I Know It's Over

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  I pushed slowly into her. It wasn’t easy. She was really tight down there. She gasped under her breath and I looked into her eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” She had that concentration look on her face, almost like a frown.

  I pushed in deeper, still feeling her frown up at me. Then I started moving, as gently as I could, but I couldn’t enjoy it. “I’m hurting you,” I said.

  “Keep going,” she told me, her voice like cut glass.

  So I kept going, but it didn’t get any better. I felt like I was torturing her and that stepped up the pressure to finish. But I couldn’t. Not with her looking at me like that. Everyone knows the first time usually isn’t any good for a girl, but I thought it would be okay for me. The truth is I didn’t even get off. In the end I just stopped. My hard-on disappeared the moment it hit the air and I pulled off the condom and stared down at Sasha.

  Music was still booming through the wall and I felt empty. I grabbed my clothes from the floor and began putting them back on. Sasha didn’t move. “You know you should’ve told me if you didn’t really want to do it,” I said.

  “What’re you talking about?” Sasha’s face went blank. It was like I didn’t even know her. She could’ve been practically anyone.

  “You were just lying there the entire time. You looked like you hated it.”

  “What did you expect?” she cried. “It was my first time.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “and you were so obviously not into it. It ruined it.”

  Sasha sat up in bed and then I noticed it—a spot of blood on my striped sheets. My chest tightened again. I pointed down and said, “Do you want me to get you something?”

  Sasha peered down at the spot. I thought she was going to tell me what an asshole I was being, but she mumbled, “I guess you better.”

  I grabbed one of Holland’s pads from the bathroom and handed it to Sasha. She had her clothes on by then and she brushed past me and into the bathroom. I closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, hating myself.

  She gazed down at me as she swept back into the room, that blank expression hiding whatever she was feeling. I should’ve apologized right then, but I couldn’t do it; I could barely look at her. “I better go,” she said dully. “Your mom will be home soon.”

  “Do you want me to walk you?” I asked, although it was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s still light out.”

  “Okay.” I walked her to the front door. It killed me to do it. Sometimes I think something must be really wrong with me. It shouldn’t be that hard to apologize when you know you’re wrong. But I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I thought I’d feel better if Sasha wasn’t standing there next to me.

  I did one thing right. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead before she left. Then I went upstairs, pulled the bottom sheet off my bed, and washed the blood off in the bathroom sink. I threw the wet sheet into the back of my closet and grabbed a new one from the hall closet. I felt like a complete fugitive doing it; I was convinced Holland would bound into the hall and give me the third degree, but she never left her room.

  I didn’t know what to do with myself after that. I went downstairs and flipped through zillions of TV channels. My stomach growled, but I wasn’t remotely hungry. I kept my hand on the remote. Judge Judy, Dr. Phil, and an ancient Sabrina, the Teenage Witch repeat flickered before my eyes. It was enough to make anyone sick.

  Finally I grabbed the phone and called Keelor. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?” His voice sounded the same as always and that was exactly what I needed.

  “Bored,” I told him. “I’m on my way over.”

  “Cool. We can watch the game.” Right, the Leafs were playing the New York Rangers at seven. It’d slipped my mind somewhere between losing my virginity and walking my girlfriend to the door.

  I wrote a note to Mom, stuck it on the kitchen table, and bladed over to Keelor’s house. His dad answered the door and sent me straight up to Keelor’s room. He hadn’t been quite as friendly lately and I wondered if it had something to do with Keelor’s weed. Actually, I really could’ve used some just then. I seriously needed to unwind.

  “Does your dad think I’m your dealer or something?” I joked.

  “It’s not you,” Keelor assured me. “He’s still pissed with me. He thinks I’m two steps away from being a crack addict.” If you knew Keelor like I did, you’d realize how messed up that thinking was. Keelor liked to keep his head on fairly straight. We both stuck to weed and alcohol. “Do you mind if we watch the game up here? I’m trying to keep a low profile around the house.”

  “Sure.” We grabbed pizza slices from Gino’s across the street and settled into his beanbag chairs to watch the game.

  His dad knocked at the door just before the start of the game. “Are you two coming down to watch on the plasma?” he asked. The 46 inch down in the basement was reserved for hockey during the season. Keelor’s entire family were big fans. His mom shouted louder than his dad during the games and his twelve-year-old brother played defense for the Pee Wee league.

  I shrugged, letting Keelor know that it was up to him. “Yeah, all right,” he said.

  It should’ve been a tense first period. The Leafs’ first-string goalie was out with a knee injury, but their backup kept them knotted at 0–0 despite being outshot ten to three. Keelor’s mom thought she was in the stands. She screeched encouragement at the screen, giving me a massive headache. Normally her enthusiasm wouldn’t bother me, but I was having trouble concentrating. Sasha kept jumping into my head, looking at me like I was a stranger. I could barely keep up with the game.

  During the intermission I broke down and told Keelor I needed a few minutes to make a call. “Did you two have a fight or something?” he asked, sizing the situation up in a heartbeat.

  “Something like that,” I replied, and bolted up to his room.

  I tried Sasha’s cell first, but it was no surprise when she didn’t answer. I took a deep breath and dialed her parents’ number. Mrs. Jasinski picked up and went to get Sasha. A few seconds later she was back on the line saying, “Nick, she’s just started her homework. Can she call you back later?”

  “Sure,” I said anxiously. I hadn’t expected Sasha to talk to me in the first place, but it still felt like a shock. I started to explain that I wasn’t at home, but Sasha could get me on my cell.

  “All right, then,” her mother said. “Maybe you’ll hear from her later.”

  Maybe later. Just like that. Maybe later or maybe not. Would you talk to someone who didn’t even walk you home afterwards? What the fuck was I thinking?

  I went down to the basement and told Keelor I had to go.

  He stood up, tapped my arm, and led me out of the room. “She’ll wait, Nick. Relax. Stay and watch the game.”

  “No.” I’d already made up my mind. “I have to talk to her tonight.”

  Keelor leaned back against the wall and sighed like I was a lost cause. “You’re really letting this girl get to you, man. Don’t you see it? It’s too much, Nick. You’re not married, you know. You can watch a game once in a while.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was getting worked up and I didn’t want to. I needed to be calm when I talked to Sasha. “I barely even see her outside school.”

  “Yeah, but look at you. You’re acting like it’s the end of the world here. Everybody fights, Nick, but you gotta stay cool.”

  “Why?” I folded my arms in front of me. “Why do I have to stay cool? You think it’s better not to give a shit about anything?”

  “Who says I don’t give a shit about anything?” he said loudly. “I’m only saying this because it’s you and I don’t like to see you in knots. You’ve been different ever since you started seeing Sasha. It’s like you’re someone else.”

  “I’m not someone else,” I protested. “This is me.” I unfolded my arms and lowered my voice. “I
know you don’t like her, but I do.”

  Keelor pushed off the wall, frustration in his eyes. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me not liking her. I just think maybe you like her a little too much.”

  Or maybe I was just doing a shitty job of handling it. “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” Keelor said. “Come back if it doesn’t work out—or if it does or whatever. We can talk about it.” He jutted out his chin as he smiled. “Nathan doesn’t have the market cornered on that, you know.”

  I thanked him and bladed over to Sasha’s house, my stomach stuck in my throat the entire time. It would’ve been so much easier to apologize when I’d had the chance.

  Sasha’s mom answered the front door. “Nick, you’re persistent,” she declared, obviously surprised to see me.

  “I won’t stay long,” I promised. “I just need to talk to Sasha for a minute.”

  Mrs. Jasinski glanced hesitantly over her shoulder. “Wait there.” She disappeared into the house and I overheard her say: “He seems upset. Are you two fighting?”

  Sasha whispered something back. Fifteen paralyzing seconds later she came to the door. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a black sweatshirt. “This isn’t good, Nick,” she said under her breath. “My mom is asking questions.”

  “Sorry,” I told her. “Can I come in?”

  “I’m busy now,” she said. She smelled like watermelon and I thought about her coming home and taking a shower. I wondered if she was still bleeding.

  “Just for a few minutes? I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t talk to you.” Sasha shrugged like that wouldn’t bother her. “Are you okay?” I continued. “I mean, at my house you were—”

  “Actually, I feel like shit.” She said that so coldly that I actually shivered.

  “Me too. Are you going to let me in?”

  “I don’t want to talk,” she said. “Do you still want to come in?”

  “I still want to come in.”

  We walked through the hallway and into the empty kitchen. I was so grateful to be inside her house that it made me nauseous. Sasha pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, scratching at her plaid-covered legs. I sat next to her, sweat pooling at the back of my neck as I whispered, “Sasha, I’m really sorry.”

  “You’re sorry now?” she said, her face blank. “That doesn’t make any sense, Nick.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I touched her arm. “But I am. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Can we go outside?” I motioned to the sliding door.

  Sasha shrugged and slid the door open. Her parents would really wonder now, but I couldn’t worry about that; I had to talk to her in private.

  We stood outside, staring wordlessly in at the warm glow of the kitchen. “That was so shitty, you have no idea,” she said finally, her cheeks puffing out. “And then you let me leave like it was nothing to you.” I winced and kept listening. “I ruined it. That’s what you said.”

  “I know that’s not true,” I said quietly. “I ruined it. I don’t know what my problem is.” Sasha’s mom stared out from the kitchen, looking displeased. Her dad would probably be next, ordering us to come back inside. “I just felt really bad before—like it was my fault that it wasn’t any good. I mean, I couldn’t even finish. We could still be there, waiting. It was never going to happen and you…” I gulped down oxygen and forced myself to continue. “You’re amazing. Everything about you. The way you are with other people. The way you are about yourself. Just everything and…” Sasha was looking deep into my eyes; I wanted to disappear. “It was like I wasn’t good enough for you, like I was the wrong person for you to be doing that with.” I shrugged helplessly. “I’m really sorry.”

  Sasha smoothed her palm against her cheek, her forehead creasing. “Look, I wanted to be with you because it’s you. Don’t you get that?”

  “I wish I could take it all back.” I would’ve done anything to take the entire day back and make it happen right, but my brain was a blob of cottage cheese. I could hardly string a sentence together. “It should’ve been special and instead I acted like a loser. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.”

  We stood there in her backyard, watching each other in silence until Mr. Jasinski opened the sliding door and poked his head out. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I want you inside in five minutes, Sasha.” He motioned to her pajamas. “You’re not even properly dressed to be out there.”

  “Five minutes,” she said dutifully. Mr. Jasinski pulled the door closed and left the kitchen. Sasha pressed her hand to her head and turned towards me. “I have to go.”

  “Can I see you soon?” I asked. I felt better for getting everything out in the open, but that didn’t necessarily fix anything.

  “Call me, okay? We’ll talk about it.” She took a step towards the door, then reached back and touched my sleeve so delicately that it made me flinch. “I don’t know what you expected. I thought it only mattered that it was us.”

  Me too. How did I ever forget that in the first place?

  ten

  The next two weeks were a blur of serious discussions, long pauses, and front door kisses. Hockey, school, and work happened in the background. We lost one game but won three. I did my own law homework and survived. I don’t even know how to describe it. It was kind of like Sasha and I went back to the very beginning but with bad karma. One night we watched TV with Mom and Holland and froze the minute they left the room, like it was the worst thing in the world to be left alone.

  It probably sounds worse than it was. We were still together. We still kissed goodbye at the end of the night. One time we actually made her family dinner. Okay, it was only pasta and garlic bread, but it was dinner and it wasn’t half bad. It’s not even that I minded us not being alone anymore; it was the self-consciousness that bothered me. Even kissing was weird the first few times after that day.

  Nathan noticed and asked what was up with us. I told him that we’d done it and wished we hadn’t and he didn’t ask why. Sasha told Lindsay everything and Lindsay acted like I was a serial killer for a week. At first I felt really weird about it, but Sasha said she had to talk to someone. Lindsay advised her never to sleep with me again and Sasha said she didn’t intend to. I already knew that. I didn’t even want to do it again; I just wanted to go back to the way things were.

  Dad had said that I could always talk to him. Imagine me phoning him up and telling him about Sasha and me. A guaranteed conversation stopper.

  Some things are better left unsaid and sometimes you just get tired of talking. Take Nathan. He’d gone very quiet on the gay thing lately. His dad wanted to turn off the lights and make the issue disappear. He had this bizarre idea that Nathan could lock up his identity for the next two years. At first we’d talked about that a lot, how weird it was that someone could say he loved you and wanted the best for you while essentially rejecting who you were. After a while it got so we were having the same conversation over and over, kind of like Sasha and me with the sex fiasco.

  “I’m too young to be this bored with myself,” Nathan complained over lunch at the mall one Saturday. He set his chili down and rapped the table. “This is what a rut sounds like, Nick. Why do you put up with me?”

  “Like I have a choice,” I kidded. Then, to take the emphasis off his dad for once: “Whatever happened with that Xavier guy?”

  “Nothing. Still an asshole. Probably still thinks I’m lusting after him too.” He swallowed a spoonful of chili and added, “Which I am, but he’s straight. You know Courtland: homosexual population of three.”

  “Two,” I corrected. “Dakota is bi.” She and Jeremy Eastman were the only out members of the school Gay-Straight Alliance, although there was constant conjecture about Ms. Navarro, the GSA advisor. “You know there’s gotta be more, though—we just don’t know about them yet.”

  “Probably all the wrong people.” Nathan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Like, none of the athletes.”

&n
bsp; It was around about this stage of the conversation that I always started to get edgy, as though specifics made Nathan’s homosexuality too real. Sometimes I wondered how I’d react when he actually hooked up with someone, if I could stand to hear the details.

  “You can’t categorize people by whether they’re into sports or not,” I told him. “That’s what your dad does and you know it’s bullshit.”

  Nathan scraped his front teeth across his lip. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s just that I can’t let myself get my hopes up about anyone. You’re really lucky with Sasha, you know.”

  “I know.” I believed that more every day, despite the awkward pauses and sober discussions we’d been having recently.

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like to feel so connected to someone,” he added.

  “You’ll know. It’ll happen.” My head skipped back through our conversation and snagged on the word athletes. “But exactly who are we talking about anyway? Who’s the athlete?”

  Nathan paused before stirring his chili and telling me I had an overactive imagination.

  “Bullshit!” I sang, curiosity edging out nerves. “It’s somebody I know, isn’t it? Come on, Nate. I told you about Sasha before it went anywhere.”

  “Man, this is too big a deal now.” Nathan dropped his spoon and stared at me like he wanted to burn a hole in the middle of my forehead. “You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, Severson, you know that?” He blinked heavily and slouched in his seat. “Diego, okay? I was talking about Diego—not that I like him, just that he’s good-looking and not full of himself.”

  “That’s a popular opinion,” I said, trying to act like it was no big deal. “I think Holland might have a thing for him too.” I’d noticed them talking in the hallway a few times. The last time Holland had glared over at me like I’d stumbled across her diary.

  “Then I’m sure she knows he’s with that girl in Quebec and that he’s used to girls throwing themselves at him,” Nathan said definitively. “Temptation has been tried and failed.”