Zoe
I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I open my eyes, the sun’s shining through the curtains. My cheekbones ache, my head is fuzzy, and my nose isn’t much better than yesterday.
The main difference though isn’t my face or my nose. It’s waking up next to Dylan.
I’ve always imagined what my first time would be like. I pictured myself with someone like Dylan, but I never thought it would be him. Even once I admitted to myself that I cared about him, I told myself it couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen. Yet somehow it still did.
From the moment I swallowed those pain killers, the inhibitions that held me captive disappeared. I walked into the living room, saw Dylan, and reacted. And when I saw what I wanted looking back at me, I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.
Like a woman possessed, I straddled Dylan and rode him a full ten seconds. If it was a rodeo, I’d have won the biggest belt buckle this side of the Mississippi.
Now I have to live with the consequences of my hips, whether good or bad.
If things get messy and I lose Dylan, it’ll be my fault. I did this to us because I was high as a kite. Now that I’m wide awake, I’ve come face to face with reality. Only I’m not convinced sex with Dylan was ever meant to happen.
Standing under the warm spray of the shower, I’m reminded where Dylan’s been. My muscles ache, each movement a memory of how far we went—how much of myself I gave to him.
If the changes are this noticeable to me, what’s the rest of the world going to see?
What will Dylan see?
And will he still want me now that he’s had me? According to Keely, guys are only in it for the sex.
I thought a shower would clear my foggy brain, but afterward, I’m still so confused. If I didn’t have class in an hour, I’d stay wrapped in a towel and crawl back into bed—my bed.
I have a slew of texts from Keely on my phone, and I wish I hadn’t looked at them. As usual, she’s inviting me to a party—one at Chaz’s place.
I’m not in the mood for a party, but if I tell Keely no, that’ll leave my night wide open. I’ll spend hours thinking about Dylan and the ways he woke up my body.
With his lips.
With his touch.
With his words.
I have no choice. I have to go. At least until I figure out what to do about Dylan.
Instead of putting my hair in its usual ponytail or messy knot, I take my time drying the strands, barely recognizing the bruised and splinted girl in the mirror. Once my hair’s hanging around my shoulders, as straight as I’ll get it, I dab on a thick layer of foundation to cover the ugly marks on my face. Despite their purple, green, and yellow color, the bruises are barely noticeable once I’m finished.
If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for class. But I’m drawn to Dylan’s room like a moth to a flame. I watch him from the doorway, stunned that I was underneath him just a few hours ago. He’s still in the same position I left him, only I’m not in his arms anymore.
I wonder how he’ll act toward me now that he’s seen me naked. And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have a conversation without picturing his penis. It’s a great penis, but it’s not my penis.
It can’t be.
That would mess up what we have.
Wouldn’t it?
Being with Dylan is like inching up the hill of a roller coaster. When he brushed his lips against mine, we ascended the first hill. Our tongues tangled, and we reached the top. And then he eased inside me and those few weightless seconds made my head spin until my stomach dropped to the floor. Every new place he touched me, the process started all over again. It was the longest ride of my life, better than any I’ve experienced before. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t hesitate to get back in line.
I’d take those moments of bliss over this raging pain in my face any day of the week.
I have more pills, but I’m too afraid to swallow them. Especially after the way they turned me into a horny mess last night. The entire campus would be at risk. One wrong look, and I could mistake a cautious glance for a declaration of love.
But by the time I get to class, I’m in so much pain I can’t stand it. Just the simple act of walking across campus exhausted me. Or maybe it was the thoughts that wore me out. All those naked images stored in my brain.
The seats are almost full, so I pick one of the few remaining, making sure I’m by the aisle and not stuck in the center of the room.
The pen’s in my hand, notebook’s open, but I’m not paying attention. I can’t. No matter how hard I try to concentrate on the lecture, all I see is Dylan. I think about him so intently, class ends and I haven’t taken a single note. I don’t remember what the professor spoke about. But Dylan’s initials are scribbled in the margin, surrounded by little hearts and squiggles.
I’m turning into my sister.
The next isn’t any better. Another hour of information goes in one ear and out the other. If I hadn’t spent so much time reading the text and preparing over break, I would be in a full blown panic.
I can’t stand how much space Dylan is occupying inside my brain.
He’s probably waiting outside for me like he always is, but my legs send me running toward a door at the opposite end of the building. Like a coward, I duck outside, hurrying past the bushes like a hunchback.
I’m not ready to face him. I’m not ready to talk about what we did or how I feel. I want life to go back to the way it was, comfortable and predictable.
But Dylan’s not stupid. He knows I’m avoiding him. After I don’t show my face, he sends a text letting me know he’s going to Trevor’s.
Space. He’s giving me space to get myself together.
Just in case he’s lying, I hide out in the library. It’s safer than going home.
I end up staring at pages of material for hours. Information I’ve read at least twice already. And my notebook continues to suffer. It looks like it belongs to a teenager in love.
I’ve never hid from my best friend. He’s the person in my life I run to. I know it’s wrong to avoid him, so I head home with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
But Dylan doesn’t lie, and he’s not in the apartment.
On the kitchen table, there’s a piece of paper with the word fridge written on it. I open the refrigerator and find a bag from Checker’s with my go-to sandwich inside. The sight of it unleashes more guilt.
Dylan knew I’d be worked up and that I’d forget to eat something decent today. I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. I’m starving.
His kindness continues when I turn on the TV and find one of my favorite movies on the DVR, waiting for me. Not wanting me to be hungry or bored, driving myself crazy, he thought of everything.
He’s even left his mark in my room. Lying in the center of my bed is a candy bracelet. A candy bracelet says more than words ever could, and I feel like a terrible person for running.
I owe him more than that.
I owe him a conversation.
But I still can’t call him. Because when I do see his face, he’ll look at me with those honey-colored eyes and expect an answer. An answer I’m too scared to give him.
Slipping my hand through the candy string, I wear the bracelet as proudly as I did when I was fourteen. Only now, the meaning attached to it makes it seem ten times heavier than it is. It’s a weight that’ll destroy me if I’m not careful.