Auctioned to Him_Damage

by Charlotte Byrd

  Simon shakes his head and laughs. “Oh my God, that’s blasphemous.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Cooking in the microwave, of course! Or that it’s even considered cooking,” he laughs.

  “I happen to think it’s pretty awesome,” Tristan says. We’re all joking around, making fun, but something about how Tristan says that changes the entire tone of the conversation. I can tell that everyone had noticed it.

  “I know, me too. I didn’t mean anything by it, Juliet,” Simon says. She shrugs, clearly not caring. Juliet’s one of those people who let things that don’t matter slide. She’s sort of amazing like that. I admire her greatly for it, even though I often want to kill her for it as well. I mean, how does she go through life like that? Really?

  The evening continues on without a hitch. Much better than I thought it would, honestly. Except that as times passes and I get more and more engulfed in my conversation with Juliet and Tea, I suddenly notice that Simon and Tristan seem to disagree on pretty much everything.

  They disagree about the correct lyrics to Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball”. They look it up and Simon’s right.

  They disagree on whether Christmas will fall on a weekday or a weekend this year. How or why that topic of conversation ever came up, I will never know! They look it up and Tristan’s right.

  They disagree on who’s going to play in the Super Bowl this year. There’s no way to know yet. It’s only October.

  After awhile, Tea gets annoyed that Tristan’s attention is entirely focused on Simon and takes off early. He waves goodbye to her without even bothering to get up or walk her to the door, and she leaves angry. Tristan can be very insensitive at times, and I’m glad that, for once, I’m not on the other end of that. Half an hour later, Simon takes off too, but not before he and Tristan get into a little tiff.

  I’m not sure what brings it on because I’m in the middle of a very important conversation with Juliet about the proper way of removing glue from false lashes. But then I suddenly hear Tristan say, “You know, you don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

  “About what? I’m just stating my opinion.”

  “Oh, whatever. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Tristan says and storms off into his room.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  “Your roommate doesn’t like to hear the truth,” Simon says, clearly unfazed. He shrugs and gives me a little peck on the cheek. “I have to go.”

  “I had a good time today,” Simon says while I wait for the elevator with him.

  “Me too.”

  “Can I see you again?” he asks.

  “Yes, of course,” I say and lean up to kiss him.

  When I get back to the room, Tristan’s pacing in the living room. He’s angry. Very angry. I’ve never seen him like that.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asks. I nod. “In private?”

  I follow him to his room. Suddenly, I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever been here. I look around. Almost every square inch of blank wall space is covered in posters. Girls in bikinis. Lakers and 49ers posters (clearly, Tristan’s). Yankees and Knicks posters (Dylan’s). The stereotypical John Belushi College poster, which seems to be a requirement for every college guy’s room. And then there’s the smell. No, not smell. But stench. The place smells of old burritos and sweat.

  “Don’t you guys ever air this place out?” I ask.

  “Sorry, we went to that candle store that you and Juliet love, but they said that you’ve cleaned them out,” he says without missing a beat.

  “Haha, very funny,” I smile. It’s nice to banter with him again. I realize that it’s this banter that I’ve really missed over the last few months. It’s not even the kissing or the sex or touching. It’s the friendly banter. It feels like old times again. Long ago times. When we were friends and things were less complicated.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” I ask.

  “That guy. Simon,” Tristan says, elongating his name in an effort to mock him. It works. I roll my eyes.

  “You want to talk about Simon?” I ask.

  “Yes. What’s up with him?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Are you seeing him or something?” Tristan asks.

  “I don’t know. I guess. Today was our first date. Well, sort of,” I say. I suddenly catch myself. I don’t know why I’m telling him all this. It’s none of his business.

  “Why do you care?” I ask.

  “He moves fast, doesn’t he?” Tristan avoids my question.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tristan starts to pace the room again. He’s no longer talking to me, but at me.

  “Had his tongue down your throat already and then met your roommates,” he says, avoiding eye contact with me.

  I’ve never seen Tristan like this. What the hell is going on? And then it hits me.

  “Wait a second,” I say. “What’s going on here? Are you jealous? Really?”

  I smile. I feel myself beaming. I try to stop smiling, but I can’t.

  “No, I’m not jealous,” Tristan says quickly. A little too quickly to be believable.

  He can deny it all he wants, but I see right through him. He is jealous.

  “How can you be jealous? You have a girlfriend!” I say.

  “Who, Tea? She’s not my girlfriend,” he says. I furrow my brows. Don’t believe him.

  “Does she know that? Because from the looks of it, it seems like she is.”

  He shakes his head. “No, she isn’t. We’re just hanging out. Seeing each other. But not exclusively. Nothing serious.”

  I shake my head. I feel bad for Tea. I don’t think she sees it that way. “Well, in that case, you should talk to her. I’m not sure you’re on the same page.”

  He looks right at me. “Don’t change the subject,” he says.

  “From what?”

  “From you.”

  “I wasn’t.” I shrug.

  “So, what, you like that guy? Simon?”

  I think about it for a moment. I want to answer as truthfully as possible. That’s what friends do, right?

  “Yes, I do.” I nod. “A lot.”

  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

  “And why is it you don’t like him?” I ask. Tristan doesn’t have a good reason.

  “I just have a bad feeling about it, Alice,” he says. Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

  “Tristan, you don’t have a bad feeling. You’re just jealous. But you’re going to have to get over it. Because we’re not together anymore,” I say and leave the room.

  26

  Somehow, Tristan and I fall into a new normal. A couple of weeks pass. He continues to see Tea (I hope that they’ve had that talk about their relationship and that he’s not leading her on, but I don’t know). I keep seeing Simon. Simon and I go on four dates. Each one better than the one before. Slowly, but surely, we’re getting to that place. You know, sex. Possibly.

  “So you haven’t done it yet?” Juliet asks one night while clipping new extensions into her hair.

  It was out of the blue, but I’ve been meaning to talk to someone about it. She might be my best option.

  “No, not yet,” I sigh. “I’m not sure if I’m ready.”

  “What? Why?” She stares at me as if I’d lost my mind. Clearly, I have to explain it to her more bluntly.

  “Well, I haven’t done it with anyone else since Tristan. So I feel a little uneasy about the whole thing.”

  “But you like Simon, right?”

  I nod.

  “So what does this have to do with Tristan, again?” she asks, brushing one of the extensions.

  Everything seems so simple to her. I wish I were more like her. No complications. No analysis. Just living life by the seat of her pants. But I have a problem with living too much in my head. It has never really gotten me anywhere good. I just don’t know how to stop.

  I
shrug. I don’t know how to answer her. “It has nothing to do with him. It’s weird.”

  She rolls her eyes. She’s wearing so much make up that the eye roll is particularly exaggerated, reminding me of a cartoon character.

  “No, what’s weird is that Tristan’s seeing that fat chick after dumping you, of all people, and they’re doing it like rabbits while you’re dating someone hotter than your ex and not doing it with him.”

  Juliet’s words leave me breathless. I don’t even know where to begin addressing that action packed statement of bullshit that she laid on my lap. I decide to start at the beginning.

  “First of all, Tea’s not fat,” I say.

  “She’s big boned,” Juliet and I say at the same time. Juliet’s mocking me.

  “And she’s really nice,” I add.

  Juliet shrugs. “Fine, you want to go around pretending to like your ex’s new girlfriend, you do that. I don’t see him doing the same thing for you, but okay.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” Juliet turns to me and uses the hair curler as a pointer. “Alice, Tristan’s got a girlfriend and he’s super jealous about what you’re doing with Simon – some guy you’re not even sleeping with.”

  I hate to admit it, but that makes me really happy. I feel a little smile forming on my face and force it away. I change the subject.

  “You really think that Simon’s hotter?” I ask.

  Juliet rolls her eyes, again. “I’m not even justifying that with an answer. Your attachment to Tristan is ridiculous. He fucked up. Broke up with you. Why can’t you just move on?”

  “I am moving on,” I say. It no longer feels like we’re joking around. Now, I’m getting mad. “I don’t want Tristan back. I wouldn’t even take him back if he wanted to get back together,” I add.

  I’ve never said those words out loud. I barely let myself think them before. But saying them now feels true. Honest. Yes, I wouldn’t take him back. It’s over. We’re over.

  “So why are you so afraid of sleeping with Simon?” Juliet asks.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “The only thing I do know for sure is that it has nothing to do with Tristan. It’s all me. I haven’t slept with anyone else. Maybe I’m just scared.”

  Later that night, Juliet goes out to one of the clubs in Soho. It’s Tuesday night. Juliet likes to go out on weeknights because, according to her, “that’s when the clubs are full of locals” and not the bridge and tunnel kind. I’ve gone out with her once on a weeknight, but then couldn’t concentrate for shit in class the next day. She goes out a couple of times per week and insists that she’s perfectly fine the next day. But then again, I don’t spend my Wednesday mornings sleeping in and my Wednesday afternoons in a class on breathing. How can there be a whole semester on breathing? Is there even enough material to cover over twelve weeks? And if there is, how the hell are the rest of us getting by without this intensive 12-week class on something so elemental and essential to life? I doubt I will ever discover the answers to these questions.

  I had invited Simon over to study earlier that day and he comes right after Juliet leaves. Unfortunately for me, I’m the only one who has to study. He’s coming to draw. I didn’t want to make any final plans about what would happen later tonight, but I decided to play it safe and shave my legs and other important parts of my body, just in case. I put on my best pair of panties and curse myself for not having a matching set of bra and panties. I mean how hard is it to get a matching set, anyway? You’re an adult now, Alice. A woman. And women have matching bra and panty sets!

  I look at myself in the mirror. Black no-line panties and a black push up bra with lace and little flowers near the straps. The bra makes my breasts look like they’re a C-cup, even though they’re barely a B. My mom likes to say that these bras are false advertisements and that men will be undoubtedly disappointed. My sisters and I know she’s joking, but none of us are as well-endowed as she is. And at this point in my life, I’m not ready to go under the knife like many girls in my high school did. So the push up bra will have to do. And if he’s disappointed…oh well.

  Once I make the undergarments decision, I turn to my closet and face a much more difficult and complicated decision: what to wear on top. I pull out two pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, two blouses, a skirt, and a dress. I try on a total of four outfits. One’s too dressy. Another one is way too dressy. One’s too casual and not feminine enough. Finally, the last one is just perfect. Skinny jeans, a tight Polo sweater with black and white stripes and a pair of Uggs with little bow ties in the back. I look at myself in the mirror. Cute.

  Simon comes on time. He’s dressed in loose fitting jeans and a sexy grey t-shirt that hugs him in all the right places. After giving me a brief hug and a warm kiss, he throws his coat on Juliet’s bed and plops down on mine with his sketchpad.

  “Can I draw you while you study?” he asks and begins to make an outline without waiting for my reply.

  “What?” I ask. My hands grow cold and shivers run up my spine.

  “C’mon, please?” he pleads.

  No, I shake my head. Absolutely not, I think to myself.

  “Why?” he looks up at me with his beautiful blue eyes. The light in the room makes them look hazel and even more mysterious and cunning than usual.

  “Because I’m way too self-conscious!” I say. How’s that not obvious? Who the hell would agree to have themselves be sketched and feel okay about it?

  “You have no reason to be self-conscious. You’re beautiful.”

  Simon says that in such a quiet, unassuming way that I believe him. I know that’s exactly how he feels.

  “Thank you.” I smile. “But that’s still a no.”

  He puts his sketchpad away and inches his way close to me. I’m sitting with my legs crossed on the other side of the bed and he puts his hands on my knees and pulls himself closer.

  “C’mon, I’m very respectful,” he whispers and kisses my hand. “This isn’t going to be like Titanic or anything, if you’re worried. You don’t have to take your clothes off.”

  “Well, thank you for that.” I roll my eyes. I wasn’t even thinking that it would be, but now I am. Titanic’s my favorite movie. I’ve watched it a million times. My sisters don’t get it because it came out before my time, but I love old movies!

  Simon smiles at me and refuses to break eye contact. The mention of Titanic has intrigued me. But there’s no way that I’m posing naked. Kate Winslet has way more guts than I do.

  “Okay, fine. Suit yourself.” Simon pulls away from me. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek to show that they are no hard feelings and goes back to his sketchpad. I open my notebook and try to concentrate on my notes on Catcher in the Rye. Unfortunately, I can barely read my own handwriting or make out anything that I wrote down. Nothing I read makes any sense and after five minutes of struggling, my eyes start to drift.

  27

  “Wait, a second! What are you doing?” I ask when I catch a glimpse of Simon’s work and see an outline of my face.

  “Nothing.” He smiles and covers his work. I grab it out of his hand and run to the other side of the room.

  “Hey! That’s private!” he yells, half joking.

  “Yes! Exactly!” I yell back and laugh. “This is my face! That’s private, too!”

  Simon gets off the bed and starts chasing me around the room. We make two circles around the room before he catches up to me, grabs his sketchpad from my hand and knocks me down on the bed. We burst out in laughter, which quickly morphs into kissing.

  Simon’s tongue slides down my neck and pauses at my breasts. He then continues further down. He pulls up my shirt and kisses my belly button. Suddenly, everything becomes a blur. My shirt comes off. I unbutton his pants. He struggles in pulling off my jeans. He takes off my bra. I pull off his shirt. He caresses my breasts with his tongue. I run my tongue toward his belly button and tug at his boxer briefs.

  “Hey, have you seen my…” Tr
istan barges into my room.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I scream. He freezes in the doorway. I grab something off the floor and try to cover myself up. It’s futile. It’s my bra and I’m not in the right frame of mind to put it on properly. None of the clasps make any sense. I grab a shirt instead and wrap it around my torso.

  When I look up, Tristan’s still there.

  “Tristan! What the hell?” I say. “Get the hell out!”

  But Tristan just stands there like a frozen statue. I see Simon smile wryly. The expression on his face makes him look proud. And if not proud then definitely unfazed.

  “Tristan! Tristan!” I try again.

  This time, he seems to snap out of it. Simon looks at me and then at Tristan. Back to me.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers and leaves.

  I enter some sort of state of shock. My ears buzz and my hands get cold. I can’t feel the ends of my fingertips at all.

  “He wants you back,” Simon says and starts to kiss my shoulder. His lips feel cold and foreign. I push him away.

  “What?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”

  Simon shrugs.

  “Your ex…he wants you back,” he says.

  The words that come out of his mouth don’t make any sense to me. I shake my head, no. And then look at Simon more closely. He isn’t jealous or worried. Instead, he’s oozing confidence and nonchalance. Is it all an act? I wonder. Doesn’t seem like it.

  Simon leans closer to me. I’m still grasping my shirt around my breasts in a failed effort to cover up. He touches my arm and tries to pull it away. I stop him. Without a word, he starts to kiss me again. Up my neck. Then my lips. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to recapture our moment. Trying to bring us back to what we were doing before the interruption. But I can’t think straight. I can’t focus. I can’t let myself fall back into that world. The interruption is all I can think about.

  “Wait, wait.” I pull away. “Stop. I can’t.”