Jessica— 11/21 16 BJ
Marley— 11/23 15 BJ
Lisa— 12/4 16 VS
Susan— 12/17 puma BJ, S
Kristi— 12/17 puma S
Madison— 12/31 16 VS, BJ
Mindy— 2/7 15 S
Jenn— 2/14 19 BJ
Taylor— 3/8 MILF BJ, S, M
Carly— 5/26 16 VS
Maria— 6/10 23 BJ M
Kathleen— 6/29 17 VS
Paula— 7/4 17 S
Abby— 8/16 17 S,BJ
Olivia— 9/19 Cougar—S, BJ
Rachel— 11/22 16 BJ
Brandy— 12/17 15 BJ, S
Erin— 12/19 19 S
Lauren—12/20 16 BJ
Mackensie—12/21 22 BJ
Estelle— 7/17 17 S, BJ
What? A list of girls names who I knew nothing about except the last one. “Tell me what it means. Explain it to me.” I whispered the words.
His eyes were closed and he shook his head. “It means nothing. Literally.”
“Tell me,” I gritted through clenched teeth.
“The BJ stands for blowjob,” he said matter of fact and his hand tightened on my wrist.
“What I did last night?” I questioned.
“Yes,” he spoke softer than a whisper.
I’d never done that before and he’s had it done…1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11…no wait…he had had it done…by 13 girls?? I was fourteen? Instinctively, I put my palm over my mouth.
“And the S—that stands for sex?” I was going to cry. There was no doubt about it.
“Yes.” His voice was a little louder.
“Yes? Like you scrogged all these girls?” My voice raised and I locked my fingers behind my head.
“Uh-huh.”
I felt like I’d been kicked in the chest. His hands were suddenly on my shoulders. I flinched away from his touch and he retreated. “What’s a cougar?” I couldn’t look at him.
“It’s an older woman.”
I felt my face contort into an awkward expression. “Older? What does that mean?”
He covered his face with his palms and breathed heavily. “It’s a woman who’s at least forty.”
I rested my forehead on my fingertips as my head spun and vomit seemed to work its way up my esophagus. “Oh my God. That’s like my mother!”
“Emma. Listen to me.” He grabbed my shoulders.
“What’s a MILF, a puma? What’s the M stand for?” I caught myself shouting and tears pooled as the words came out.
“Emma, Please.”
“Tell me!” I yelled, slapping his hand away from me.
He fell back onto my bed. “A MILF is a mom I’d like to fuck, a puma is a late twenty, early thirty.”
“And the M? Is that a mom?”
“No. It’s married,” he whispered.
“Oh God,” I shouted and grabbed the trash can next to my desk, and it came, the Dr. Pepper mixed with bits of orange and maybe bile from my stomach. I hung my head over the plastic can with spit dangling from my mouth. He grabbed my hair and pulled it back. My throat constricted and I couldn’t breathe.
“Breathe, Emma,” he whispered.
“I can’t.”
“Yes. You can.” He rubbed my back and I dry-heaved once more wrenching my gut before I could sit up.
In and out, I thought to myself sitting back in the chair. I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Tell me the V. I think I know, but I want to hear you say it.” I feared I’d vomit again. I could hear myself whistling.
A long minute passed before he answered. “A virgin.” His voice trailed off.
“You…had sex….with four virgins?”
He stood up. “Not one of them was under sixteen.”
I chuckled sarcastically. “Did you love any of them?”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
My chest was constricting at the thoughts going through my head. “How could you do it then? You went after girls because they were virgins? Oh my God.” My lip trembled. He’d been with so many women. Nothing I did was new to him. I was a conquest for his scoreboard.
“No! That’s not what it was like.”
My body felt weak. I felt weak, pathetic. He’d experienced the world and I’d experienced nothing. He’d had twenty-something women…married women and ugh. He moved toward me. He felt sorry for me. I was the girl who could barely breathe on her own.
“Don’t touch me,” I warned and he took another step. “Get out of my house.”
He retreated. He was leaving. That was for the best. He stopped at my desk and snatched up my inhaler then turned toward me shaking it.
“NO!” I hit his chest with my fist and he didn’t flinch. “I hate you,” I said coldly and tried to shove him.
“No. You don’t. You hate what I did. Now use the inhaler.”
My teeth clenched together and I refused. I was being stupid. I knew I needed the albuterol. My breaths were short and coming quicker.
“Come on Em. Take it.”
Being stubborn was one thing, being this stupid was another. I’m not sure I was done making my point, but my chest was about done. I knew this because the lack of oxygen had left my arms limp and light-headedness had crept into me.
His arm wrapped around my waist and moved me to the bed. My head rested on his shoulder for its final time; as he slid the inhaler between my already parted lips, I wondered if he saw the irony in what was happening. As he compressed the tube and the mist entered my mouth providing my lungs with relief, he was essentially giving me life. But it was a life that I knew I would live without him now. The irony of this situation was that he was saving me and emotionally killing me all in a few moments.
A long, slow breath came to me on its own. The revelation came to me all at once too. Maybe it was the suddenly clear mind.
I plopped down in front of the computer. “How do I add a name?”
“What?”
I hit the computer screen with my finger. “Add my name. Do it now. Type in Emma…March 17…15…BJ.”
“Stop,” he said dryly.
“When I see it again…I better be on there.” I walked out of my bedroom and down the stairs.
FORTY-SIX
ZACH
After she left the room, I fell back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling fan circulating the air. As the breeze blew over me, I prayed. I hadn’t prayed often. I prayed that night in juvenile detention. I prayed the day we moved. I prayed the day I saw blood coming from her head and I couldn’t tend to her. I prayed the night I sat in jail. I prayed now. I prayed for God to make things right, not even knowing what that meant.
Deep down, I’d known all along I wasn’t good enough for her. The things I’d done. The things I’d seen. The things I’d been a part of. I wanted to change. I wanted her to see that I was everything she needed and wanted me to be. I didn’t think that would ever happen, not now.
The little red inhaler in my hand gave her life. I simply wanted to make her smile. To make her feel safe. To make her feel special. I had failed miserably and done none of the above. God, if she only knew…
Forcing myself up and off the bed, I stared at the messed up sheets from the night before. I’d never slept with a girl, I mean actually slept. Never had a desire to stay with one. The thought of never sleeping with her again… I shook away the thoughts. What I did last night was downright playing dirty. I knew she wouldn’t stop me from going down on her, and I never predicted she would reciprocate, but there was no way in hell I was turning her down. The innocence in her touch, the passion in her kiss, the love in her eyes…I’d never felt any of that before. She believed in me. She believed in me more than I did. Maybe more than anyone else.
I had to find a way to let her know how much I cared. How much she meant to me. I wouldn’t let go. Not yet. I needed her and I believe she needed me too. I had two more days to prove my love, gain her trust back and beg her forgiveness. I’d never done these things either…but I would give this my best eff
ort.
FORTY-SEVEN
Emma
The agonizing ache ripping through my chest was unbearable. I fell on the sofa and pulled my knees to my chest. The fetal position was comforting. As tears streaked my cheeks, my nose swelled inside making it impossible to breathe. I lay with my mouth open to get air then finally tried to blow. I tossed the tissue onto the coffee table and saw the shirt he’d worn here last night. I remembered him tossing it. Was that just last night? I pulled it close and smelled it, then wiped my tears before I threw it across the room, and then the tears came again in sobs.
I’m not sure how long I lay there before he came down the stairs. He picked up his shirt as he crossed the floor and I know he looked at me but I didn’t look back.
“Emma. All of that was before…”
“Did you add my name?” I cut him off. My eyes were swollen and I couldn’t fully open them.
“Stop that. I’m not going to add your name. I don’t know how to get you to understand.” He sounded frustrated.
“Understand what? That if we ever scrogged, you’d of scored big points. How can I even compete with all those women? How was my first blow job by the way? I sat up and my head felt fuzzy.
He didn’t answer any of the questions.
“Oooh. That bad, huh.” I shuffled to the kitchen.
He stood and followed. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re done being mad.”
“Did I even do it right?” Still no answer. I opened the fridge, got nothing out and shut the door, going back to the living room. “OK then. That would be a no.”
He grabbed my shoulders and stopped me. “Em. It was perfect. But not because of what you did, but because it was you. Don’t you see the difference?”
“Get your hands off of me!”
“Why? Cause I’m dirty? Is that it?” He stepped in front of me when I tried to walk. “You think I’m dirty now?”
I shoved my finger in his face. “NO Zach! I’m the one who’s dirty. My mouth where…oh my God. I can’t even say it.” The tears were back.
“Emma. You aren’t dirty.”
“Did you even wear protection?” I wiped the tears away.
He pursed his lips. “I never did NOT wear one during sex.”
“Please leave, please,” I cried, and sat where I had been standing in the middle of the floor.
“No. We have two days to get past this.” He sat next to me.
What was he thinking? Get past this? Grant was right. I couldn’t get past this. I stared at his pleading eyes. “I won’t get past this. How could I ever be with you, knowing I’d be a name on a list.”
He balled his hands into fists. “You are different. You wouldn’t be a name on a list. You’re the girl in my heart.”
I stood and ran up the stairs.
My bedroom clock read 4:10 when Zach knocked at the door. I lay across my bed and determined that my body couldn’t stop producing tears. There seemed to be an endless reservoir.
“Em. I’m setting some food out here. You need to eat. I won’t be out here but please open the door and get the food.”
It was quiet again. After a bit, I peeked out. He’d made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chips and a Jell-O. I shut the door and went straight to the computer and found the web page this time clicking on Travon’s picture—his list was much the same with twenty-three girls. I clicked back and moved the cursor to Will’s—twenty-six, which surprised me because he wasn’t as good looking as the rest. Jackson sat at twenty. I clicked back to Zach…he was the lowest in points and had gained zero since Estelle.
I stayed home on spring break for a reason…I had to study…so I got on my CD drive and opened the material. Today was the Vietnam War and I listened intently to the narrator and followed by taking notes. My test was Monday at the school in the counselor’s office. I hoped I could be ready.
I read until I couldn’t see straight but still wasn’t sure if we lost or won the war. It was 6:30. I walked down the stairs quietly and he was asleep on the sofa. I stood and stared at him, lying on our sofa, bare chested and beautiful. No tears came. Finally. I wondered if that was a good or bad thing. I wanted to go to him to hold him and to tell him how much I loved him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The TV was on Sportscenter but with no volume. His phone lay in front of him on the coffee table and I picked it up. He had phoned his mom earlier and I smiled replacing it in its spot. A spiral notebook was across his stomach and I tilted my head trying to read it. Scribbled on the paper was Ryan, Grant, Estelle. Hmm.
I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, headed back up the stairs and stepped over my delivered dinner and shut my door.
After staring at the computer until my eyes grew heavy, I lay across my unmade bed; his smell inundated the sheets. I buried my face in the pillow inhaling the scent that I’d grown to love. Maybe this was for the best. We break up now and then I wouldn’t have to endure the pain later. I couldn’t imagine never holding him again, never kissing him again, never feeling his breath against my skin. I wasn’t sure I’d ever love again. No one could compete with what he’d given me…with what he was to me. His USC shirt was at the foot of my bed. I grabbed it and shoved it over my head then collapsed onto the pillow.
It was 1:15 in the morning when I woke up to find Ryan’s Ducks blanket over me. Zach had visited sometime during the night. I moved to the edge of the bed unable to go back to sleep and noticed my tray of food was gone. My heart ached, my body was numb. I didn’t understand this inexplicable feeling inside. Why did I want to forgive already? I needed to be angry. I wanted to be angry. This was not okay. I needed him and his arms and his smile.
The house was dark as I moved quietly from my room and down the stairs. The TV flickered against the wall and splashed across his face. The ache grew as I stepped closer to him and watched his chest move with each breath. I knelt next to the sofa. He had one hand behind his head and the hair under his arm was dark. I cautiously laid my head against his chest and felt instantly soothed by the rhythm of his pulse in my ear. His body jerked and his heart rate accelerated when his eyes opened. He raised his head and looked down at me lowering his arm and touching my hair.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered as if someone else was in the house.
I didn’t want him to know that I missed him…that I wanted him…or that I needed him. My body reacted on its own by pulling away. He stopped me.
“What?” His eyes were dark and concerned.
“I had a bad dream,” I lied.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Except that I wanted to rewind yesterday and start it over. I wouldn’t have looked at the messages and I wouldn’t have looked at the stupid computer.
His eyes bore into mine, and I surprised myself when the invited tears didn’t come. He lifted the quilt that covered his legs extending an offer for me to join him. Not wanting to be too eager, I hesitated then slid next to him. I kept my arms between my body and his chest, my head nestled just below his under arm. My body relaxed regardless of how hard my heart pelted my chest. One of his arms held my shoulders securely so I wouldn’t fall off and the other brushed through my hair. I suddenly remembered how he’d told me about the illegal drugs and how they made him forget about the pain of leaving. As if he was a syringe himself…he’d just done that for me. I closed my eyes and allowed my body to succumb.
I must have slept like that for six hours because when I woke up at eight something, we hadn’t moved. His eyes were open and ours met for a second before mine flicked away. I pushed myself up.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have wakened you last night,” I said, trying to not breathe my morning breath his way.
He didn’t try and hold on. “It’s OK. I’m glad you did. Do you remember what it was about?”
I knew he was referring to the nightmare that I’d claimed I’d had. The nightmare that I was living as we spoke. “No.�
�
“Do you want some breakfast?” He asked.
“No. I have some reading to do.” I started up the stairs.
“Em. You’re gonna have to eat. You had nothing yesterday.”
I kept walking. “I’m not hungry,” I said over my shoulder.
His footsteps padded up the stairs. “What are you reading? You did it yesterday too.”
I flipped on the bathroom light and put toothpaste on my toothbrush. “Well. I had a great idea over Christmas break and NOW, it doesn’t seem so great but…I earned credits over Christmas during our parental enforced break, and I’m earning enough this week that I will be close to being a junior when I graduate this year.” I began to brush my teeth.
“Are you serious?” He stepped in further.
I nodded unable to answer, finished brushing, rinsed and dried. “Not sure what the point in all that is given that…” I couldn’t finish the sentence and flipped on the water in the shower.
“You’re doing this for me?” His eyes were serious.
I threw his USC shirt in the hamper making a mental note to do laundry today and exposing my tank underneath. I shrugged acting like it was no big deal…but he was right…this was all for him. The bathroom collected steam from the hot water. I started to pull my shorts down and stopped above my hipbone staring at him acting like I’d go further, but knowing I didn’t have the courage.
“Excuse me. I know you’ve been with lots of chicks…women…whatever and I’m sure you’ve seen them naked, but this is new and a little awkward for the fifteen-year old. So if you could cut me some slack and…”
He shut the door before I could finish, and I smiled before undressing completely and stepping into the hot water.
The day was virtually a repeat of the one before and, as angry as I was, I was sad it was our last. I read today about the Iranian Hostages in 1977 and the Gulf War and Sadaam Hussein—learning more than I would ever remember, but it was credits none the less.
My lunch was delivered again, and to be a bitch and make my point, I refused to eat. I e-mailed my parents to let them know things were great here needing to keep up the façade hoping they’d never find out anything different.
Old Enough to Love... (Just One of the Guys) Page 30