Stubborn

The sun broke through whatever spaces the long, white curtains left uncovered, blazing against my eyelids. Soon, the light just wasn’t bearable and my eyes fluttered open to the same unfamiliar place I had sworn never to return to. From where I lay, I stared up at and intricately designed ceiling with curled boarders surrounding the room; like something you would see on an ancient Greek temple. The room looked different during the day. So far, I had only seen it at night, either when trying to get Jordan safely to sleep or when losing all my strength and giving into him. Whatever the occasion, the night is something I attributed with Jordan’s bedroom; the one place where I didn’t want to know what went on behind closed doors. Well, now, I had become exactly what I feared.

Despite the small opening in the enormous bedroom window, letting a soft breeze roll in every now and again, and the obvious fact that my clothes were strewn around the room, I was warm beneath the covers. That was probably because Jordan’s motionless body was only an inch away from mine. I must have subconsciously tried moving away from him in the middle of the night – you know, avoiding all this unnecessary intimacy that went along with sex – but he had somehow found his way even closer. His long, muscular arm was outside of the covers and slung over my stomach, as though subconsciously trying to stop me from running away. Which is exactly what I wanted to do. If he was expecting me to stick around for a nice brunch, then he really didn’t know me at all. As I thought in retrospect, about everything leading up to where I was at that precise moment, I knew that last night was only a release of all this tension. It was like that overplayed, clichéd moment where two opposing characters finally figured out they were in love with each other. Though, in this situation, it wasn’t “love”. It wasn’t necessarily “like” either. It was something else entirely.

I didn’t want to look beside me, knowing what I’d see. But, if I wanted to make a Houdini-esque escape then I was going to have to scan the room sooner or later for a fast and easy exit. Feeling the weight of his arm on top of me, I turned my body slightly only to see Jordan lying on his front with his head buried in the crook between my pillow and his; his sunlit hair in disarray and his mouth slightly open as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Every breath seemed to travel from his lungs, down his arm to my chest and reverberate through my ribs. I stared at the way his shaggy locks fell awkwardly over his closed eyes, and how the curves of his muscles sloped down his shoulders and around his arm that was still holding me as though I was a flight risk. I stared at the way his defined, square jaw led to two plump, pick lips, and I had to remind myself that I didn’t like this. That his arm around me meant nothing.

Slowly, I placed my hand on his and began lifting his arm as tentatively as possible, watching to make sure he didn’t wake. His arm was just as heavy as one of my legs, but I managed to move it to his side and slip out of the covers like a ghost. I was never there, he couldn’t prove anything. Except for maybe my panties lying on the floor and this looming stench of sex that never seemed to leave, even with the window open. I got dressed quickly, worrying less about the walk of shame I was about to do in yesterdays clothes, and more about the fact that I couldn’t find my one shoe. After finally finding it, I grabbed my bag and walked to the bedroom door, only to inexplicably turn back and look at Jordan once more. It felt wrong just leaving after everything that had happened and everything that was said, but it didn’t feel right staying. Was this how every girl left after a night with Jordan? Though I’m sure he would have offered her a cup of coffee at least before calling a cab. At least this way I was disappearing instead of being nicely forced out.

I walked down the fall scented streets feeling somewhat different; I couldn’t really tell if it was in a good way or bad. Jordan would eventually get up and wonder where I went. Or maybe not; maybe he was just as much of a player as I thought that he’d strike me from his memory immediately and spare me anymore drama. The latter seemed like the better option, though not the most romantic. Then again, who needed romance? It was all Hollywood fiction anyway.

I unlocked the dorm door as quietly as I could at eight o’clock in the morning. Emma was a light sleeper, meaning that sneaking in after whatever shenanigans you were up to was virtually impossible with her.

“What happened last night?” Emma asked, walking out of the washroom with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth. Strangely, she had begun mirroring Aaron the longer they stayed a couple.

I had sent Emma a text message the previous night after she had taken a puking Aaron and a drunk Paul home. My excuse was that Jordan had gotten just as hammered as the last time and he wasn’t safe staying alone. It was a solid excuse, something that Emma couldn’t argue with.

“You know, the usual,” I said with a shrug as I began changing out of my dressy clothes and into pyjamas. Sunday was the perfect day to come home after a one night stand. “Mr. Hockey was drunk and I had to save him from himself.”

“You really have to stop playing superwoman,” Emma said. “It’s changing you.” I furrowed my brow, not really understanding what she was getting at. “You look different,” she continued in a contemplative tone as she stared at my face. “Like you’re glowing or something.” No, Emma wasn’t that good of a best friend that she could figure out when I’ve had sex. The girl was good, but she wasn’t that good. She stared at me for a little bit longer then shrugged it off before going back into the washroom and closing the door. I took this as my chance to hop into bed and catch up on most of the sleep I’d missed last night. Without even a thought of Jordan or Emma fluttering through my mind, my eyelids shut and I fell into a deathlike slumber.

~

Escaping thoughts of my personal life was a lot easier when in a three hour lecture about the relevance of conspicuous consumption in American Literature. Our professor was in the middle of his famous closing sentence. He ended every one of his lectures with an overall thought about the days subject, similar to Jerry Springer at the end of his show. This mental image made me smile as I closed my laptop and slid it into my bag. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; there were dozens of things I could do, but I knew that my destination was going to be the bookstore.

Emma hadn’t pushed the matter further after I had awoken from my sleep later that Sunday. She could usually tell when I was lying, but what happened with Jordan didn’t even seem real to me so there was nothing to lie about really. I didn’t know what to think of it all. He and I hadn’t spoken since that night and even then it wasn’t exactly well-formed sentences; more like a string of moans and groans, and the occasional giggle on my part. It just felt simpler leaving everything at that instead of sitting down and talking about it. I walked up the aisle as the rest of the class began filing out into the main hallway of the building. Right now there were more important things in my mind, like the upcoming midterm that was going to show no mercy when it kicked my ass. I didn’t have time for the rest of my life getting in the way.

As I pushed my way through the crowd at the doorway, I zipped up my jacket, hoping I could catch the nearest bus before it left. I was just about to race to the external doors and out into the quad when I spotted a familiar form leaning against the opposing wall, all the way at the other end of the lecture hall. Jordan’s hands were in his pockets as he stared down at his feet. As soon as I walked up to him, he rose his head to look at me.

“Hey, I came to –”

“How did you know where my class was?” I asked in a firm tone, cutting him off. I noticed the few eyes glancing over at us, undoubtedly recognizing who Jordan was. A scene was the last thing I wanted to make so I grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him to a more isolated corner.

“Emma told me,” he replied as he towered over me. I hated when he did that; it made me feel so small and powerless. And especially since he had won the night at his party (my moment of weakness) I didn’t want to feel powerless. “We have to talk.” His voice was low and solemn; a tone I hadn’t really heard him use before. It wasn’t anger or pity, but determination.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said smoothly. Okay, there was a boat load to talk about, but that didn’t mean I actually wanted to. Why couldn’t people be satisfied with just letting things go? Out of sight, out of mind.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he demanded in a low grumble. Now he was starting to sound angry. I took my backpack off my shoulder, already feeling pain envelope the side that my strap was on, and placed it on the ground before leaning back against the wall. I didn’t answer Jordan’s question, only stared up at him as he ran a hand through his hair. “Are you telling me what – what we did was nothing?”

I hated Emma for doing this to me. Looking up at him, I could feel the weight of my life pushing down on me. I picked up my bag and began moving away from Jordan. All I wanted was to escape and he was making that extremely difficult. “It was just sex,” I said right before I pushed passed him and to the other end of the hall.

“No,” he said, grabbing my arm, turning me around and pushing me back lightly against the wall. Luckily, most of the students had already left, allowing Jordan and I some privacy as he cornered me about something I didn’t want to deal with. “It wasn’t just sex.” His left arm went up against the wall, resting next to my head as he put most of his body weight on it. He licked his lips, looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, and turned back to me. “It’s never just sex.” His face only inches from mine, he stared down at me with that same severe expression.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Jordan.”

“I want you to stop this tough girl act,” he replied almost instantaneously, as though expecting me to say that.

“Who said it’s an act?” I asked and he let a deep breath roll from his lips as his head fell slightly. I felt the breath bounce off my cheek and ripple through my hair.

“What happened that night,” he began, his voice a soft whisper, “was something I’ve wanted for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I cut him off, “I know about Jordan Staal the playboy. Having a new girl in his bed every night.”

He sighed again. “That’s not –”

“True?” I asked in a mocking tone. “Yeah, right.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, feeling my cheeks flush with annoyance.

“Will you just let me talk?!” He pushed himself away from the wall and rubbed his forehead, trying to cool off.

I scoffed whilst slinging my bag over my shoulder once again. “Why? So you can tell me that what happened between us was magical and that you wanna keep doing it until the newer, better one of me comes along?” I noticed the flicker of pain behind his eyes as I said this, but I wasn’t going to just stick around as we exchanged apologies and sentimental tears. I had a life to live, a life that – up until September – didn’t involve Jordan Staal. I licked my lips as I stared at his face; a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “I’ve got studying to do.” And with that I walked out into the quad and to the nearest bus stop.