by Teagan Kade
I’ve done it now. I place my glass down, my hand shaking and brain working overtime. “It’s common knowledge, isn’t it?”
“Because I’ve slept with half the girls on campus? That’s what you’re really implying, isn’t it?”
That one really hurts, but I do my best to let it go. “I guess.”
I can see him questioning it. He’s about to press at it when someone knocks the table, spilling his glass of sangria, apologizing profusely. He waves it off and returns his attention to me. “Speaking of which,” he says, his eyes moving away from me to sweep the tables around us, “maybe it’s time I found a new project.”
It takes me a second or two to work out he’s talking about finding someone to sleep with. My heart drops through the floor. But that sense of abandonment, that absolute slap in the face, suddenly becomes irritation. “Maybe you should concentrate on taking it easy. Doc’s orders,” I tell him, thinking back to how his brother phrased it.
“What are you?” he snaps. “My mom?”
I reach for him when he goes to stand, having settled on something, or someone. “Titus…”
“What?”
But I don’t have anything to say. Why can’t I just tell him what he’s forgotten? Grr, it’s driving me insane. I know doing so would only cause him problems. He probably wouldn’t even believe me.
“Nothing,” I relent, letting him go, because what else am I going to do? Restrain him? Strap him to the table. It’s useless. I am useless.
He’s still looking at me, though it seems like more of a mental inspection than a casual glance. “You okay?” he asks. “You look kind of pissed off.”
Because I am! I want to scream. How can you do this to me?
Irritation boils over into anger. I fold my arms instead, looking away from him, my words acerbic and sharp. “Just go.”
His reaction’s expected, predictable. “Fuck. Fine.”
Out of the corner of my eye I watch him make a beeline for a blonde at the bar I loosely recognize from the Crestfall cheerleading crowd.
Titus puts his arms out. “Kelly!”
She lights up at the sight of him, straightening up and her curves following suit. It’s making me sick watching it unfold. “Titus.” I see her mouth. “Long time no see.” I think she asks him about his head.
He taps a finger against the side of it, pointing down to his dick.
She laughs, holding onto his arm for support, and I cannot watch another second.
I turn away, temper building, my head a hornet’s nest.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’m suffocating.
Panic pulls at every nerve and pore. I’m lightheaded, fast losing control. That’s the last thing I want, to drop unconscious here and create a scene.
But as much as I want to, need to leave, I can’t help but look back over at Titus.
And what I see makes me sick to my stomach.
CHAPTER FIVE
TITUS
I keep one eye on Maya as I flirt with Kelly. I know I’m being obvious, a jerk, but fuck it. Getting my dick wet has helped in the past, albeit fleetingly. That much I remember. Why should now be any different?
Kelly’s the usual Crestfall bar-crawler thirsty for cock, so the degree of difficulty is low. But this isn’t a challenge. I simply want to get off and forget about this my stupid fucking head of mine for a second.
Kelly’s got her chest pressed out, nails tapping on the top of the bar. Her cosmo’s almost empty. I order another.
“So,” she says, drawing out the ‘o’, “is tonight going to be my lucky night? Will I finally get my chance to be your queen?”
I bring my attention back to her, placing my hand on her hip and rolling out the line. “I think I am going to be the lucky one, baby.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop it, you!” said with all the truth of a laugh track. She playfully pushes at my chest.
I pretend to teeter. “And here I was thinking you cheerleaders didn’t do any strength training.”
She shifts closer to me, breath heavy with Cointreau and cranberry. She reaches to my crotch, squeezing at my cock. “Wait ’til you see what I can do with my thighs.”
“Hmm,” I muse, having heard it all before. I bring my hand around to her ass, can still see Maya throwing me daggers from the table, but why? What does she care? I don’t even know why it’s gnawing at me so much.
“I can see you have been working out.” A hand squeezing my arm, eyes glassy with multiple forms of intoxication. It’s a look I know well, a look I love in many ways, because yeah, you do have to work for a body like this. Fucking bimbos like Kelly here is simply due reward. Any King will tell you that.
Don’t I deserve to be rewarded? Especially after all the shit I’ve had to put up with lately? I might have forgotten many things, but I’m damn sure the ability to get myself off isn’t one of them. Kelly? I’m pretty sure I could whisper her name and she’d come buckets. Girls like Kelly aren’t interested in the actual act. They’ve fucked a hundred guys and worked it out well enough. No, they want the prestige, a little tick in the bucket list they share amongst their friends that ‘yes, I slept with a King and it was a-maze-ing.’ I’m a walking, talking Make-A-Wish.
“I do what I can,” I reply, softly squeezing her ass. “Got to keep my game up.”
She keeps rubbing at my arm like it’s a magic fucking lamp. “Oh, you’re so good out there on the field. You’re a-maze-ing with that big bat of yours,” and I can’t tell if she’s talking inside my head or not.
I lean closer, whispering into her ear and feeling her tense and tighten at my words. “How’d you like to take it for a spin, get your hands around it, see how it feels to be a superstar?”
She squeezes my cock again. “I’d like that very much.” She reaches for what’s left of her cosmo, downing it like a seasoned pro. “My place?”
“Sounds perfect.”
She takes my hand. “Lead the way.”
It’s like we’re reading off a script, and hell, maybe we are, but this is the meaningless shit I’m used to—the regular play.
I catch sight of Maya on the way out and she does not look happy. She seems serious sometimes, distant, yes, but this is new. She looks… mad? Because what? She thinks she knows me, thinks I can do better?
She’s your tutor, I remind myself, not your fucking nanny.
Still, there’s a pinch inside me, a knot in my stomach as I pass her, because if nothing else she looks wounded, like I’ve somehow popped up and shot an arrow right into her chest.
I’ve got no doubt it’s because I’m leaving with someone else, but out of nowhere, my own, visceral reaction to her pain is coming. It’s sure as hell not from any place I’m familiar with. Any place I can recall.
I brush it off and place my arm around Kelly, leading us out towards the parking lot.
“Who was that girl at the table?” she asks.
“No one,” I reply, surprised again at the phantom pain that follows.
*
I’m not surprised to find Kelly’s in the lowest form of accommodation on campus, colloquially known as ‘The Halls.’ Her room’s small and tight, barely enough space for a bed and a desk. That doesn’t mean she’s skimped on decoration, with fairy lights and Crestfall flags, a giant sticker on the wall above the bed that reads ‘You have to look through the rainbow to see the rain.’
Jesus.
She closes the door behind us and bounces over to a bar fridge under the desk, opening it and handing me a beer.
“I’m good.”
This throws her off for a second until her smile reappears. She places the beer down. Her fingers creep up my chest, inching towards my neck until her arms are around it. “Right to business then. I’m okay with that.”
I take hold of her ass, lifting her up and tossing her onto the bed.
She laughs. “Wow, you are strong.”
I shed my shirt and flex, climbing over her until we’re face to face on the
bed. I go for the playbook. “Tell me you want my cock.”
“I want your cock,” she purrs, her hands starting to fumble with my belt, and fumble’s the operative word. She’s getting nowhere.
I kiss her, hoping to spark something, but it’s all physical. My lips are pressing against hers. They’re warm and soft, a little chapped, the distant taste of alcohol and saliva, but it ain’t going to get my cock hard.
“Yes, baby,” she coos, putting on her porn star best.
I had to shove a pillow over a girl’s face once. She sounded like a fucking alarm clock every time I thrust inside her.
I cover her mouth with my own and take the hand that’s been trying to undo my belt, shoving it past my waistband.
She finds my cock and starts to pump it loosely. I start to get hard, thank God, even though her technique is terrible. The friction is enough to get the job done.
I’m kissing her, she has her hand around my dick, but for some reason I’m thinking about automatic differentiation. And Maya. The way her finger wandered over the page, helping me to understand the problem, the botanical scent of her perfume, hint of a silky white bra strap under her shirt.
My erection becomes firmer, a fucking rock as Kelly strokes away at it crying, “Yes! I want it. Give me your big fat cock,” against my lips.
“Take off your pants,” I tell her, lifting up so she has room to bring her knees up and pull off her jeans. She’s wearing a neon thong from Victoria’s Secret about twenty shades too bright. I know exactly what I’m going find underneath and suddenly, thinking back to studying and Maya and the injury I start to second-guess this.
What the hell are you doing? I ask myself.
It all feels wrong.
I try to ignore it, kiss her again, but there’s nothing there. I may as well be tongue-lashing a brick wall.
I pull up, shaking my head.
“What is it?” Kelly asks, pouting like a Cocker Spaniel below.
“It’s nothing.”
Both her hands go down my pants, tugging and twisting like she’s trying to pull up a weed, but my erection’s failing. Everything’s failing. The system’s going down.
“You can put it in my ass if you want?
And my god, that’s probably the saddest come-on I’ve ever heard. Normally I’d be all over it, but for some reason hearing the desperation in her voice makes it sound like she’s asking for a medical procedure, fucking elective surgery.
I can’t do it.
I climb off the bed and stand. I run my hands through my hair.
“Did you have too much to drink?” she asks, kneeling there on her bed with shock on her face. “Is it me?”
“No, I just…” I can’t even summon a proper excuse. “I’m losing it.”
I point to the door. “I’m just going to go.”
“Wait, Titus. I can do anything you want. Just tell me.”
“Another time.” I smile, opening the door and walking fast down the hall.
At least she didn’t try to catch me on foot. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I practically run out of there until I hit the street.
I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if it’s related to my head injury, if there’s some strange cock-mind connection that’s been severed the doc failed to inform me about, but this is not me. I should be pounding that poor girl through the wall right now and instead I’m out here moping like some emo. If my brothers saw me now…
There’s a frat party going on two doors down. A bunch of naked guys go running off down the street painted like Smurfs. I’ve seen worse.
I walk up the street to find somewhere quieter, taking out my cell and dialing an Uber.
I shove my hands into my pockets and breathe. The erection I had has wilted like a flag in the rain. I really don’t know what happened. Physically, everything was there. I was hard, I was ready, but I couldn’t get past that damn emotional block that’s been lingering around these last few days. When I try to dig deeper, to get to the root of the issue, I come up with a big cup of nothing.
Except… Maya—there I go thinking about her again, because I’m getting hella sure she’s got something to do with this.
I don’t know what, but I’m damn well going to find out.
CHAPTER SIX
MAYA
I’m a mess before I get back to the apartment. The Uber driver asks if I’m in trouble, if I need to go the hospital. I’m tempted to tell him to take me to the morgue instead, because I feel nothing but dead inside.
The driver’s still questioning me as I leave the car, but I don’t have any strength to reply. I make it through the door, past Chrissy, and puke my guts up, sobbing out anything that’s not left in my stomach until I’m pretty certain I’m all out of tears, too.
Chrissy rubs my back from behind. “God, I haven’t seen you drunk like, ever, but this is something more, isn’t it?”
I nod because my throat burns too much to speak.
“Clean yourself up and meet me in the living room. We’ll talk all about it—if you want,” she adds. “If you don’t, I’ve got stale Cheez-Its and half a bottle of Dr Pepper.”
I wash up and make it to the living room. My head’s killing me, my stomach’s rumbling in all kinds of distress, and I’m not sure I can stand for much longer knowing Titus, my beautiful Titus, is out there screwing some blonde idiot he’s going to forget five seconds later and all because he can’t remember what we had, that what we had wasn’t powerful enough to transcend a silly knock to the head.
And I couldn’t stop him.
I sat there like a fool and watched him walk away with her.
I take a seat on the sofa and lean my head on Chrissy’s shoulder, thankful at least for that. I’m not sure what would happen if I was alone right now.
“So, do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
“Hungry?”
I shake it again.
“Horny?”
I shake it more vigorously.
“The Shoulder of Comfort it is then.”
She strokes my hair softly, telling me it’s going to be alright.
More than anything, I feel betrayed. I know Titus doesn’t remember what we had, but isn’t there an inkling there, a faint outline in his head of me and what a big part of his life I am?
Was, I correct.
It’s infuriating, maddeningly frustrating. I just want it to end.
I think about all the time we spent together…
God, I can’t do it.
It’s what he did to us tonight that’s really killing me.
But it’s not his fault, I argue. He doesn’t know.
He should. What we had should have been strong enough to get through, to push aside something as trivial as retrograde amnesia.
Trivial. Yeah.
We weren’t in a fling. I wasn’t one of his Crestfall floozies. We shared our deepest, darkest desires and dreams. We wrote down, literally, how we’d grow old together and where, what our children would look like and what we’d call them—Boston for a boy, Amelie for a girl. How can I just push all that aside and move on?
I don’t know if I can.
I say goodnight to Chrissy and go through the motions. I shower and dress. I brush my teeth and feel my feet leave the floor as I climb into bed. But I’m alone. Even though Chrissy is right next door, and has made it clear she’ll help me no matter what, I am alone. It’s that thought which is scariest of all.
Trying to sleep is useless. It’s been days since I’ve had a decent sleep. I probably look like a panda getting around campus, maybe an extra from the Walking Dead at a stretch, but that’s my life now.
It doesn’t have to be, I remind myself, but even that attempt at a midnight rally sounds watered down.
Lying there in bed, I realize I’m grieving—for what I’ve lost, for what could have been and never will. Titus may never look at me the way he once did, and that simple thought breaks my heart. No,
it’s more than that. It rips it clean out of my body and shatters it into a million tiny pieces I can never hope to reassemble.
I know Chrissy will tell me there are more fish in the sea. She’s eternally optimistic like that, but being with Titus wasn’t a fling or a college whimsy. What we had was genuine and real and bonafide soulmate material. We weren’t about to drive to Vegas and elope, but the groundwork was there, there was a map to the future and now it’s dust in the wind. Any hope of happiness has gone with it.
Grow up, I tell myself, trying to tough love myself out of this hole. This is the real world. Shit happens.
But it’s just so god damn unfair.
I hear Chrissy in my head and she’s singing a different tune. ‘You’ve got to keep trying,’ she’s trilling, and I know it’s me, that optimism somewhere lost inside me trying to break out. ‘Keep trying. Do not give up,’ this tiny Chrissy trapped in my head continues. ‘Think, would he give you up if you were the one in his position?’
I don’t know why I haven’t looked at it from this perspective before, but it changes everything, because no, he would not give up no matter what. I’ve seen how he can drum out determination before, that grit out on the field when the bases are loaded and it’s looking bleak. I’ve seen him pull damn miracles out there on the Crestfall diamond and I know he’d find another way to get back to me if it was me in that hospital bed. Why can’t I do him the same service? Am I that weak?
No, I shout internally.
Fuck no, I tell myself.
You are going to persevere.
You’re going to persevere and you’re going to overcome.
You’re going to get him back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TITUS
It’s icy when Maya arrives the following day. I expected as much, but this is more than Alaskan levels of cool. I’m talking deep freeze.
In my room, books spread out in front of me, I attempt to break said ice. “So,” I begin, tapping my pen against the page, “how was the rest of your night?”
“Not as exciting as yours, I bet,” she snaps. “You going to finish that equation or stare at it all day?”
I return my attention to the page. “Jesus. Yes, commandant,” I salute.