Tyler,
I love you. I've loved you since we were six. I'll love you until I'm ninety-six.
Jemma
I can still hear her voice when I read that, and I smile because I loved her. I really fucking loved her. What we had, it wasn’t that high school bullshit. I can honestly say it was something real. We grew up next door to each other, she was the first girl I’d ever had a crush on, and when I was six, I vowed she would be my first kiss, and she was, even if it wasn’t until we were thirteen.
I let my mind wander back to one of those memories I can’t seem to let go of:
I finally catch her and snatch the rubber band free from her hair, laughing as one of her pigtails falls loose. “I’m telling,” she whines before taking off in a sprint across the room. I, of course, go after her. "Stop chasing me, Tyler," she shouts as I run around the couch, nearly tripping on that dumb pink Barbie car she was trying to make me play with. "Stop it!" She hops onto the sofa and bounces across the cushions.
"Nope." I shake my head and laugh as I jump on the couch after her. For some reason, I want to kiss her, even though it’s gross. I just want to kiss her.
She squeals and tumbles off the sofa before running to the corner of the room.
"Tyler!" I freeze at the sound of my dad’s voice. Jemma stops running as well, attempting to catch her breath. Footsteps fall on the stairs, and soon enough, Dad’s large frame appears at the bottom of the steps. "Come on, buddy. Time to go."
I groan and glare at him. "Thanks a lot, Dad," I say. "You just ruined what could've been the best day of my life!"
Jemma narrows her eyes at me.
"What?" Dad asks.
"I was gonna kiss her," I say as I angrily snatch my backpack from the floor. "I almost had her."
"Ewww! Gross,” Jemma says, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Son," Dad looks down at me. "You're seven."
"But she's pretty..." I look back over at Jemma, and she has a small smile on her face. “One day, Jemma, I’m gonna kiss you.”
I shake that memory from my mind. That relationship is one of those what could have been deals. First love. First heartbreak, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Sometimes I think had I not gotten that scholarship to NYU and moved off that I would have ended up marrying her because, let’s be honest, when you're eighteen, long distance relationships don't work.
We grew apart, I dropped out and became a stripper. She ended up being an actress. A legit actress, just like she said she would ever since we were kids. To be honest, it sucks because I’ll be flipping through the channels late at night after a shift, and I’ll catch her on screen. It’s a kids show, which makes me feel like a fucking perv because there’s something about Jemma dressed up like Elsa that would make any man’s dick hard. She looks all wholesome, and doesn’t that just do it? So it’s no surprise that I’ve beat off to it a time or two, right? I can’t help but laugh at myself. Here I am jacking off to her TV series and shooting porn, and she probably donates to charities for blind, three-legged dogs. I need a fucking beer. I toss the yearbook down and head into the hall.
When I walk into the living room, Jake is fooling with the new TV. “Fucking shit, man.” He backs away from the wall, turns the TV on, and waits.
“What are you doing, dipshit?”
“I can cast from my phone,” he says. “Do you know what this means?”
I go into the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge. “Yeah, that you can cast from your phone?”
“Man, give me a second…”
I pop the tab and tip the cold beer back. And then, on my second sip, a smacking noise echoes around the living room followed by a high-pitched moan.
“Fuck yeah, man,” Jake says, pointing at the large flat screen mounted on the wall. “Porn in HD.”
“Don’t be beating your shit off in here,” I say before glancing up at the screen. “I swear to God…” I trail off and my jaw fucking drops. “What. The. Fuck?”
“What?” Jake says.
“Where did you find that?”
“This?” he asks, pointing back at the plasma screen.
“Yeah.”
“Pornhub.”
“Fuck.”
“What?”
I stare at the screen. Big round eyes. Full suck me lips. High cheekbones. And I can see just a hint of her dark roots in that platinum blonde hair. “That’s—” I have to laugh for a second, “my ex.”
“What!”
I step closer to the TV. “And…Stone Steele from Pandemic Sorrow! Jesus-fucking-Christ.” I shake my head.
“Dude…” he glances back at me. “You dated Elsa?”
I stand, watching her get pounded and the thought that she’s all wholesome just went out the damn window.