His head falls back as he laughs. “Don’t fucking tell Westley. I didn’t want to be hungover today, and I’m drinking that nasty shit tomorrow in case I need to take a piss test and pass.”
I nod. “Did Rocky take that Senior home last night?”
He nods. “But you and I both know he’s going to keep fucking her if she keeps coming back.”
“Why do they do that?” I ask, flailing my arms. “Guys got a reputation, and sorry to say, but she thinks she’s special, but she’s not.”
He snickers, “Hearing her blabber her mouth last night was ridiculous. Yeah, brother, I couldn’t fucking agree more with you on that one.”
“Enough shit talking for me in one morning. I have homework and a study group. Shit to do, man. Enjoy your high.”
I walk down the hall to my bedroom, bumping into Westley coming out of his room.
“Ding dong,” I say.
“Dong ding,” he replies. I smack his back as he walks past me.
Westley doesn’t hook up with randoms. The guy’s a fucking saint, and I need to be taking notes from him.
Note to thyself: Be like Westley.
He’s humble, confident but not arrogant, and, overall, a down-to-earth kind human being. He’s the shit.
When I enter my bedroom, I sit down at my desk and read all the bullshit text required for biology and history. I hop onto Zoom for a study group, listening to these people bicker over theories, all talking over each other, and it’s overstimulating as hell. But I got through it and finished my assignment. Mission accomplished.
By the end of the night, I’m convinced I really imagined what happened at the gym today. How did something sour turn sweet? I went to the campus gym, bullshit lied to Viv, and then I met a beautiful woman looking for friends her age. What gets me is that she goes to college and doesn’t seem to have any trouble making friends. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she needs a friend, and perhaps this is my first step toward stopping from banging everything that walks my way.
That’s my prayer.
Be more like Westley.
Amen.
4
Cecily
Google Calendar is mocking me right now. It wiped out the content I had planned for Tuesday and Wednesday, which were mega big brand deals that matter, so I can’t just fuck off and forget it.
I huff, wishing I hadn’t relied heavily on a digital calendar. I just switched from physical to digital not too long ago, and this is kicking my ass. I sift through emails and write down all that needs to be done again.
Running a business while in college, while maintaining my gym life, is overwhelming to say the least. But it has to be this way, or I can’t afford college. Working from home at a young age is a blessing and a curse. Only the few that do it successfully will understand; the rest call us lucky.
We’re not lucky, bitches!
It’s called sacrifice and working twenty-four hours instead of eight. This is why I don’t have real friends. Don’t get me wrong,this job brings me plenty of friends. But they’re friends who want clout, who benefit from being around me, and at the end of every day, I am unable to have an honest conversation.
But is that my fault? Do I have ‘use me’ written across my forehead? I think about the guy, Dylan, I met at the gym. I immediately coerced him into being my first personal training client. Does that mean I have the tendency to be like,Hey, I have this to offer, use me for it, and in trade be my friend?
Shit. I think that’s an honest downfall of my personality.
Then my thoughts go down a big rabbit hole, trying to figure out if I do this with everyone I meet.
Shit, that’s a yes, yes, and another yes.
Hell!
This thing I offered Dylan, it’ll create a routine. He said he’s looking for discipline, and even though I’m already consistent, this will help me get into a groove with work, school, and gym rat life. It’s going to be good. I benefit from this as much as he does, and we’re starting tomorrow.
