London

In the shower, I cry, realizing I’m drunk again. Five cups of beers in less than ten minutes.

I thought people used alcohol as an escape. What a stupid lie they tell themselves. It does the opposite. It makes them more emotional and vulnerable. It makes them mean and selfish. It makes them hurt people they are supposed to care about with hurtful words that are far more forceful than a fist to the heart.

When I have cried enough, and self-pity and sadness is replaced with anger and self-loathing, I turn off the water. To think, I ever thought Logan Links wanted me. He doesn’t. To think, he would never hurt me. He did. To think, we could be friends. He will never be.

I step out from under the rainfall shower head and see a towel and clothes on the sink.

I dry my hair as best I can, bend over and dry my body, wrap my hair, and then pick up a long-sleeve SU tee-shirt and pull it on.

I look around for my clothes, wanting to put on my bra, but I can’t find them.

How did I not know he was in here?

I step into the far too big running pants and sit down on the closed toilet lid, trying to figure out what I will do next, and not just the immediate future. I mean, holidays, vacations, birthdays. Then I slap the tears from my face and prepare to face whatever I am up against, for long enough for him to pass out so I can leave.

After a while, I crack open the door as I turn off the light and fan. I hear voices.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “I’ve fought too long against this beast you created.”

“I don’t care. I want you,” a female purrs. “I know you want me, too.”

“Can’t have you,” he moans. “Want you so fucking bad, too.”

“I know. We can go to London.” I hear a sucking sound.

“No, not you. Fuck...” he groans. “Oh God, London.”

“Yes, we’ll go there. We’ll go together,” she says, and then I hear sucking again.

“Don’t want you doing that. Wanna fuck you, make love to you—do something, anything. But...London.”

I don’t know why it took so long for it to click that the asshole thinks it’s me. Then I turn the light back on and see blue shirt hovering over him, gripping him with her hand. I swear she’s going to fuck him.

“Get the fuck out!” I take two steps toward the bed and grab her by the hair.

“You little bitch!” She grabs my hands that are in her hair.

“What the fuck?” I hear Logan say, and then a light comes on next to his headboard.

“Let go of me, you little tease!” She digs her nails into my arm.

I yank her hard, pulling her onto the floor. Then I open the door with my free hand. She tries to get up, but I pull with all my might until she is in the living room and all eyes are on her.

“Who the hell let her in there?” I scream then kick her in the bare ass as she tries to get up.

I feel a hand around my waist, pulling me back.

“Don’t!” I yell at Logan. “Who let her in?”

“Everyone was gone,” Jamie says, lips quivering.

“Well, she was trying to—”

I feel Logan’s breath against my ear, and then he whispers, “Please don’t.”

I look back at his eyes. They look confused and so very sad.

“So sorry.”

I turn around and point to Mitch. “Get her out of here now!”

Mitch looks at Logan, and I look back, feeling his head resting on mine, his body slouched against mine. I turn sideways and wrap my arms around his waist, trying to keep him from falling.

“Does he look like he’s in any shape to tell you he doesn’t want that slut in his room? He was almost passed out and—”

“London, please,” he whispers again then sighs.

I turn and look at him. “What is wrong with you? Tell them! Tell them you thought she was me!”

He doesn’t look at me. He looks at the floor. “Get her out.”

“You...You said we were going to London,” she stammers as she attempts to right her clothes.

He pets my head like a dog. “She’s Lond—”

“Logan, bed!”

He opens his eyes and nods. As they flutter shut, he whispers, “Sorry.”

“Logan.” I shake him, and his eyes open. “Bed.”

When I help him into bed, he grabs my hand. “Stay.”

“No, no way am I staying.” I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let go.

“Please. Gotta fix it.”

I see her look back from the door and climb into his bed just to spite her. He pulls me down, wraps one arm around me, and uses the opposite hand to pull my head to his bare chest. Then entire time, I watch as she walks out.

I want him to tell them what she did. I want the world to know that it isn’t just guys taking advantage of girls when they are fucked up. Girls do it, too. The difference is, no guy will say he was date raped. Hell, with a society full of blowhard assholes, lighting up social media with their woes, poor me’s, and self-important keyboard warrior rants on sites and pages full of women constantly downing men, men are no longer able to be men, because they will be ridiculed. A man wouldn’t dare.

Women complain that men are the root of all evil. Well, maybe it’s not men. Maybe it’s people in general. People who hate life, because they think they are owed something. Like the people who talked shit about my dad when he went missing and all those videos were leaked, saying he knew what was going on, that he was willing when he was drugged.

The whispers didn’t stop then. No, they became screams.

Our family went through hell. The only hush to the screams came when Maddox was found and his story was told. Then people had to see the ugly this world can’t see. And they can’t see it because Sally is posting that she got a new BMW; that Suzie is upset because she deserves one; that Joe got a promotion and Joanne should have gotten it because women are the minority, when in fact, Joe has met the required qualifications for the position and she hasn’t.

Logan is wrong, so fucking wrong to have gotten that fucked up. Not even knowing she was sucking him off, and then hovering over him, ready to fuck him without protection. And Lord knows a girl like that is probably carrying a Bible-sized book of STIs between her skanky thighs.

“She should be in jail,” I hiss.

“Shh...” He pets me again. “Sleep, London. Sorrys tomorrow.”

I try again to get up when I see Mitch hugging Jamie and she closes her eyes. I want to tell her to run. Run far away, because the longer he’s in her life, the more she will know about him. I want to tell her the more she knows about him, the more she will excuse his shitty behavior. And the more she excuses his shitty behavior, the shittier he will treat her.

When Schooler stands in the doorway and starts to shut it, I stop him.

“It stays open.”

He nods.

“Make sure no one else is here except us.”

He nods again and starts to walk away.

“And when you’re the sober guy,” I yell, and he looks back, “pay attention!”

---

I lie in bed, my chest to his ear, listening to his breaths begin to slow and even out. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat return, listening as calm and the peace that sometimes only sleep can bring overtakes him. Then his hand loosens a bit, and I can move.

When I sit up, he remains sleeping. I look at the boy, now in a man’s body, who has always been in my life, who has been a constant presence. He’s beautiful, absolutely magnificent to look at. He looks like the man of any girl’s dreams. But inside, he’s broken. I just didn’t realize how badly until tonight.

I want to help him, because it’s who I am, but I need to do me for once.

Someday I want to find the man Logan drunkenly and disgustingly cursed tonight as if it was some delusional fairy tale. I want to find my Prince Charming, a man who will love me the way Logan said, but be ready to take all this love I have to give in return.

Love is not a fairy tale. Fairy tales are in storybooks, full of cartoon characters and silly but beautiful nonsense. Love is real. I have seen it, and I have felt it. And I know someday I will have it.

But to have love, one must first love themselves...more.

I look at him sleeping and my heart breaks for the part of me that wants him, my constant and consistent, to be my first kiss, my first love. I realize it’s because never in a million years did I think he would intentionally hurt me, drunk or otherwise, like he did tonight.

I look at him sleeping and can picture the storm inside him, one caused by divorce, cheating, and lies about love. I want to hold him until they quiet, like I did tonight. I want to pour water over the fire burning inside him until it no longer burns. I want to be the one he trusts with his pain, when he’s sober, not like tonight when he’s drunk.

I am struck with the realization that I am so lucky to have been young when my parents split, and luckier that I see true love every day in Brody and Mom. Logan, well, he hasn’t had the experience of watching Tessa and Lucas and how they show, give, and take love daily, because he was older. I wish he could have seen it, felt it, lived it.

But reality is, I can’t make him see that. I can’t make him face what is holding him back. I can’t do it without losing me, and if I lose me, my road to a happy ever after will truly be longer than I can bear to think.

I bend to steal a kiss, but stop myself. I stop because I wouldn’t be much better than her. I stop because I want my Prince Charming to kiss me first. I stop because I’m so afraid I will crave it every second of every day. But most importantly, I stop because, right now, I know how real this feeling inside me is for him. I cannot allow myself to love a man who showed me just how close to the edge a heart stands when it is finally realized.

One step forward, one wrong move, and all dreams of love can crush two hearts forever.

I slide out of his bed and walk out into the living room. Christy and Lisa look up at me.

“Where’s Jamie?” I ask.

When they point to a door, I storm toward it.

“Elle, don’t,” I hear one of the guys warn me, but I don’t listen.

I push open the door and find his head on her lap, and she’s stroking his hair. She looks up and sighs.

“You ready to go?”

“You sure that’s what you want to do?” she whispers.

I nod. “Yeah.”

I watch her bend down and kiss Mitch on the cheek. Then she slides out from under him.

“Passed out,” she whispers as she gets closer to me.

I nod.

When we walk out, I suddenly panic, wondering who will pop up next, who will take advantage of Logan, of Mitch while they are passed out.

Unable to stop myself, I walk back inside Logan’s room. No one’s there. I walk into the bathroom. No one is there either. I walk into Mitch’s room and check his bathroom. It’s empty.

I take a deep breath and push open three more bedroom and bathroom doors before I am finally satisfied and return to the living room where Jamie, Christy, Lisa, and Logan’s other roommates stand with shocked expressions.

Holding up my pants, I point to them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

They all jump.

“That bitch...” My voice breaks as I think of his plea. Don’t, “That skank!”

They jump again.

I look at sober guy. “You better make damn sure you remain a team off the field! A man’s down; you make sure the vultures aren’t coming after him!”

I look at the girls. “Let’s go!”

“It’s not safe to walk all the way back this time of night,” sober guy pipes up.

“Safer out there than it is in here!” I start walking toward the door then turn around. “Give me my fucking phone!”

With my phone in hand and the girls at my side, we walk in silence for a long time.

When I yank up my pants for the hundredth time, Christy snorts and we all look at her. Then she busts up laughing. Lisa begins laughing, too. Next, Jamie falls in place. Soon, I am also laughing. We laugh so hard tears are rolling down our faces.

“Can you believe it’s not even November yet?” Christy snorts. “And this is our college life?”

“I’m so sorry,” I manage to whisper, feeling a tinge of guilt, because these poor girls wouldn’t have been in all the horrible situations they have been in if it hadn’t been for me, for...him.

“Are you kidding me?” Lisa hugs me. “I’ve been to a bar, seen a bar fight, sang karaoke at a bar with a group of friends who are all amazing. I’ve seen a reaction to a penis allergy.” We all laugh. “Ate barbeque while drinking beer from a pitcher, attended the best football game I’ve ever been to, and sat in the best seats in the house.”

“It was the only football game you’ve been to,” Christy jokes.

“Went to a college football player’s victory party and am walking in a city past midnight. I am breaking rules, ladies, and I am not a rule breaker.”

My guilt lessens a little.

“I fucking love college!” she yells.

When I realize they are all looking at me, I smile.

Lisa throws her arm around me and hugs me. “That was totally fake, Elle.”

“I’m sorry, but...” I pause. “It was a bad night.”

“What was the worst part? Putting skanks in their place like a dozen times, all badass-like? You taking care of a friend and faking sick to make sure the job got done? You having today’s MVP basically admitting he has his head up his own ass about you and carrying you through a crowded party?”

The way she says it, it almost romanticizes tonight’s events.

“Or, is it the fact that you’re a virgin?” Jamie asks, and I want to die. “Because, so am I. I said it was my fault he’s acting like that because we get so close...I mean, head between my legs, doing the most disgusting but amazing things to my hooch with his tongue, and after I finish, I tell him no? He doesn’t know why. Well, he didn’t until tonight, and I only told him because he was passed out.”

“He doesn’t know you’re a virgin?” Christy asks at the same time Lisa asks, “You let him eat you out?”

“Yes and, oh God, yes,” Jamie answers both questions.

When they start firing more questions at her, she reaches over and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze and me a sad smile.

My friend Jamie just threw herself out there to make me feel less embarrassed about tonight.

If I push Logan out of my mind and allow my head to remind me of all the reasons I have waited to find real love and bask in the here and now, I think I would love college, too.

I squeeze her hand back as we walk, listening to Jamie tell us all about the things we never saw going on with her and Mitch.