriend. She was confident in her body and good looks, she dressed like someone who was proud of her body, but she was strictly look-but-don’t-touch.