“I’m good, but I need to get up and get out of here. We have a team meeting bright and early today. We need to get ready for the homecoming game next weekend against Ohio State.”
“Oh, right,” I mutter.
He still hasn’t touched me. What the hell? He rises from the bed—still naked—and reaches down to the floor to locate some of his shorts. After he’s gotten those on, he picks up my tank top and my jean shorts for me. Luckily my panties are still intertwined with the shorts.
He hands me the jersey, saying, “By the way, I’m going to need this back after next week’s game.”
What is happening?A burn builds behind my eyes. Damn it, I’mnotgoing to cry in front of him. I’ve done that too much already. It’s starting to make me feel weak, and I amnotweak.
“Oh, then just keep it. No need for me to take it now.”
“No, I want you to wear it next weekend.”
“It’s okay. I’ll wear some of my own Northwestern gear. Thanks for letting me wear it, though.” All the time I’m talking, I’m getting dressed, attempting to hide beneath the quilt. It’s not working very well, but it hides enough. I dress quickly and scoot off the bed. Now, where are my shoes? I think I took them off at the front door. As I rush from his room into the lounge, I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Stella, I want you to wear this jersey next weekend.”
I ignore him, pretending I’m looking for my shoes. “Ah-ha, there they are.” Deciding that speed is more important than anything else, I slide my feet into the shoes, leaving my heel exposed and squishing down on the back of the shoe. “Okay, well, I’m off. Good luck today.” I wave behind me as I open the door and rush out.
I pull the door shut and rush toward the stairwell just as the tears trickle down my cheeks. In my entire life, I’ve never felt so sad and humiliated. I thought he was special. I figured he felt the same way about me. I guess all of his talk about love and all of that bullshit was just so he could have sex with me. Cringing, I recall the entire event. I groan when I think about “secret garden” and begging him to keep going. If a virgin could be a slut, I’d be one of those. Holy shit, I’m doing the walk of shame. What the hell have I just done? Now I’m going to have to see him in the cafeteria. Then there’s the fact that I’ll probably run into him when Hank is hanging out with Lily.
I finally reach my door, pull out my key, and enter quietly. It’s still super early, so I know Brooke won’t be up yet. I tiptoe to the bathroom. It’s time to shower off the night before. The sooner I get rid of his scent from my body, the better. I scrub myself thoroughly and wrap a towel around me. I head to my room and slip on one my favorite T-shirts, the one that says: F. U. T. K. It’s an old Dixie Chicks reference, and it fits my mood.
I slip on yoga pants because I just want to wear stretchy clothes. I’m exhausted. I have homework to do, but that canwait until I get some sleep. Yeah, right. Like I’m going to get to sleep. Who needs sleep when I can lie here and cry all day?
By lunchtime, I’ve given up on any possibility of sleeping. I decide to get up and eat something completely unhealthy. I deserve it. I recall having a microwave pizza in the freezer, so I head out into our common area to cook. I spy the pod coffee maker and decide coffee is just what I need. I peek over at Brook’s door and sigh because Beelzebub’s door is still closed. I’m in no mood for her crap today. Oops, spoke too soon. Just then her door opens, and a guy’s head peeks out. When the rest of him steps out, I want to laugh. He’s naked? He’s perfect for her. The man—a tall, blond—looks at me as he exits her bedroom and winks as he strides to the bathroom. He has no qualms about walking naked through our suite. Shaking my head, I hear the microwave ding. I pull the pizza out, grab my coffee, and start to head back to my room.
“Do you think you should be eating pizza, Miss Piggy?”
“You know what, Brooke?—”
I don’t get to finish. The skinny guy comes out of the bathroom and heads back to her room where he starts to dress. We’re both watching him. He slips on his shirt and slides his feet into some checkered Vans and walks toward the door.
“Later, baby,” he says as he nods toward Brooke.
“Yeah, later,” she mutters in response.
After he leaves, she says snidely, “Much later.”
What a bitch. I can’t help but notice that the guy called her “baby.” I guess that’s the way guys talk to girls. It doesn’t mean a damn thing, sadly. I continue to ignore her and walk back to my room. I turn on my music, eat my lunch, and get my books out to study. Time to get caught up. It looks like I’m going to have plenty of time to get things done now. It’s probably for the best. My homework was suffering because all my attention was on the drama with Bradley then on Alex.
Yep, it’s for the best. It’s time for me to focus on the real reason I’m here––to get a college degree. Instead of jumping right into my work, I get online to google art history degrees and jobs related to that major. There are a surprising number of opportunities for art history degrees, especially if I decide to get my doctorate. It’s something to think about. I hope my dad meant what he said, that we’ll talk about it.
The entire day passes without a word from Alex. It’s okay. I think if I had heard from him, it would have made me relive the night before. It’s not like I needed him to contact me for that to happen; I mean, it could have made it worse. By the time I get most of my homework done, I’m hungry again, but I don’t go down to the cafeteria for dinner. Sadly, Alex doesn’t pick me up. I think that’s the first time he hasn’t stopped by to get me. That tells me more than I wanted to know. Instead of risking another Brooke sighting, I choose snacks to eat from my stash in my closet for dinner; plus, I have juice and water in my mini fridge. If I only had my own bathroom, I could stay camped out here for days.
As I get ready for bed, I hear my phone ding. Maybe it’s Alex…. Nope. It’s Lily checking in on me. I quickly reply that things are great. We make plans to meet for lunch on the quad tomorrow. I need to catch up with my friend. I’ve neglected her. Well, she’s neglected me too. She must be completely immersed in everything with Hank like I was with Alex. Still, I need to talk to her. She’s the one person who gets me, and she’ll tell me what the hell I did wrong with Alex
After a fitful night,I oversleep on Monday. I tossed and turned until I was exhausted. Then, when I finally did fall asleep, my dreams were all about Alex. In one I was walking across the quad but stopped when I saw Alex with his little group of friends. A leggy brunette was leaning up to him,whispering in his ear. He laughed at something she said, then he leaned down and kissed her––with tongue. He wrapped his arms around her as he pulled away from the kiss. Just then, they both turned to look right at me. It was Brooke, and they were both laughing at me.
Hands down, it was the worst dream in the entire world. I woke up from it with tears pouring down my cheeks. Waking up crying sucks. And you can’t stop crying once you wake up. It’s like you have to relive the dream over and over again with your eyes open, and it causes you to get sad all over again.
I drag myself out of bed and hurriedly grab my towel. I shower fast, brush my teeth, and throw on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Who cares what I look like? Stretchy clothes are perfect to wear on a day that is dark, gloomy, and depressing. No, not really. In reality, it’s actually quite a pretty day for mid-September. My personal weather forecast has more to do with my mood than the actual weather. I grab my book bag and walk to class, even foregoing my pod of coffee––too much effort.
My classes drag. During my Introduction to Business class, I check my phone repeatedly. I’d turned it off the night before because I kept looking at it hoping Alex would text. I gave up looking at about midnight and turned it off. Like that helped me get to sleep. I just kept wondering if I should turn it back on. I mean, what if he’d texted me? I turn it on and hear several beeps. I did get some text messages. Scrolling through, I see a text from Lily about canceling our lunch plans, another one from Lily just saying “Hey,” and then my eyes see one from Alex. I’m excited! He’d finally written. But it was sent at three in the morning? What was he doing up at three? I don’t think I want to know. I click on his message.
Donnie:Night, Stella.
That’s it? That’s all it said? No “sweet dreams”? No “Pixie”? Without warning, the frigging tears start up again. Where the hell did they come from? I thought for sure there was absolutely no fluid left to cry out. I was wrong. I sniffle and cry during the class I dislike the most. I’m trying to be quiet, and I don’t think anyone can see me, as it’s dark in the auditorium. The professor is showing us a thought-provoking PowerPoint about small business entrepreneurship. Riveting.
