The Way We Talk

I decided not to tell anyone. After all, I was trying to pretend that the accidental kiss didn't happen, and publicizing it would be counterproductive. Not to mention it would have meant that Christian would have used his free hookup on a blip.

Sure, it probably would have been a fun inside joke to share with Katy ("...hey, remember the time that Christian totally kissed me?"), but after he'd all but proved that he's physically repulsed by the idea of our lips touching, I don't feel like dealing with the swift kick to my ego.

Under different circumstances, this might have been perfect, but that scenario doesn't include flat out rejection.

But things still returned to normal. I have bigger things to worry about. Like my food politics paper, which, according to my professor, was in serious need of edits.

I twirl my pen with two fingers as I peer over the two copies of my rough draft: the one with my professor's commentary and a fresh copy that I'm used for my own edits. Loopy red ink on the former instructs me to cut a few useless sentences and dig a bit deeper into my topic.

I'm sure this paper on coffee would be easier to deal with if my mind wasn't elsewhere and G-Dub Java didn't charge for refills of the stuff.

My phone vibrates repeatedly on the table. I put down my work and pick it up, eager for a distraction. I frown once I read the screen- "Dave Vellieux calling". I'm not entirely sure why I still have his number in my contacts, and I consider not even picking up.

But curiosity slays that cat every time.

"Hey, you didn't see me during spring break. What's up with that?"

I neglect to tell him that spring break ended about a month ago- he's still on high school time, after all. "Yeah, I went to Cancun with some friends from college instead," I respond casually, unsure of why he's called me. It's not as if we've reconnected recently. The last I saw of him was Katy's party back in November, and I'm sure I made it quite clear that I wanted nothing to do with him.

He scoffs. "Figures."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I reply, visibly irked. Dave has a tendency to make snap, irrational judgments, and I immediately see the direction this might go. I grab my papers and shove them into my bag and stand up to leave. If I'm going to argue with my ex-boyfriend, I'm certainly not going to do it in a fucking coffee shop.

"You've changed since you left. Like, you're all hot shit because you go to a good college. I get it, Maine's not good enough for Erica Saunder's standards."

I take a right at the exit. "How do you think you get away with saying that? You don't even know me anymore."

"Yeah, I don't," he snarls, heat evident in his voice, "You don't let me. You don't talk to me anymore. You shut me out."

"No, you shut you out. You ignored me for an entire summer, Dave. Do you know who pathetic it looks when a girl gets asked where her boyfriend is and she has to answer, 'I don't know, probably getting high with Seth. I haven't seen or spoken to him in a week'. And I put up with it because I wanted to make us work. But you made that impossible when you fucked someone who was one of my best friends. The second you stuck your dick in her, you became dead to me. You burned that bridge, baby," I say the much-hated pet name that he gave me with added, teasing malice.

"God, you are such a fucking hypocrite, Ricky. Yeah, I cheated on you. I acknowledge that I fucked up with the only girl I've ever really given a shit about. But I admit that I was wrong. But you're just as bad, maybe worse. Being the other woman's just as bad- it takes two to have an affair."

"What? I'm not-"

He cut me off. "Do you really think anyone actually believes you? Admit it, you're fucking that Climer kid. It doesn't matter if you have a 'special connection' or whatever bullshit you've named what you two have. He has a girlfriend, so it's cheating. And newsflash; he's not going to leave her just because you've stopped being a fucking prude and opened up your legs. Believe me, I've been here; he's only doing you because he's horny and bored and you're an easy, dirty slut now."

I don't bother to argue further with him. I hang up as I stare up at the concrete pillars of Ivory Tower.

--

I am crying so hard that I'm shaking as Christian opens the door to his dorm. He mutters "I'll fucking kill him" for the five billionth time as he ushers me towards the sofa. He kisses my forehead and disappears to his room to find me blankets.

The microwave dings, and a few seconds later, Maika presses a cup of tea into my hands. "Christian told me what happened. God, what an asshole." He sighs bitterly, shaking his head.

Christian reappears with his Orlando Magic blanket. He covers me with it, then sits down next to me. Maika shoots me an apologetic look and squeezes my hand before disappearing into his dorm.

I put down my tea on the coffee table and collapse against Christian's chest as he rests his chin on top of my head and rubs circles into my back, letting me cry it out.

"You're not alone; there is more to this I know. You can make it out; you will live to tell," he sings softly into my ear. I'm not sure if this a nod to my insane love of Cove Reber's voice or a message in someone else's words, but it soothes me all the same.

"Thank you," I hiccup against his chest. He chuckles, then presses his lips to my hair line. It's funny how many places on my body his lips have been- my forehead, my hair, my shoulder, my cheek, my nose, my elbow, once my belly button- without properly kissing me, really. But we've never pretended that this friendship is all that normal.

I close my eyes, exhausted by the day, and fall asleep against my best friend.

--

I wake up to the sound of arguing- a boy and a girl.

I blink a few times to adjust to the light. I'm in his bed, but Christian is elsewhere.

"Jesus fucking Christ," a voice that I quickly identify as Christian's hisses, "She's my best friend and she was upset."

"Well guess what?" I mutter a swear under my breath as I identify the female voice as Maria Sentauri, "I'm your girlfriend and I'm upset."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, but I don't care about your problems so you can go home, Erica'?"

"Yes!" She screeches, "Or at least have her sleep on the couch. Not in the bed that we have sex in."

"It's not a big enough couch to sleep on and you know that. And it's not like anything happened."

"You know, you keep saying that, and I have no idea if you are telling the truth or not anymore."

I've had enough of this. I grab my bag from Christian's floor. I try to sneak out without them seeing me, but Christian sends me a look of pity and Maria glares at me in disgust. It's a scene I cannot unsee.

I ignore the fact that my hair is a mess, my eyes are red and puffy, and that I'm wearing yesterday's clothes. I make the walk of shame back to Potomac.