by C. Shell
I guess I was wrong.
With tears clouding my eyes, I start up the car and follow Patrick back to the dorm. My nerves are shot and my mind is a mess. Bella only has a few months left before she graduates. I’ve got a small window of time to come up with a large deposit to secure her education. My mother does well to keep her own head above water, which means it’s up to me to make sure Bella has a chance at the future she deserves.
My spine straightens and my tears dry up as my resolve strengthens. I’m not one to roll over and play dead when times get tough. I will find a way to make this work. And Conner can suck my big toe because I won’t be caving to his manipulation.
I don’t need the Thompson’s money, and I sure as hell don’t need their son. I’ll do everything in my power to prove it.
Chapter Five
Feeling the mattress dip beside me, I roll over and pry open my heavy eyes to find Becca frowning down at me.
“What’s up?” I question, my voice as scratchy as sandpaper.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty. Time to get ready for class. If you miss another day, the dean will ask questions which will result in damage to your scholarship status.”
“Adulting sucks.” With a groan, I haul my tired ass out of bed and blink against the harsh light filtering through the thin curtain. My muscles hurt almost as much as my head does. I feel as if someone ran over me with a steam roller.
After I got home last night and got everything situated in our room, Becca and Patrick sat me down and grilled me about my life with Conner. They reminded me of concerned parents, not that I would know anything about that. They’re worried about me. I understand their concern, but I think once the shock wears off, Conner will accept our break-up for what it is and move on. Once word gets around campus that he’s a free agent, girls will jump at the chance to take my place. He’s already proved that he isn’t above spreading the love. Pretty soon, I will be nothing but a distant memory.
If that’s not a depressing thought, then I don’t know what is.
Squinting at the clock beside Becca’s bed, I try to make out the numbers through bleary eyes. “What time is it?”
“9:15,” she retorts with a knowing smirk. “You overslept.”
My first class of the day begins at ten o’clock, which will make getting dressed, caffeinated, fed, and all the way across campus a feat. If I skip a shower and breakfast, I might have a chance of making it in time.
Maybe.
I might stink and have a rumbling belly, but at least I won’t be marked absent.
“I hate mornings,” I grumble and roll myself until my feet hit the floor.
Grabbing a discarded pair of jeans off the floor, I check them for stains before sliding them on. Adding a sports bra and blue shirt, I finish the ensemble with my ratty- yet comfortable -white chucks. I feel like death warmed over. I doubt I look much better. Becca continues to lounge on her bed reading some magazine with a hot actor donning the front while I run around collecting my books and whatnot.
“No classes today?” I ask with a quirked brow.
“I’m taking a creative day,” she answers, not once looking up from her magazine.
Despite my lack of time, I stop and stare at her, my interest piqued. “What the hell is a creative day and how can I get one?”
“It means that my creative juices are flowing. Going to class will only squash my ingeniousness, so I’m choosing to stay home and relish in it.”
My smile can’t be helped. “You’re reading a trashy magazine. That doesn’t scream creative to me. You should call it what it really is. You’re enjoying a lazy day. I don’t see you accomplishing much more, so you might as well own it.”
Becca finally glances up at me, her expression one of contentment. “Yee of little faith,” she toots. “My inspiration is lying dormant at the moment.” She taps at the center of her chest. “I can feel it growing. As soon as it reveals itself, I will pounce on that bitch and make her mine. Until then, I’m storing up my energy.”
“Wow,” I exclaim in mock excitement. “I almost forgot that I was sharing a room with the next Van Gogh.” With my toiletry bag in hand and a bounce in my step, I head down the hall to the bathroom, hoping to create a masterpiece myself.
One look in the mirror and my hopes go up in flames.
It looks like I wrestled with the devil and lost. My rats’ nest hair stands out against by my puffy red eyes and washed out skin. I won’t be winning any beauty pageants today. Pulling a washcloth from my bag, I soak it in cold water before holding it against my face. I repeat the process until the swelling decreases and my eyes look less swollen. It’s not a miracle cure, but it helps.
After working a brush through my knotted hair and yanking out a few strands in the process, I dab on make-up until my face stops resembling the walking dead. I haven’t been this tired since I was a freshman during finals week.
Being rushed always makes me moody. Until I get some caffeine running through my veins, my temperament won’t be getting any better. Therefore, I end up practically jogging to the coffee shop, demanding a double espresso, and drinking it so fast I end up with a scalded tongue.
Not my smartest moment. I’m sticking to an iced coffee from here on out. Or at least until my tongue heals.
The rest of my day goes by in a haze of lectures from boring professors. I write down all the assignments and answer questions when called upon, but I’m in a daze. The professor’s words are nothing but background noise to my inner dialogue of self-doubt.
I can’t stop wondering if there is something I could’ve done differently to keep my relationship with Conner from turning into one massive heap of steamy shit. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment things between us went south. I thought we were happy. Sure, we had the occasional fight or disagreement, but what couple doesn’t? At the end of English Lit, I pull out my phone and send Becca a text.
Me: What are you up to?
Becca: Packing up some food. Patrick and I are meeting outside the commons area for a little picnic. Want to join us?
Me: Yes, please! I’m starving. Heading there now. See you soon.
With my books packed away, I head across the tree-lined walkway toward the community square where the commons area is located. The weather is beautiful today with sunny skies and a nice cool wind, which is playing havoc on my hair, pushing strands of it in my face more times than not. The weather in Texas is never subtle. You either melt from the heat or freeze from the cold, it’s rare we get a nice combination of both.
Arriving outside the two-story complex, I prop a hip against one of the towering oak trees and search the area for my friends. I have to squint to see through the sun-filled square, but I easily make out Becca’s uniquely bright pink-streaked hair among a sea of customary shaded locks dotting the lawn.
Crossing the manicured lawn, I sink down onto their outstretched velvety blanket and let out a tired sigh. “This day is turning out to be longer than my Uncle Jameson’s beard. And that’s saying something. That scroungy hair of his sweeps the ground.”
Becca laughs. My eyes blink open and, I smile. “How’s your creative day going?”
Becca pops a strawberry in her mouth and chews slowly before answering. “My day has been nice so far. Why do you look so worn out?”
I shrug and give her a tentative grin. I don’t want to talk about my failed relationship, so I sidestep her question. “Thanks for saying I look bad,” I tease. I snag a carrot stick off her plate and munch on it noisily. “What’s with all the rabbit food?”
“Trying something different.” She shoves another berry in her trap, not missing a beat. “I read that if you eat only high-quality vegetables and drink purified water for fifteen days straight that it will cleanse your body, mind, and spirit. A friend of mine tried it and said it changed her whole life. Her grades improved, her skin cleared up, and she had tons of energy. It even enhanced her sex life.”
“What’s wrong with our sex life?” Patrick q
uestions with furrowed brows. “You weren’t complaining earlier. I’ve got the scratches down my back to prove it. Your nails are as sharp as a cat.”
My nose scrunches as I watch them make lovey-dovey eyes at each other. Gross. “Please stop,” I groan. “Hearing about your sex life is enough to make my ears bleed.”
Laughter bubbles out of Becca. “Don’t be a Debby Downer,” she touts. “Embrace your sexuality. I sure as hell do. I enjoy getting my freak on.”
“Trust me, I know. It’s hard not to when we share a room,” I mutter under my breath.
“Oops. Sorry about that,” Becca snickers. “We’ll be better,” she promises. “No more getting down and dirty when you’re home.” She holds up two fingers, her face turning serious. “Scouts honor.”
Patrick laughs, his whole body shaking with the motion. “And on that note, I’m going to the cafeteria in search of some real food. I need something besides veggies, nuts, and fruits. Men can’t survive on this stuff. I need meat.”
Becca blinks, appearing upset over his belittling of her diet. “Cavemen foraged for food. They ate these same things. If it’s good enough for them, then it should be good enough for you.”
Patrick’s lips twitch into an amused smile. He’s smart enough to know that arguing with Becca is a lost cause. Even when she’s dead wrong, she’s always right. “I’ll be back soon.” He drags his lips across hers before standing and heading across the lawn.
Once Patrick is out of sight, Becca scoots in close so we can talk in private. The mischievous gleam in her eyes gives me pause. “What are you up to?” I ask.
“Patrick and I were just discussing what party we should hit up this weekend. His fraternity is planning a decent size bash Friday night that sounds promising. I was thinking you should come with.”
My nose scrunches in distaste. The thought of spending a night surrounded by a bunch of drunk frat boys doesn’t sound appealing. The few parties I’ve been to always end with us getting shit faced and waking up with a hangover from hell.
“Or?” I prompt, hoping she has a better alternative.
“Well,” she hums. “We could try out that new club that just opened up downtown. I’ve heard some good things about it. Either way, it gives us a chance to get out of the dorm, dress-up, drink too much, and shake what the good Lord gave us.”
Becca’s heart is in the right place, but I’m not ready to party yet. My heart needs more time to heal. Throwing her a thoughtful look, I release a heavy breath. “Not to be a party pooper, but I have a date with a bucket of popcorn and as much Netflix as my brain can handle. You and Patrick should make plans without me.”
Becca’s easy smile contorts to a hard line. I brace for whatever reprimand she’s about to dish out, and true to form, she doesn’t disappoint. “You sound like an old maid,” she huffs. “You need to stop moping around and get back on that horse. Ride it until Conner is nothing but a distant memory. I know you’ve got it in you.” She bats her eyelashes at me. “We’re still young. Live a little, make mistakes, and enjoy every damn minute of it.”
“I’m not moping. I’m… I’m.” My mouth snaps shut, and I stare at her with wide eyes. Shit. Becca is right. I am moping around. I don’t like this new side of me. Feeling defensive, I fight back. “I’m fun,” I argue. “Just because I like to veg out and watch movies doesn’t mean I don’t know how to let loose. There’s a long list of crazy things I’ve done that you don’t know about.”
Her expression turns smug. “Like what?” she challenges. “Name something.”
My brain scrambles for an answer. I come up with a few examples, but they’re weak at best. That doesn’t mean I’m backing down. Not now. Not ever. “Conner and I were a fun couple. We had this weekend tradition where we would go check out different flea markets. We even went as far as Louisiana once. That’s where that old whiskey barrel table came from that you like so much.” Becca looks horrified. She has obviously never been to a flea market. You can find all sorts of questionable characters hanging out there.
“I’m going to act like you didn’t just call flea market shopping crazy fun,” she laughs. “Going to a flea market is something you do with a partner after years of settling down and having kids.” She gives me a pointed look. “Try again.”
I’m not throwing in the towel. There’s got to be something I’ve done that’s not lame. I snap my fingers as a memory surfaces. “I went to that Halloween party at the beginning of the year with you and Patrick. We drank a lot of boos-berry punch that night, and I hid Mark Teddit’s car keys in the bushes when he refused to dance with you. That was a crazy night.”
Becca looks at me with sad eyes. This isn’t going how I imagined. Laying a hand on my leg, she pats it the way a mother would to an upset child. “Going to a party, dancing all night and getting shit faced is a normal college experience. I’m talking about doing more than that. Something unexpected. Like wading into the ocean with all your clothes on just because you want to go for a swim. Or better yet, dressing up in your sluttiest lingerie and fucking someone until your muscles give out, your mind goes blank, and your vagina screams uncle.”
Envy colors me green. “Do you and Patrick have sex like that?”
She bites back a sly smile. “Patrick might look like a pretty boy, but he’s a stallion under the sheets. He puts my dirty mind to shame. You wouldn’t believe the things he can do with a bag of Skittles and a pint of ice cream.” She pauses and licks her lips. “Just thinking about it makes me want to go find him and drag him back to my bed.”
My mind scrambles as I recall the many colorful candies I’ve seen in our room. I just thought Becca had a weakness for Skittles. I never imagined them being used for anything other than a snack. Gross. Just gross. And how does ice cream fit into that scenario? The image is too much. I don’t want to know anymore.
Becca is oblivious to my distress and keeps babbling. “I think this break-up will be good for you. You’re like a baby fawn learning to walk all over again. Conner was nothing but a massive black hole that sucked up every bit of your fun.”
My head tilts at that. Deep down I know Becca’s right and that pisses me off. Unknowingly, I gave up a huge part of myself when I signed on to be Connor’s plus one. He never sacrificed for me, and yet, I was always changing my life to fit his needs and wants. This realization leaves me feeling frustrated and wanting to punch something.
A night of drinking and bad decisions is sounding better by the minute. I’ve got to get out of this funk and find my groove again. I’m like Angela Bassett in that old movie How Stella Got Her Groove Back. Just like her, this is my chance to spread my wings and find the old me.
Before I can respond to Becca, my phone chirps, interrupting the moment. “Hold that thought,” I say. “This conversation isn’t over.” Fishing my phone out of my back pocket, I glance down at the screen and read the incoming text.
Connor: You look beautiful today.
A sliver of unease creeps down my spine. As discreetly as possible, I raise my head and glance around in search of anyone fitting his build. With the sun high in the sky, the lawn is full of people either eating or just hanging out until their next class. I can only make out a handful of students, and those are the ones closest to us. Anyone in the distance is a lost cause.
I type a quick reply.
Me: Stalking me now? I didn’t know that was your style. This is a big school. I’m sure there are enough girls around to keep your attention. Leave me alone.
Connor: I’m not stalking, just admiring what’s mine.
I roll my eyes so hard I almost give myself a headache. “You look upset. Who’s texting you?” Becca asks. I wave her off. With my blood pumping and my anger on the rise, I punch out a quick response.
Me: Give up, Conner. We’re over. Find someone new to cheat on.
Powering down my phone, I shove it back into my pocket with a heavy sigh. Becca’s eyes narrow on me. She packs up the uneaten food and when she’s done; she si
ts back, crosses her arms, and pins me with a glare.
“Was that him?”
“Don’t start,” I warn, my jaw clenching in aggravation. Conner always knows how to get under my skin. I chew on my thumbnail and look away, needing a moment to calm down. When I feel my shoulders relax, I glance her way and offer her a smile. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
She snorts. “What does he want this time?”
I shrug. “He’s just butt hurt. Breakups aren’t easy and being turned down isn’t something Conner’s used to.”
Becca responds thoughtfully. “I know just the thing to cheer you up.”
My blink is gradual. “And what would that be?”
“You and I are going to Patrick’s fraternity party this weekend. We will make a night of it and I’m going to remind you what real fun feels like.”
I should have seen that one coming.
The word no rests heavy on the tip of my tongue. Fraternity parties are loud, wild, and totally not what I’m in the mood for. Turning her down would be the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, Becca’s right. It’s time for me to get out of my comfort zone and what better way to do that than a college party.
With a reluctance I feel deep in my bones, I give in. “It’s a date,” I tell her. “But only if you promise to never bring up Skittles and ice cream again. You’ve ruined one of my favorite candies for me. That’s one rainbow I won’t be riding anytime soon.”
Becca lets out a short laugh. “Deal,” she agrees. Leaning in, she gets close as if to tell me a secret. “So, does that mean you don’t want to know about the fun you can have with paper clips and chopsticks?
My mind blanks. Chopsticks? That is disturbing on so many levels. My friends are freaks in the sheets. “Please, don’t,” I beg. “No more talking about your sex life.”
“Okay, bitch,” she laughs. “I’ll shut up, but only because you agreed to my demands. Despite my bad morning, I find myself smiling. This is exactly what I needed. Laughter, girl talk, and bad decisions are the cure to any crappy day.