My Favorite Mistake

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  I wanted so, so much to say, “Are you fucking serious?” but that wouldn't have helped my case.

  “So there's nothing you can do?”

  “Not unless there is a direct threat. Has he threatened you? Don't be afraid to speak up.”

  I thought about it for half a second, but I knew if I told her Hunter had threatened me, then he would get in trouble and could get kicked out of school. Campus security would get involved, and he could even get arrested. As much as the image of Hunter in jail amused me, I couldn't be the one to put him there if he didn't deserve it. Seeing as how I was the one who technically assaulted him.

  I was stuck.

  “No, he hasn't.”

  “Okay. Here's my card. Never hesitate to call us if it's an emergency. Sounds like you two just need to have a chat. I'll have your RD contact you about setting up some mediation.” She stood and held out her hand, effectively ending the meeting. I had no choice but to stand, shake her hand and leave with her card clutched in my hand.

  What a fucking waste of time.

  I didn't know why I had expected anything more. In a university with around 12,000 undergraduate students, I was a number. That was why I'd chosen UMaine instead of a smaller college. Now I was paying for it.

  I stormed back to the apartment. Darah had gone home for the weekend to celebrate her mom's birthday, so she was already gone. Renee had a nursing group meeting, so I knew if anyone was going to be there, it would be Hunter.

  I tried not to slam the door, but failed.

  “Rough day?” a male voice said.

  I glanced at the couch to find him sitting there with his guitar.

  I held my composure for a second.

  “You're on,” I said, walking over to him and sticking my hand in his face. “The bet, you're on.”

  He stared at my hand for a second and a slow smile spread across his face.

  “Once we shake hands there is no going back.”

  I nodded, but pulled my hand back before he could touch me.

  “There have to be some parameters. This whole thing about loving and hating can't be proved. I told you I hated you and punched you, but you didn't believe it. If I said I loved you right now, you wouldn't believe me. So how do we measure this?”

  “It's harder to say you love someone than to say you hate them. So you have to say the words. And they have to be real.”

  “How will you know they're real?”

  He shrugged.

  “I'll know. You'll know.”

  “And the hate part?”

  “I'll know you hate me when I see that look in your eyes. I've seen it before, and I'll know.”

  “So you're going to determine this. I have no say?” I balled my hands at my sides, wanting to hit him.

  “I'm not forcing you to accept this. You can call housing and tell them that I'm sexually harassing you. They'll drag me to a disciplinary hearing and probably kick me out of school. You could say the word right now. But you aren't going to do that.”

  “I can't,” I said. As much as it would get him out of my life. “You're a jerk, but you're not that. If you were, I would have gotten rid of you so fast, your head would have spun around.”

  “Exactly. You're not a girl who puts up with anything. You can take care of yourself; you showed me that on the first night. You'll let me know when I've gone too far.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Okay,” I said, and we shook hands. I tried to let go, but he took my hand and pulled me so I crashed into his chest.

  “So, here we are. You're stuck with me until Christmas,” he breathed.

  He let go of my hand, and I stepped back. It was not an easy thing to do. My body was drawn to his like the opposite pole of a magnet.

  “You think you're the one who makes my life difficult. I can make it so much worse for you,” I said, smiling sweetly. His blue eyes were skeptical.

  “How so?”

  “You really want to know? I'm going to invite a bunch of girls over, and we're going to watch girlie movies and talk about our periods and burn all kinds of scented candles and we'll probably stay up all night giggling.”

  “When do the naked pillow fights and making out start?”

  I smacked his shoulder.

  “You pig, that's not what happens at sleepovers unless they're in the movies. But Darah and Renee and I can gang up on you. You have no idea how bad it could be.”

  “What makes you think any of that would make me uncomfortable?” he said, throwing a wrench in my spur-of-the-moment plan to get him back.

  “Because all guys run away when girls start talking about their menstrual cycles. You're supposed to run away now.”

  He stepped closer to me.

  “Doesn't bother me.”

  “Tampon,” I said.

  He took another step.

  “Cramps. Bloating. Heavy flow.”

  His chest was almost touching my nose. I tipped my head back to meet his eyes. He didn't blink. I could almost feel the cotton of his shirt against my skin. He slowly reached up and put his thumbs on either side of my face.

  “Keep going,” he said, pulling my face up, so I had to go up on my toes. Oh, my.

  At that precise moment, my brain stopped working. It stopped thinking, and even trying to think.

  “Out of words, Missy?” he said, one side of his mouth tipping up.

  That smirk snapped me back into reality. I glared at him and pulled away from his hands. He chuckled.

  “You're going to have to work really hard to prove you hate me. The other thing, maybe not so hard.”

  “You're full of it,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “And you have no idea how sexy you look right now, so pissed at me.”

  My mouth dropped open. I didn't have anything to say, so I pulled my knee back like I was going to get him in the balls, but stopped short of hitting them. It was awesome to watch him flinch.

  “Watch it there,” he said.

  I just grinned at him.

  “Don't forget you have something you value very much more that I can damage. Just remember that.”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Don't you have somewhere to be? Some other girls to objectify?” I asked.

  “Why would I go anywhere when I have all I need right here?”

  I was going to make a snappy comment, but couldn't come up with one. It surprised me that a twenty-year-old, good-looking guy wouldn't have plans on a Friday night. But hey, what did I know?

  *****

  Hunter treated me with the same cocky manner he'd used the first two days I'd met him, which was quite a change from the cold indifference. He made comments that would have made me blush a few years ago. Renee came back from her meeting and kept giving me a look when he did it. The I-told-you- so look.

  I wasn't going to sleep with Hunter. I wasn't going to sleep with anyone, at least not right now. I couldn't even think of having sex without my hands shaking and my stomach turning.

  I had no problem with other consenting adults doing it, but I knew that sex was messy. It was complicated and some people used it as a weapon. I was never going to let that happen to me. If I did it, it would be because I wanted to. And I hadn't met anyone who made me want to.

  Yet.

  He stayed up late on Friday night playing the guitar. I was exhausted from my failed meeting, so I went to bed. He asked me if I minded if he stayed up and played.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “You wish,” he said and played a little tune from a commercial. Haha. I rolled my eyes and put the covers over my head, as if I was blocking him out.

  “You know you like it.”

  Yes, I did. More than I would ever admit.

  I fell asleep to the sounds of guitar strumming.

  When I woke up, he was mumbling again. It would have been downright adorable if he wasn't so upset. I considered waking him again, but I didn't want to lose my face. So I let him g
o and listened.

  “Mommy, wake up. Please wake up.” His voice was scared.

  I looked around and found a pair of socks that I balled up and chucked them as hard as I could at him. They bopped his shoulder, but he didn't wake up. I tried to find something else. I looked around and found a metal coat hanger on my closet door. I unfolded it and used it as a poking stick to jab him. It took a few tries, but he finally grabbed at the spot where I was poking.

  “What the fuck?” his half-awake voice said.

  I quickly threw my poking tool down and pretended I was asleep. I heard him turn over and I could feel his eyes on me.

  “Did you just poke me?”

  I decided to play dumb.

  “What?” I said, attempting a sleepy voice.

  “You just poked me with something.”

  “No I didn't. I was sleeping until a moment ago.”

  “No, you weren't. You were poking me with that piece of wire that's sitting on the floor. Very sly, Missy, but I'm not a moron.” He got up, and I heard him picking up my poking device.

  “I was talking again, wasn't I?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Don't tell me what I said. I already know.”

  “How?”

  “Because I shared a room with my cousin growing up, and at one point he told me what I said.”

  “You lived with Mase?” I asked, turning over. This was the first time he'd talked about his family. It was crazy early to be up on a Saturday, but this was worth getting up for. This was the first time Hunter had initiated talk about himself without me having to attack him for it.

  “What happened to your parents?” I said quietly. I didn't want to scare him off.

  He got back into bed. I rolled over, so I faced him. He was sitting up , his back against the wall and his legs over the edge.

  “They're dead.” The air left the room, and I found it impossible to breathe. I couldn't find words to say to him. Nothing I said would mean anything.

  “Yeah, that's what I thought,” he said after a few moments of my silence.

  “I'm sorry. I just didn't know what to say, so I didn't want to say something stupid. I was trying to think of something to say that wasn't stupid. Guess I failed.”

  To my surprise, he laughed.

  “You don't have a filter. It's one of the things I like about you. Don't start now. Say whatever you want.”

  “I'd say that's one of the saddest things I've ever heard, and it explains a lot.”

  “Yes, it does,” he said, looking down at his hands. “And you're one of the only people who has said they were sorry, and I really believe you. People say things they don't mean all the time. It's easy to spot the bullshit.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I was a professional bullshit spotter. It was one of my hidden talents.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Someday I'll tell you,” he said, rubbing the top of his head with his hand, as if he was rubbing a lucky spot. I decided to change tactics and ask another burning question I had.

  “Okay, then tell me about your tattoos.”

  “I told you I didn't believe in fate; I believe in luck. So I figured, why not have all the luck I can with me?”

  “How many do you have?”

  He turned his arm and showed me the seven. “One,” he said, and then pulled his left ear so I could see the ink behind it. “Two.” He turned his back and pointed to the one between his shoulder blades. “Three.” He pulled his foot up and showed me another that I hadn't seen before, which was a star. “Four.” He pointed to the one on his chest. “Five. I want to have seven when I'm done, but I only do one when I get the urge, so I haven't gotten one in a few months.”

  “What are they? I can't really see from here,” I said. It wasn't a ploy to get him to come closer in his shirtless state, I swear.

  He got off his bed slowly and walked toward me. The look on his face wasn't confident. It was open, as if he was showing me a piece of himself that he rarely shared. I knew this moment was precious, easily broken, like a finger through a soap bubble.

  “This one, you can see is a seven. It's a lucky number in many cultures. This,” he said, pulling his ear forward, “is your standard horseshoe. Sailors used to nail them to the masts of their ships to help them stay out of the path of storms.”

  He turned his back, and I finally saw what the one on his back was.

  If I hadn't done a project in sixth grade on Egyptian mythology, I might not have known it was a scarab beetle. The beetles would shed their outer skins, carapaces, and the Egyptians saw that as a symbol for rebirth, and thus thought the beetles were immortal.

  “You're really mixing up your mythologies there, Z.”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the nickname.

  “I'm all for diversity,” he said dryly.

  I got out of bed and went to study it closer. It was beautiful, the colors nearly shimmering on his skin. Whoever he had gotten this from was a real artist. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it to see if it was real.

  “So, there you have it,” he said, turning around. “And then I just have a little star on my foot. So there you have it, my ink history. Now show me yours.” His mouth turned up at the side, and Mr. Cocky was back. What a shock.

  “Sorry, dude, none to show,” I said, hopping back in bed.

  “I wasn't asking about your tattoos, Missy.” He leaned forward and braced his hands on either sides of my legs, almost, but not quite touching my skin. Even though he wasn't touching me, my skin tingled as if he was.

  “Why, Hunter, are you asking to see my lady parts?”

  “Asking is putting it mildly,” he said, and there was the tiniest growl in his voice.

  The want to push myself forward and mesh his body with mine was so strong, I had to grab onto the sheets to stop myself from doing it.

  “You're just messing with me,” I said, my voice a little breathy, like I'd just run up the stairs. “You said you didn’t screw girls you liked.”

  “Oh, Missy, if you only knew,” he said. He slowly moved forward until his face was right in front of mine before pulling back and walking out the door.

  Damn him. Damn him and his blue eyes and his interesting tattoos and his take-what-I-want attitude. The fact that he had a tragic past just added to the mystery of Hunter Zaccadelli.

  *****

  “Hey, kid!” Tawny said, hopping out of her Volvo convertible. I ran to smash her in a hug. I had seen her only a week ago, but I'd missed her.

  “Whoa, you okay?”

  I'd hugged her a bit too enthusiastically. She also must have read the tension on my face.

  “Let's get you a drink and I'll tell you about it.”

  We walked into Margarita's, the only decent Mexican place in downtown Orono. It was crammed between a clothing store that sold fashions for larger women and a real estate office. It was ridiculously narrow, but had two floors so there were plenty of cozy nooks and private places. The tables were hand painted, and there were tons of sombreros and chili lights strung on the wall. Soft music played in the background.

  Tawny and I went upstairs and found a table for two in a corner behind a large beam. I ordered a Coke, and Tawny got a margarita.

  “I'll give you a sip when no one is looking,” she said.

  I filled her in on the whole Hunter saga while we waited for the waitress to come back so we could order.

  “He sounds like an ass,” was her assessment.

  “He is,” I said, laughing

  Tawny paused with her drink midway to her lips.

  “Oh, no.”

  “What?” I said, looking around.

  “You like him.”

  “What? No, I don't.”

  She put her drink down, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

  “Yes, you totally do! Jesus, Kid, what are you thinking?”

  “I do not like him,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  “Don't insult my
intelligence. I know your face better than anyone else. I also know every single tone of your voice. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you're not lying to me. So, tell me about him.”

  “He's...” I said, struggling to find words to describe him, “he's a jerk, and he says whatever is in his head and he is always pushing my buttons and pushing his luck. He says he doesn't sleep with girls he likes, but then he's always coming after me. He's complicated.”

  “He sounds complicated. Good-looking?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Well then, what's the problem?” she said as the waitress came to take our order.

  We paused the conversation. I ordered nachos with extra guac, and Tawny went for the steak quesadillas. I tried to think about my answer to Tawny's question.

  “You know what the problem is.”

  “Kid, that was so long ago. I got over it.”

  “You never get over something like that,” I said softly.

  “No, you're right, you don't. But you learn to live with it. Like a scar. You need to stop hating everyone.”

  “I don't hate everyone,” I said.

  “Close, Tay, close.”

  I changed the subject, and Tawny let me. We didn't come back to Hunter until we were sharing our fried ice cream, which was ice cream covered in a crunchy topping, with honey drizzled on one side and chocolate on the other. I had the chocolate side.

  “What's the worst that could happen?”

  “You know what the worst is,” I said.

  “You can't let one bad apple ruin the whole barrel. There were a lot of signs that I chose to ignore. Does Hunter make you feel unsafe? Is he controlling?”

  “No,” I said. Hunter had never made me feel like he was going to hurt me physically. Kiss me, yes. But those were two different kinds of fear.

  “You know the signs. You know the red flags. Have you seen any of them?”

  “No.”

  “Then why not stop being so hostile?”

  “He likes me hostile, I think.”

  “Okay, I've gotta meet this guy. I also want to see your new place.”