by Felicia Lynn
Wow. Maybe I’m more oblivious to the world around me than I thought. I had no idea he was a superstar jock. But I don’t see the other stuff. He never made a move on me and never tried to take advantage of my weakness. He didn’t have to take me for that ride to clear my head today, yet he did, and he’d didn’t try to get his ‘pay.’ We could have easily parted ways in the parking lot, and I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Maybe after our little chat, he knew that wouldn’t work or maybe my inexperience was a turn-off. I don’t know, but obviously, he decided I’d be good enough as a friend.
It’s possible I suck at reading people, and he has a not-so-great side. As much as I want to trust that Morgan is right and resolve myself to go with her expertise and move on with my life, I can’t help but feel she may have misjudged him.
“Morgan, he had every chance to take advantage of me, but he didn’t. He may very well be the type of person you are describing, but I don’t think so. He’s my friend, nothing more.” For once in my life, I want to figure things out on my own. Even if I later discover it was a mistake, it’ll be my own mistake to make. I’ve made a new friend in Tyler Stone, and I can certainly afford a friend like him in my life. Knowing that she may not support me nurturing this new friendship hurts a bit, but I don’t need it. I know that. Her acceptance to allow me the space to learn and experience life is important, but I won’t shut down if she doesn’t.
“I need this. Look around me. I’m ready to experience more out of life. I can’t live in a bubble forever. I’m trying to build bridges here. Please … I just want to live my life a little. Be supportive.”
The emotions I’ve fought back since the panic attack the night before are finally coming out and leaking down my cheeks. I can’t hold them back anymore. Morgan wraps me in her arms. Her embrace is a warm blanket of comfort through my tears as the pent-up fear from the anxiety session, the ache in my heart from the words of my mother, and the unknowns of Tyler’s intentions for me finally release.
I’m a mess. I was so confident for those moments on the motorcycle and enjoyed lunch. Now, I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but I know that I can’t let it all go. I have to move forward in my pursuit, and I need to start by responding to my mother. Then I’ll go on this adventure with Tyler tonight and see for myself what this new friendship holds. If he’s not the person I believe him to be and more like the man Morgan described, then I will cut my losses and move on, but I won’t stop attempting to make new friends.
This isn’t about Tyler. This is about me, Charlotte Maryland Baker. I deserve more out of life than being a political pawn for my parents to use and abuse. I am an adult.
I have absolutely no reason to hide in this bubble forever. The only thing that promises is a life alone. Eventually, Morgan will move on with her life. We’ll graduate from college and have careers. She’ll probably get married and have her own family. I can’t say that the same life is in store for me, but I’m hopeful.
When the emotions of the situation dissipate, Morgan, of course, with her ever-perfect timing tells me to get dressed; we’re going shopping. I know I should decline and stay here to work on my paper that’s due soon, and it wouldn’t hurt to do some studying, but I can’t help but think shopping may be just what we need.
Before I jump up to start getting ready, I know I need to address the enormous elephant sitting on my chest and return a message to my mother. I can’t leave this wound open. Placating my mother is impossible, so there’s no use in attempting that. I know that no matter what she sees, she’ll always assume the absolute worse of me. I can’t overcome that, so the only thing I can do is respond honestly with my feelings and hope that it somehow sparks a flame of maternal instinct. Maybe she’ll accept what I have to say.
While Morgan is busy primping and I have a minute to myself, I open the text messages my mother sent me in the early hours of the morning and cringe at her words all over again.
Sabotaging your father’s reputation …
Giving you a perfect life …
Ashamed to be your mother …
Disgusted with you …
It should hurt more than it does that I’m disposable to her. I’m not now nor have I ever been a troublemaker. At twenty-one years old, I’m not sure I can recall even one occasion when I’ve blatantly skirted the rules intending to cause problems for either of my parents. Her accusations are unfounded.
Opening the box to start my reply, my fingers hover over the letters not knowing exactly how to word my response. I want to tell her that I deserve better. I want to remind her that I’ve worked tirelessly to match the image of a perfect daughter for them. I want to scream it all from the rooftops and pray that she hears it.
She treats me unfairly. She’s sacrificed my quality of life to benefit them. I want to defend myself. But in spite of the inner turmoil boiling, I know not to ‘handle’ Sandra Jacqueline Baker that way, so I carefully prepare my response, tiptoeing around my true feelings and attempting to smooth things over, knowing I’ll fail anyway.
Me: Mother, I’m very sorry that you received word that I was acting inappropriately. I assure you, that’s not the case. I’m unsure of the photographs you refer to. However, no matter what, you need to know that I was at the college party for a very short amount of time.
I have no clue how my mother was able to acquire photographs, but she’s a resourceful woman, so I have no doubt they exist. I hate that I have to defend myself against the unknowns, but I know that no matter what story the photos paint, I’ve done nothing wrong, so I type out another message before she can reply.
Me: I was back in my room studying until the wee hours. I apologize for missing your messages this morning. I went for a run. I’m very sorry you were upset by my actions. I assure you that was never my intention.
When my alerts chime, I don’t want to look. I don’t want to ruin my mood, and the short amount of time I’ve spent addressing this with her is stealing my bright light and sunshine leaving only a gloomy cloud in its place. I need to clear my gray skies and renew my earlier resolution to stop allowing the world to pass me by.
Mother: Charlotte, then please explain being on the back of a boy’s motorcycle all morning gallivanting around town. This is insane. Are you on drugs? You are so disrespectful. You have no regard for our values and fully intend to do what you want even if it ruins the image we’ve worked so hard to create. To say I’m disgusted would be putting it mildly, young lady.
Oh. My. God. So she is definitely having me watched, but I never once saw anyone watching, and I looked continuously. I’m angry that my reputation is being called into question for something innocent. I’ve done NOTHING to ever warrant this.
Me: Mother, your information is flawed. You’re missing some major pieces. No, I’m not on drugs, and I cannot believe you’d think that. Here is the accurate information about the past 24 hours. 1. YES, my friend did drive me home from the party last night. I was not enjoying myself and wanted to leave quickly, and he helped me by bringing me home where I spent the evening in my room studying, as I said before, ALONE. 2. I went for a run this morning. I took a different route than normal and ended up tiring myself before I could get back. The very same FRIEND from last night saw me sitting in the park taking a break and offered to give me a ride back AGAIN. We stopped, had lunch, and now, I’m home. I’m thankful to my friend. He’s a very nice guy.
I want more than anything to throw this phone across the room and watch it shatter into a million pieces. Anger seems to be the easiest emotion to withdraw from my treasury of unshed feelings lately. Allowing the reflex to fuel me, I type vigorously into the keypad realizing I’m far from finished saying what needs to be said. I rarely, if ever, challenge my mother to this level, but enough is enough.
Me: For once, I wish you could see and take into consideration all that I’ve sacrificed for you and my father. It would be nice to have the tables turned and receive only a fraction of the concern that you so easily give
to things pertaining to THE FAMILY’S public image. I am 21 years old and have only ever lived for you. That time is over. I will live life for myself now as well. Accept it. Embrace it, even. If you’re unable, feel free to count me out of the campaign trail. Do what you need to do. I know I will. I’ll be going out shopping with Morgan this afternoon. I’m sorry you’re upset, but I hope this resolves your doubts, and you can move on in a more accepting and supportive way. I’m positive that will be more peaceful for you in the end.
I wait for a response and when one doesn’t come, I know that either she’s understood my words or I’ve started a war. I would guess the latter, unfortunately. But what can she really do? She needs me far more than I need her at this point.
Getting a job and supporting myself through my last year of college would not be ideal, but let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever not to be under my mother’s thumb. Even if sacrifices needed to be made, it would all work out.
Morgan walks into the room wrapped in her robe with her hair wrapped in a towel. She’s smiling as she dances her way across the room to the closet to choose her clothing. The anger that was seeping through me moments ago is easily shoved back into the vault. I’m eager to start finding joy in this life of emptiness that my parents have built for me. I’m ready to embrace life and truly experience it, and I’m starting now, even if it is just a silly afternoon outing with my best friend. With a smile, I hop off the bed and take my turn in the bathroom getting ready for today.
I groan getting into my truck. I can’t believe I’m feeling anxious about tonight. I don’t know if the evening I’ve mapped out is a worthwhile date for her. It’s kinda dumb and childish, now that I really think about it. She could very well think I’m an idiot. Hell, I probably am. I’ve never planned a fucking night out with a chick. I have no idea what I’m doing, but more importantly, why do I even care?
My palms sweat as I grip the steering wheel. This isn’t the damn World Series, so I’m annoyed at my physical response to this whole thing. Yet, here I am nervous as hell about a date with some chick. Only, she’s not some chick. She’s Charlie. It’s different, but I can’t figure out why.
I have less than four minutes to get my shit together before I’m in front of the sorority house. I shake my head knowing that if twenty-four hours hasn’t been enough to wrap my head around it all, then surely four minutes will do nothing.
The past day has been a whirlwind of confusion. I’m not really sure what to think about it all, but I do know that Charlie is the first girl who has sparked my interest on a nonsexual level. Not that I don’t want to get into her panties. I have a cock, so the rules still apply there, but shockingly, I want to know more about her than just what her voice sounds like when she screams my name. Hell, if I'm honest with myself, that part isn’t even at the top of the list of things I want to know about her.
As fucked up as it sounded when I was checking out things to do with her tonight and making plans, I had one goal in mind. We had to do something that would spark that light in her eye that I saw when she hopped off the bike today. I need to hear that little giggle when she feels so exhilarated that she doesn’t hold back. When she jumped into my damn arms today, something happened to me, but I think it happened to her too.
Charlie is a girl who’s held herself together by strings for a long time, and even though she tries to hide it and stay strong, I can see they’re all breaking. She lives her life for everyone around her leaving nothing for herself. That’s what I got out of my time with her this morning. From what I see, we are polar opposites with not a whole lot in common. I live my life completely for myself, leaving no room for others, and I’m not sorry for it. Baseball is my priority. It’s what keeps me sane.
In some cases, I think Charlie gives all of herself because she enjoys it. I think that’s the case with the Taylor family. The nice thing about that is they appreciate her and give back. Even though it pissed me off for Jamie to make his mark today, it was nice to know they had her back. That won’t continue, though, if things go anywhere with us. I won’t constantly be knocked down and put in my place by him. He’ll have to accept that I have her back too.
When I left her this afternoon, I freaked the hell out all the way to the field. I couldn’t wait to get to the bullpen. Every second it took me to walk through those tunnels felt like an eternity, and I couldn’t help hearing the voice of Coach Jacobs from high school floating in my head. “Son, don’t shoot yourself in the foot before you ever get the chance to see those dreams become reality. You’re so close.”
By the time I got down there, I couldn’t wait for a second more before I got that ball in my hand. I needed to know if the new distractions would cause me to lose focus. I needed to know how serious of a distraction Charlie had become. It took me sixty-five throws, with mostly strikes, before I could relax. I would have pitched sixty-five more just to be sure, but I was at my pitch count for a practice session. I’m not stupid enough to risk an injury before the season starts just to prove a point to myself.
When I left the bullpen today, I stood on the mound. I stood there for a while just thinking. I keep to myself for a reason. All I need in life is to stand on that mound and do my job. When I looked around me at the field and saw the tightly manicured green grass surrounded by the clay diamond and my temple right in the center, I know it’s my place. It’s my home. Baseball is what completes me. People don’t, but somehow, Charlie’s awoken a need I didn’t know existed.
I know many people, people who would call me a friend. I’m not exactly sure the feeling is as strong for me, but it’s mutual enough. I’m careful about how close I allow people to get. I don’t have time for the demands of maintaining relationships, but I’m not a hermit. I go out to hang with the guys. We drink beers, watch sports, go to parties, and prowl for pussy. I spend time with chicks, but I don’t keep them around longer than necessary. I’m fucking normal.
Okay … I’m not normal. But keeping people at arm’s length and not allowing myself to become too attached was a coping mechanism I learned at a very young age. As soon as I got attached, something would happen, and I’d be moving on to the next place. I’d be sad and feel empty until I became attached again and the situation repeated.
I pull up outside the sorority house not sure what to do next. Do I wait here in the truck for her to come out? I don’t have her number to text her and tell her I’m here, but that’s probably a good thing since I probably would have texted the minute I was walking into the park to tell her to have a nice life. I know enough about picking up a chick for a date to know I, unfortunately, need to go to the door, but that makes it feel so—official.
Before I can think another second, I’m out of the truck and walking toward the door. Yep, Charlie is a distraction for me. I know it, but somehow, I can’t keep my thoughts from straying to her, and more importantly, I can’t help but crave her smile again. If walking to the door is what it takes, I’ll take one for the team.
I barely have a chance to bring my hand down from the first knock when the door is thrown open by a flock of chicks standing in the doorway looking at me googly-eyed.
“Um … hi. I’m here for Charlie.” I’m not even sure who to address. When no one responds and they all just stand there staring, it gets a bit uncomfortable. You’d think someone would make a damn move to let Charlie know I’m here. I can’t handle this. I should have stayed in the truck and waited.
Then I see her walking down the stairs, and I sigh in relief. Thank Christ! I can’t take my eyes off her as she walks toward me. She looks adorable. Her cheeks are a little pink, but it’s not from overdoing her makeup.
She’s dressed a lot like the night of the party—only this time better. She’s in flat sandals and slim-fitting jeans that accent those glorious legs. I make a mental note not to miss the chance to check out her ass when I walk her to my truck. I know from experience when she was folded in my arms after passing out, that it’s spectacular. Her to
p is royal blue and almost the color of her eyes. I’ve recently, as in just in the past day, decided my new favorite color is blue. I fucking LOVE blue. She’s wearing one of those stupid tops that don’t hug her tits the way I wish it would; it’s on the sheer side, but she’s hiding her little assets behind a matching colored tight tank top. If only she could have left that one piece on the laundry line, it would have been perfect.
She weaves through the gawkers blocking the doorway, and when she finally stops in front of me, her smile widens and the flush on her cheeks deepens.
“Hi.” Her quiet voice penetrates the silence around us. I don’t even notice that Morgan Chambers is right behind her until she turns Charlie around on her heels, successfully breaking our intense eye contact and moment. I can’t help but growl under my breath at the intrusion. Her hands are on Charlie’s shoulders, and she’s looking her directly in the eye. For whatever reason, Charlie listens and doesn’t object even though I wish she would. I want her eyes back on me. I can’t hear what Morgan is saying because she is speaking in hushed tones, but I’m sure she’s warning her off an asshole like me. Even though it wasn’t too long ago that Morgan herself wanted a piece of me.
Morgan is not my type of girl, although up until moments ago, I didn’t have a type. She is in a class of her own and thinks she’s better than everyone else is. Morgan attempts to hide the evil that simmers just below the surface, but it’s as plain as day to me. She’s looking for a status symbol, not a boyfriend, and until she finds her idea of an equal, she practices excelling in the art of sex by bed hopping.
I’ve heard some insane stories about Ms. Chambers, but I keep my distance. I still don’t understand how she and Charlie’s friendship ever flourished. They are nothing alike. But here we are talking of opposites again, and it’s not really like I have room to talk. Maybe Charlie enjoys the company of selfish assholes like Morgan Chambers and myself? But the thought annoys me regardless because she deserves better than that.