Morgan
I worked too much.
I knew this.
I was nineteen, living on my own. Paying my own way through college, the small amount of classes I could afford, anyway. I knew at this rate it would take me twice as long to get a degree, but in the end it would be worth it.
I had watched my family struggle for far too long.
My father worked double shifts to make ends meet, and my mother stayed home with my brother, Toby.
My little brother required a lot of attention and a lot of therapy.
Which also required a lot of money.
Toby had cerebral palsy, which gave him a lifetime of struggles.
He was bound to a wheelchair, and though to some he may appear as if everyday life had no effect on him, I could assure them he was well aware. Things bothered him, and he knew he was different, even though none of us who love him treated him as such. He is our special guy, who, on most days, was a happy, sweet boy.
And even when he wasn’t, we loved him just as hard to show him that no matter what, we would always be on his team.
To me, asking my parents for help was like taking from him. And I’d never do that.
So working hard, forcing myself to be a grown-up when everyone around me was being a typical nineteen-year-old college student, was mandatory.
But tonight I was letting go of the mature side.
I was letting my hair down, wearing something hot, and attending my very first fraternity party.
It took convincing, and a lot of nagging from my best friend Marcus, but I went for it.
I just hoped I didn’t embarrass myself too much.
Did I mention I hate parties?
Drunk guys, even drunker girls, hanging all over one another, their morals going right out the window as they practically dry humped each other in front of an entire room of onlookers. I shivered at the thought.
The smell of booze and sweat as the bodies of college students crammed themselves into one house.
Loud thumping music, and those girls who took the center of the room and made it their own personal stage. They annoyed the hell out of me.
Attention whores, that’s what they were. Those women who felt like they had to have all eyes on them.
Have you ever wanted to toss a bag of marbles to the floor at someone’s feet and keep walking? Or even thumbtacks?
I have; I’ve even envisioned it in my mind. And smiled too, as I pictured them falling to the floor, squealing like baby pigs. Arms and legs flying out in all directions, their asses making contact with the floor in loud thuds.
Bet that would get the attention of the entire room.
I chuckled to myself as I shuffled through the shoes in my closet, looking for my other suede boot.
“What the hell are you giggling about in there?” I heard Marcus ask behind me. I didn’t even take the time to turn around to face him. I continued my search for that one boot I felt would complete my outfit.
“Oh nothing,” I said over my shoulder just as I spotted the light brown braided suede.
“Have you started drinking early?” he asked as he backed away when I spun around to face him. I’m sure I was wearing a crazed look on my face, overjoyed that I found the treasure I was seeking.
Holding my boot out I shook it, expressing my excitement, and he crinkled up his eyes in confusion. “Or have you moved on to other highs I’m unaware of?”
“Okay, smart ass, if you must know I was imagining torture tactics for the bimbos at these stupid ass parties.” I sat down on the edge of my bed and lifted my leg up, paying little attention to the fact that I had a skirt on. Marcus had no interest in me, or any other woman, for that matter.
“Bimbos?” he asked, as he leaned back against my dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. Which only made the muscles in his arms flex.
Had Marcus not been batting for the other team I would so ruffle his feathers in the best kind of way.
Did I mention my best friend was hot? Like super-hot.
“You know,” I continued, shaking off the thought of molesting my best friend. “Those cheeky girls who drive me insane.”
“Most girls drive you insane,” he corrected.
I tried to look offended, but it was true. “True,” I said with a smile.
Women were catty and judgmental, and I did my best to avoid any close friendships with someone of the same sex. They were jealous and I found it hard to relate to other women.
I didn’t complain.
I sure as hell didn’t look for someone to pamper me or baby me. That kind of shit drove me crazy.
I was a girl who knew what she wanted. And damn it, I wasn’t the type to sit around and gossip about it later. If I had something to say I would tell that person, not everyone else around them.
“That’s why I love you, Marcus. You don’t whine, and you don’t expect me to be all sweet and understanding.” I shrugged. “I can be a bitch and you don’t judge me for it.”
“That’s because I can be a bitch too,” he added as he pushed off my dresser and walked toward the door. “You need to hurry, by the way. Toby’s waiting for us to bring him his ice cream.”
He walked out, leaving me with a smile on my face.
Marcus had been my best friend since I was nine. He moved in next door to me, and most kids teased him from the start instead of befriending him. Kids can be assholes sometimes. They refused to give him a chance to fit in. So instead of going along with the rest of the kids, I distanced myself. And spent all my time with Marcus.
In turn he became part of my family and I his.
He loved my brother like his own and every Saturday he made sure we brought Toby his favorite Oreo cookie ice cream.
Marcus was a bad ass.