Long After
Page 4I hated her instantly.
She moved into my bedroom, crowding me with her obnoxious band posters and musical instruments. And she took Guy away. Not that Guy ever really liked me, but he was my brother. Not once had he ever claimed me, but when Hope came around, he told everyone that would listen that she was his sister.
So I hated her more.
It was a bad time for me. Too much change at once. I was stuck in this hole that I had dug myself and all I wanted was a way out. It felt like Hope was just filling in the hole with me still in it.
It wasn’t until senior year that I finally started to see the real girl underneath her hard exterior. I made some mistakes and Hope was the one that stood by my side. I let my guard down and allowed her in. It had taken a long time, but I realized she pretty much felt the same way I did all my life. Where I felt like I was being buried, weighed down from pressure, Hope felt like she was drowning in it. Something changed between us, and though I’ve never been able to tell her this, she became my best friend and favorite person.
I sigh, my gaze moving through the library.
I miss her.
Pulling my cell phone out of my purse, I pull her number up, and stare at it. I think about hitting send, but she hasn’t called me once since she left. I remind myself that just because she became my best friend doesn’t mean I was ever hers.
I tuck my phone back into its spot and try to focus on studying.
6
Boyfriend
Chase
I’ve never really enjoyed school. I don’t like getting up early. I don’t like being forced to sit through boring lectures. I despise homework. Once I go home, I shouldn’t be expected to do more work.
But I love tests.
I know it’s weird, but I’m good at them. In high school, I didn’t do homework because we’ve already established homework is bullshit. But I’d show up to class, listen to the lecture, and take the tests. That’s how I passed with a B average.
College isn’t like that. One paper can be worth half your grade, so just passing the tests can’t save me. And that…sucks.
I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing in college. I only enrolled because if I didn’t, I would’ve been left behind. In retrospect, I should’ve made friends with people less goal-oriented. Then I could be sitting on my parents’ couch, playing my bass—not trying to write a paper about dead people.
Too damn late now.
I backspace the last two paragraphs I wrote as I glare at the screen. In my next life, I better be an actor or a mafia kingpin because I’m not doing this college shit twice.
“Chase,” Pauly yells, pulling the headphones away from my ear. “That girl is here again.” He gestures toward the door and I follow his movement. Annie’s standing just outside the open door. She’s nibbling on her lip, which kills me a little bit. She does shit like that all the time, absentmindedly chewing her lips or licking them in this way that draws my attention. I can’t remember when I started actually looking at her like a girl, but it’s been torturous for the past few years.
I look down at where my headphones are connected to her iPod resting on my bed. Annie smirks and I know she just realized. Then I smirk because it’s not what she thinks. In fact, she’s about to be extremely pissed off when she discovers what I did. That’s why I did it.
Annie steps inside, gazing around as she walks hesitantly in my direction. “I thought my music was crap?”
I smile at her, not replying.
She sighs. “What did you do?”
“Let’s just say I’m schooling you.”
Her head tips to the side as one blonde brow arches in disbelief. “You’re schooling me?”
“Hey,” I say defensively. “In this situation, I’m more educated. Clearly.”
She snatches the device from my hand and switches it back on, scrolling through the music I replaced her old tunes with.
“You erased all my music.” She drops her hand to her side and looks at me with round eyes. “Why would you do that? What is wrong with you?”
I blow out a long breath and stretch my legs out. “I had to do it. For mankind. That shit you call music…it’s…shit.”
She shakes her head, confusion furrowing her brow. “Okay, you don’t like it and that’s fine. It was on my iPod because I do like it. It wasn’t affecting you in any way. I can’t believe you did that.”
“It was affecting me—negatively—when you played it where I could hear.”
She’s glaring at me, but the corner of her mouth is twitching, fighting back a smile. “There’s something very wrong with you.”
I grin. “Don’t worry, I fixed the problem.” I tap her hand. “I put some of my favorites on there—you’re welcome. You only have eight gigs of memory, though, so I couldn’t put everything I wanted on it.” I set my laptop to the side and swing my legs over the bed. “How can you live with only eight gigs?” I stand up and she takes a step back. “Oh,” I continue before she can reply. “Don’t worry. I replaced all your playlists too.”
“What?” Annie’s cheeks ignite with color as she quickly swipes her thumb over the screen.
I lean in and point. “I really like how you had them named, so I didn’t change that,” I say. ‘“Don’t Let Your Ass Get Fat’, epic. Oh, and there’s my favorite—‘Who’s Your Daddy?’”
She presses her lips together and I grin at her.
“Do you really get it on to The Biebs?”
She closes her eyes, somehow managing to look more embarrassed and I chuckle. That would make the score 19 me—16 Annie.
“I know you may not understand because you can’t get a girl to hook up with you, but it’s not about who is singing the music. It’s about the rhythm and the way your body moves to it.”
She opens her eyes, her gaze landing on me, and I have no reply—which is a first for me. But I have the sudden desire to see the way Annie moves her body to Boyfriend. I used to love watching her cheer in high school. I’m not sure there isn’t a hetero male out there that wouldn’t. Images start flying through my mind and I puff up my cheeks, blowing out a big breath.
Okay…19 me—17 Annie.
She definitely scored that point.
~*~
Sometimes, on certain occasions…some might say I tend to lean—slightly—toward the sensitive side. I’m not going to deny that I tend to be more open to my emotions than others. Here’s important knowledge about me—if I like you, I like you. I don’t give a shit what other people say. I don’t give a shit if you fuck up because we all fuck up at some point. I have no problem reminding you how or why you messed up, but it’s not a deal breaker for me. If you’re my friend, that’s it. That’s `til the end. I will do anything for you. I will always have your back. And you can count on me for anything, including crazy-ass shit nobody else is willing to do.
What can I say? I’m loyal.
Has this gotten me into trouble? Hell yeah it has.
Do I regret it? Nope.
Does this make me weak or lesser of a man?
Well, I have a theory about this. I could easily say fuck it and blow off my friends when they need me. Choose to not open doors for women. Ignore calls from my family. Walk past someone struggling with his or her groceries. Take advantage of drunken females. Lie to get out of helping a buddy move his two-ton couch. It would be so simple to do nothing.
But I make the choice to help others out. It’s just who I am. I can guarantee I’m more reliable, more dependable, more trustworthy than most guys.
Not to pat my own back, but I think I’m a damn good friend to have. And I’d make a pretty good catch, too.
So why the hell am I still single?
No, really. Why am I still single? If you know, you should really help a guy out. I’m not looking to get married. I just want a nice, simple relationship with a girl that’s cool. One that likes music, can make me laugh, and that I get to have sex with on the regular.
It doesn’t take much to make me happy.
I pull my swim trunks out of the dresser drawer and toss them on the bed by my gym bag. Park started working out several days a week and I started going with him. He always bails after an hour, so that’s when I hit the pool.
There’s a bad side to being the nice guy. Sometimes even nice guys get pissed. Occasionally, I’m ready to scream “fuck the world.” But nobody understands when the nice guy loses it.
Swimming keeps me straight. It’s my release. My meditation. My stress reliever. I don’t admit this often, but the smell of chlorine takes me directly to my happy place.
And, man, our school pool is freaking spectacular. I could live in it if they let me. I’m almost positive I was a fish or a merman in my past life.
I would be badass as King Triton.
It takes a lot for me to not like a person, but anybody who hates water is untrustworthy in my opinion. How can anybody not love feeling weightless? Or how your body can move through water in a way it isn’t capable of on the ground? That’s not normal to me.
“Hey,” I say wearily. This is starting to become a habit, her showing up at my door unexpectedly. She licks her lips as she gazes up at me and my mind flips through several scenarios that involve her mouth and various parts of my body.
Just an FYI, every single time a girl does anything with her mouth, a guy will fantasize about it. Talking not excluded—that’s why men have such a hard time paying attention.
“You need to put my music back on my iPod.”
Oh. This again. “I’m on my way out. Can’t you do it yourself?” She can’t. I know she can’t, but I love pissing her off. It’s like an addiction at this point.
“You changed all my passwords,” she huffs. The way her voice squeaks at the end makes me smile.
I chuckle as I push past her. “Maybe you should have protected your music better. It took me four tries to figure out the password. ‘Annie rocks.’ Really?” I pause in front of the elevators and push the down button several times. “I find that ironic, by the way.”
She sighs as the doors open. I step inside, knowing she won’t follow. She has a thing about elevators and malfunctions. Something about plunging to a fiery death. Blah, blah, blah.
I grin and wiggle my fingers as the doors begin to close. Her eyes narrow and she hurries inside just in time. My brows raise in surprise.
“Are you that desperate to be near me?” I ask, smiling smugly at her.
“No,” she pants. “I’m that desperate to get my music back.”
“Why?” I ask seriously. Her music is that lame, pop shit you can listen to on any of the top forty stations.
“I have a routine.” Her hands fist at her sides and I notice a sheen of sweat glossing her forehead. “I need it back. You don’t understand.”
She’s right. I don’t. She could stand here all day and try to explain and I still wouldn’t comprehend how she could possibly miss that shit she calls music. I open my mouth to tell her this, but stop when I see the panic consuming her.
7
Faint
Annie
I hate elevators. I feel dizzy and my stomach is knotting as every possible outcome is running through my head. I watched this time-lapse video once of a man stuck in an elevator for an entire weekend. Trapped.
I’m not claustrophobic, but I don’t like the idea of being imprisoned. Especially with Chase.