“Guys aren’t usually called sluts,” Jade whispersagain.
“Shh,” Itellher.
“Please,” Lara begs. “I’m up for a scholarship next year for the community service projects I’ve done this semester. This will ruin mychances.”
I laugh. “Fuckyou.”
“Babe, let’s talk this through,” Andy says, standing up from the bed in his full glory. He quickly moves across the room and grabs my arm, pulls me in to him, and presses his lips to my forehead. “I love you. Iwasjust—”
“You were just testing out the skanks from next door instead of helpingmepack?”
“Well—”
“Get the hell off of me,” I seethe, trying to push him away. His grip is tight, and it’s pissing me off even more than Ialreadyam.
As I try to squirm away, he tightens his hold. “Please,Julia.”
Fine. So be it. I knee the asshole so hard in his exposed balls that he flops to the ground like a jellyfish, moaning in pain. “Don’t worry; your little pecker problem never did much for me anyway.” I snap one more picture to make one of those cute collages, then take Jade by the arm to leave. “I told you all hot guys were assholes,” I remind her as we walk outthedoor.
“Only the hot guys you seem to find,sweetie.”
“Fuck all hot guys. No, wait. I will never fuck another oneagain.”
“You just handled that so well. I could never do what you just did,” Jadetellsme.
I learned long ago that it's either tears or anger—weakness or strength. I've been gutted before, and I know anger is the best way to deal with the pain draining from the core of my heart. “Don't be fooled to think I'm okay,” I tell her. “I don't ever want to date again. I’m swearing off all guys, especiallyhotguys.”
“Oh—uh, okay well, let’s just get out of here for a few minutes, so you don’t say anything else you’re going to regret,” Jade says, trying to pacify me at this life-alteringmoment.
“It's true, Jade. I will never make this mistake again.” Three men, all too into themselves to care even just a little bit about someone else—me. Andy, though, he’s the icing on the cake made of douchebags, and this heartache I'm about to go through will be enough to last me alifetime.
CURRENTDAY
There you are.I slide my hand into the back of my bottom drawer and pull out the one thing I’ve been hanging onto like a childhood blanket. There was a point in time when I avoided the thought of a little treasure like this because of the naughty behavior it’s used for. Then, I broke up with Andy, and suddenly there was an ache between my legs that needed a type of attention it wasn’t getting anymore. Seeing as how I've crossed out the idea of dating, my mind was on overdrive, causing me to have wet dreams—because, evidently, it can happen to women too. However, this issue morphed into nightmares that would end with the equivalent of whatever blue balls are for women, which I’ve proclaimed to be a purple peach. Hey, just go withit,okay?
Anyway, I could either fix my problem with another guy who would break my heart, or I could solve my own problem. Seeing as I’m a DIYer, I’m all for finding alternativesolutions.
About a year ago, I pulled up Amazon and searched for vibrators. Little did I know, there are at least a hundred different varieties; some are simple and get the job done, others . . . well, some are big, and some are small some are quite fancy, some have numerous features, and then there are the types that I couldn’t make heads or tails of (pun intended). I went for simple and cute, figuring it was my best bet, but it was like a dying battery in an electric razor. I needed something with a little more power. So, I moved up a few levels and felt like I was being pried open by the thing. Anyway, it took five tries, but I finally found the “one,” which I call Shermanator because I’m one of those people who need to give everything a name, and I’m just that lonely. In any case, my problem has been solved—no more purplepeach.
Now that it’s been almost a year since I found Shermanator, he hasn’t cheated on me once, and I don’t know what I’d do without him. Changing the batteries once a month is way easier than putting up with the good-looking men I tend to be attracted to, and the typical issues come along with them. I know I’m discriminating against hot men, but they have a track record with me, and itisn’tgood.
After burying Shermanator under my clothes, I zip up my last bag and hoist it up on my knee to get a better grip, then clamber out of my bedroom and head down the hall to the front door. “That should be it,” I chirp, before tripping over a stupid random shoe lying on our matted, green shagcarpeting.
As I’m flying forward and my bag is tumbling through the air, I realize I’ve been so busy packing these last few days that I haven’t had much time to clean up. It’s right this second, just as I’m hitting the ground and temporarily branding my clumsy body with a new bruise that the guilt settles in—or was settling in until the big gasp Dad always makes every time I fall or walk into a wall. You'd think I was getting hit by a car every single time I have a Julia-moment. His gasps are so loud that they actually scare me enough to make me jump. Yup,that'sDad.
“Oh, dear God,” Dad shouts, running toward me. “How have I managed to keep you alive for twenty-two years. People are going to think you've been raised by wolves who never taught you to walk. Areyouokay?”
“Dad, I'm fine,” I tell him, pushing myself up to my knees. I love him to death, but he can be very overly dramatic at times, or sort of allthetime.
“Let me get that for you, Jelly-Bean.” Dad takes the heavy bag from the ground. Thankfully, it didn’t fly open. Obviously, the only thing that could make this dramatic scene worse is if Shermanator had flown from the bag and fallen in front of him. I can hear it now: What’s this Jelly-Bean? Is it one of those funky, thick pens with all the different colors, like the ones you had when you were a kid? I didn’t know they were stillaround.
“I can get my bag, Dad, really,it’sokay.”
“I don’t want you falling again, walking into the closed door, tripping down the steps, or ... seriously, Jelly-Bean, please try to be more careful. I’m not going to be with you in Maine to scrape you off the floor every ten minutes.” Yeah, yeah. My clumsiness is nothing new. Some people have two left feet, some people constantly have their head in the clouds, and some people are lucky enough to be a part of both categories. That would be me. However, I did survive four years of college, so I'll be okay inMainetoo.
I meet Dad at my little, circa-1995ish blue coupe—it’s my other pride and joy, or piece of shit, as Dad refers to it, but right now, it’s my ticket to freedom. “This thing is going to shit itself on the way to Maine. You have that AAA card I gave you, right?”heasks.
“It's not going to die, and yes, I have the card,” Igroan.
