“I didn’t hear you complaining about Kellan when you guys were having sex.” Danni huffs again. “Lu, you haven’t had sex in a long time. It’s been almost a year, right? That’s not healthy for the body; you need to work out those muscles. I’m just concerned about your health.” I can almost hear her grinning as she tries to stifle a giggle.
My cab stops at a red light. I look out my window and see Richard in his car next to me. I tell Danni, laughing.
“How’s his profile? Any bumps or pimples?”
I look over at his profile and see nothing but perfection. I wave to get his attention, but he doesn’t see me and continues to look straight ahead, waiting for the light to change. All of a sudden, I notice his pointer finger heading for his nose. I have an unfortunately clear view, and I am disgusted to see his finger reemerge covered in snot. He examines his treasure and then sticks his finger in his mouth.
The light changes and he speeds away, leaving me to stare out the window in shock and horror. I can hear Danni calling for me, wondering why I am not answering her, but I can’t speak. I’m still trying to comprehend what I just witnessed.
After a minute, it finally hits me and I quickly say good-bye to Danni for the evening, promising to call tomorrow. I feel many urges at once; I want desperately to brush every inch of my mouth, take a long shower, and vomit. My body takes over and chooses an action for me: vomit. I quickly ask the cab driver to pull over so I can throw up.
Chapter 2
Traumatized by witnessing Richard’s habit, I go back to my apartment, rush inside, and lock myself in the bathroom as quietly as I can to avoid waking my roommate. I know that if she is awake, she will want to know details about my date. My apartment isn’t overwhelmingly small, but I do have to walk past my roommate’s door every time I enter.
Our apartment consists of two and a half bedrooms, one bathroom, a narrow kitchen, a large living room, and a comfortable dining room. My bedroom is large enough to allow me to fit my queen size bed, TV, and collection of artwork. It’s not as spacious as I’d prefer, but by New York standards, it’s sizeable. Although we share the bathroom, my bedroom is the closest to it of the two. We choose to use the half-bedroom as a walk in closet, which is packed with all of our clothes and accessories.
Anyone who enters my home can immediately tell that I’m a huge fan of art, based on my bedroom walls, which are covered with paintings and accented by a few small sculptures. I also have some art pieces placed around the apartment with my roommate’s approval. I spend most of my salary on art pieces and can often be found bidding at local art auctions.
After I graduated from college, I leapt at the opportunity to live on my own. I was thrilled when I found a cheap studio in the city. My parents thought I was going through a phase and prayed that the difficulties of city life would scare me away from Manhattan, hoping that I would then return home to marry a nice Italian boy and work in their restaurant, as my sister had done. But after struggling for a period of time, I finally started making more money and decided to upgrade to a one bedroom apartment. Extra walls may not seem like much to most people, but in Manhattan, they’re a luxury. However, at the same time that I was preparing to sign a lease on my new, independent home, my friend Autumn was losing hers. After a breakup with the boyfriend she’d been sharing an apartment with, he threw her out, sending a girl with a broken heart and a teacher’s salary into the mean streets of New York City. With nowhere to go, Autumn had asked if I needed a roommate, and we’d been living together ever since. Luckily, Danni was able to pull some strings on short notice and help us find an apartment better suited for two people in a nice, rent-controlled area of SoHo. Knowing Danni, she’d probably slept with one of the area realtors. Eight months later, and we are still living in the same place and enjoying each other’s company.
I’d been thinking about all of this while feverishly brushing my teeth. By this point, I’d scrubbed my mouth in every way possible, using the amount of mouthwash and toothpaste I’d normally use in a week. Unfortunately, I can’t also scrub my mind to remove the image of Richard picking his nose that I’m still seeing. Those lips, the same ones that I’d just seen wrapped around his snotty finger, had been on my lips just a few hours before; how disgusting.
I brush once more for good measure, indulge in a long, steamy shower, and go into my bedroom to lounge on my bed in my robe, my hair wet. I have the worst luck with men. At the rate things are going, I’m starting to believe someone’s placed a curse on me.
I close my eyes, trying to not get too upset about what had been a sudden end to a seemingly perfect beginning. Handsome, charming, sexy Richard Greenfield—why did he have to pick his nose and eat it? Why did I have to see that? I finally find a man that I’m both physically and mentally attracted to, and then just as things are looking up for my love life, they all fall apart in an instant.
It doesn’t aid in soothing my frustration when I think about how hard it is for me to meet men. The bar and club scene is not my thing. I don’t like it when friends set me up with their own friends, because when the relationship ends, things become awkward with the friend who set me up in the first place. It would be a mistake to date someone at work, because that’s where I spend most of my time.
I lie in bed and think about all of my past relationships, beginning with high school. I was a sophomore when I started dating Matt; we were in the same grade and had been friends since elementary school. That year, Matt had become both my first boyfriend and first kiss at a friend’s house party. I remember that night like it was yesterday—Matt had led me away from the house and all our friends, telling me he had something very important to tell me. We’d walked to the nearby park and sat on the swings. I remember the several minutes of uncomfortable silence that passed while we began to swing. Finally, I’d let out a long sigh. “So … what did you want to tell me?”
He’d groaned and stopped swinging. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
I had stopped swinging when I saw the frustration in his face, thinking that something was wrong. “Just say it.”
“I …” he had stammered, which I’d considered both funny and boyishly attractive at the time. “Lucia, I, um … you are one of my best friends. And I don’t know how you would feel if I tell you what I want to tell you, but I feel if I don’t I might miss my chance because, well, you are very pretty and I see how guys look at you …” his sentence seemed to go on forever as he groaned again, trying to explain his meaning.
I remember having a lump in my throat and feeling almost dizzy with nerves. What is he trying to tell me? I’d wondered.
Then he had let out a long breath and leaned in close. Finally, he’d said the three words that made his meaning clear, his nose hitting my face as he whispered them into my ear: “I like you.”
I had still been shocked about his confession when I’d felt his lips on mine. The kiss was light and uncertain, as if he were afraid of what my reaction might be. As I’d leaned in closer, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in. His lips had moved swiftly from my lips to my cheek, then to my nose, and finally to every inch of my face, as he covered it with little pecks. After a few minutes of kissing, he had pulled away with eyes bright and glowing, a large smile on his face. Words weren’t needed as we walked back to the house hand-in-hand, this time as boyfriend and girlfriend.
Matt Davis was captain of the football team, a member of the school council, and frequent member of the honor roll. He came from a loving family and looked like the average American boy: blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, with a few pimples left over from puberty. I was the captain of the volleyball team and a volunteer at the local hospital, but the similarities ended there. I was still undeveloped physically, with over-protective parents and a large, loud Italian family. I looked like the typical Italian girl with straight, dark, bouncy hair that extended past my shoulders and came to rest in the middle of my back. I had hazel eyes with long, dark lashes, and olive skin. I still look th
e same, except for a few new curves and wrinkles to show my age.
Matt had been my best friend and we were known to do everything together. We went to both junior and senior prom, cheered at each other’s sporting events, studied for our SATs, and practiced the art of kissing every day. Matt was my first everything: my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first love, my first sexual experience, and my first heartbreak. The first time we told each other we loved each other was on July 4 before junior year, while watching the fireworks at Jones Beach. He had pulled me close and turned to me, giving me one of his goofy smiles while he said that he loved me. I had been so happy that I’d practically pounced on him, telling him repeatedly that I loved him too while he held me and giggled.
The first time we made love was on July 4 before senior year. We had decided to go away with a bunch of friends to the Hamptons, where Danni’s parents owned a house. After a barbeque and some lounging around the pool, we had watched the firework show put on by one of the neighbors. Throughout the whole show, I was a nervous wreck as I thought about what we were planning to do later. Matt and I had talked about the night for weeks; we both wanted our first time to be special and memorable. I remember trying so hard to focus on the fireworks instead of worrying.
Later, when we’d gone back to the house, Matt and I went to our room. I had on a black lace slip that Danni had helped me pick out from Victoria’s Secret the week before, and Matt had set the room up with candles. After the usual kissing and feeling that we were both accustomed to, he had taken off my slip and his boxers and put on a condom, settling himself between my shaky legs. Before he entered me, he asked me one more time if I was sure that I was ready, and with a slight nod from me he entered me, taking both our virginities. Pain had consumed me and I’d held onto his forearms, pressing my nails deep into his skin. I had felt wetness on my cheeks and realized I was crying. We’d tried to continue in our attempt at making love, but it had been too painful for me, and he was clearly not enjoying it while worrying about me. We had decided to stop before we finished, instead jumping into the bathtub to relax our tense bodies.
After that night, we didn’t try to make love again for weeks. Matt was too afraid to touch me and I didn’t know how to start touching him. Finally, after Danni’s constant nagging and advice, I decided to focus on trying to seduce him. After that, our sex life went from nonexistent to nonstop; we were like newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.
Eventually all good things must come to an end. I’d thought Matt and I were going to get married when we finished college, which would have pleased my parents—they loved him and were already calling him their son—but with both us going to different colleges in different states, Matt decided during freshman year that it would be better to part ways and try to remain friends. I was at NYU studying film and TV while Matt was at Georgetown studying political science. We had tried the long distance relationship but after time, I noticed Matt pulling away; he began visiting and calling less. Finally, he’d called to confess that he’d found someone else—a fellow political science major at Georgetown. Remembering that phone call still makes my heart ache. I had been in the middle of studying for an exam when I answered the phone, eager to hear his voice.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.” His voice sounded deeper than usual, as if he’d been crying.
I had risen from my desk chair, worried by the sound of his voice. “You OK?”
He had let out a long, stressful sigh, “No, not really. I don’t know how to say this …”
As his voice had trailed off, I felt my heart beat faster, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe and speak. I had squeaked out, “Say what?”
“Lucia, I will always love you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, already feeling the tears fall from my eyes. His tone had said it all. With a trembling voice I’d begged, “Please don’t do this. Matt, I love you.” I remember trying to think of some way to change his mind.
With a shaky voice of his own he’d said the dooming words, “I’m sorry, but I have to.”
For a few minutes Matt had let me cry into the phone, listening to every plea I delivered. Finally, I’d asked the question that I’d been dreading: “What’s her name?”
He replied, “Cindy.”
With that, Matt and I were finished.
After that, I finally gained the freshman fifteen while trying to numb my broken heart with Mexican food and beer. For a year, I refused to date anyone. I felt like a failure with my dead relationship while my sister and Danni were both in happy relationships with their boyfriends. I was miserable and just focused on my school work, while outside it felt like the rest of the world was celebrating Valentine’s Day every day. I couldn’t take twenty steps without seeing some happy couple holding hands and stealing kisses.
When Danni suddenly got engaged during the summer before junior year, I snapped out of my depression. Overweight and unhappy, I decided to rebel against the world. That summer, I spent every day at the gym, releasing tension from my body.
When I returned to school in the fall, I had lost weight and dyed my hair blonde. Hardly anyone recognized me. It made me feel good, like I’d been given a chance to start over. I met Ben one night in a study group that my friend and future roommate Autumn had dragged me to. We became fast friends and began hanging out every night.
Ben Nicolas was a junior like me. A tall guitar player from Florida, he had dark hair, tattoos, eyes so dark that they were almost black, and a tongue ring. He played in a band, wrote his own songs, and introduced me to hardcore rock; he was a talented. We started off as friends, me serving as his tour guide in the city, and he slowly drawing out my wild side. He took me to get a tattoo with him,—three little stars on my right hip,—something I’d always wanted but was too chicken to get. We went to concerts together, drank all night, rallied for causes, and he showed me how to smoke weed.
Soon our relationship grew, in spite of my family and friends’ disapproval. Ben took me to Florida to visit his family and go to Walt Disney World, and I was surprised to discover that his family was the complete opposite of the man that I knew; they had blonde hair, blue eyes, and conservative style. Still, they welcomed me with warm smiles and opened arms. During our visit to the Magic Kingdom, we went on the Peter Pan ride because it was one of my favorite Disney movies, and he kissed me, sealing our feelings. Ben made me feel comfortable to be myself and loved my rebellious side when others didn’t.
We took our time with our new relationship, making sure not to rush into anything. He understood my fears of my heartbreak and respected my desire to move slowly, both physically and emotionally. It wasn’t until the final days of junior year that Ben and I expressed our true feelings for each other. I remember walking into his apartment, hearing Dave Matthews Band playing. Ben was dressed in a black shirt, tie, and dark jeans, with his hair styled. He smelled of the cologne I’d given him for our first month anniversary. He led me to a table set with dining ware, candles, and flowers. He made me eggplant parmesan and spaghetti, and we drank a bottle of my father’s homemade wine that I’d brought. After dinner, we made our way to his room, which was unusually clean. After a few minutes of kissing on his bed, Ben pulled away from me and looked deep into my eyes. I turned my head away and kissed his neck, uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze.
“Don’t do that.” He cupped my face gently with both hands and turned it toward him. “Don’t hide from me.” He moved a strand of hair from my face, and gently caressed my cheek. He said in a deep voice, “Lucia, my beautiful girl, I love you.”
His words took my breath away because I could actually see the sincerity in his face.
He gently pushed my body down so my back would lie on the bed. Hovering over me, he leaned his forehead against mine. I could feel every part of his body covering me, like a blanket shielding me from the cold.
He whispered, “Lucia, you don’t have to be afraid. Let go. Let me in.”
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That’s exactly what I did as we finally made love.
After that night, things were wonderful for a while. But once again, I met heartbreak. After graduation, Ben got a job offer in California. While I was thrilled for him, I’d gotten an offer in Manhattan. Although Ben was willing to give up his dream job in order to stay and be with me, I knew he would one day resent me for it; I told him to choose his dreams. When it came time for me to take him to JFK airport, and out of my life for good, I finally broke down in his arms and cried. That day, Ben took a part of my heart with him. I had lost both my boyfriend and my protector. For some time, we tried to keep in contact by phone and e-mail, but hearing each other’s voices without being able to be together continued to grow more difficult. Finally, we decided that it would be best to try and move on with our lives by cutting off contact. Since that final conversation, I haven’t spoken to Ben once, although I still occasionally think of him.
After that second failed relationship and broken heart, I dyed my hair back to my original hair color and grew out of my “wild” ways. I worked as a freelancer, doing P. A. work on different television shows and movies. I dated some men but remained distant—no emotion, and no chance at risking heartbreak. Danni was married, Autumn was living with her boyfriend, and I was living by myself in a small studio.
Autumn Owen believes in the fairytale love story. She is always on the search for her Prince Charming, with a list of criteria she uses to determine a man’s eligibility as a potential husband. While I was moping about being single in the city, she was busy getting her master’s degree. Autumn is extremely smart and nurturing, known as the mother hen of my group of friends. A girl-next-door beauty, Autumn is petite at five foot two, with shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair and sparkling green eyes.
Chat Love Page 2