Date Me

“You've lost someone you cared about because you were stupid?”



“Yeah, you, I think. That night, with the Keats toast.”



“I was fine with the Keats toast. It just caught me off guard, but then when I told you why it did, you completely changed. Got mad at me or something. Didn’t talk to me. Made me feel like I’d done something wrong.”



“You didn’t do anything wrong. I was mad at myself. Kinda like Dawson feels, I think.”



“Yeah, I don’t think Dawson liked the video too much.”



“I heard he smashed his computer. Remind me never to break up with you.”



“You don’t have to worry about that. We’re never going out.”



“Why's that?”



“I’m love cursed and I’m never going out with a boy again.”



Hell, I predicted it.



8:30pm



Sitting on the brick wall outside my dorm, dealing with Dawson.



“Keatie,” he pleads. “Please tell me we’re not over. Give me another chance.”



“Absolutely not.”



He looks at me with puppy dog eyes, but then he gets that determined set to his jaw, and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry.”



I try to stay stiff against the hug. I’m mad at him, but I also sort of understand. That doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt, or that I can forget, but I sort of understand.



Hell, I called it.



I knew it was going to happen. Screw the psychic panty hotline. Maybe I should become a relationship psychic. I foresaw the future. And, once again, I ignored the signs and fell for him anyway. I can’t decide which one of us was stupider.



I soften in his arms and hug him back.



He looks miserable.



“Look, I forgive you. I understand what you did. Hell, I predicted it. I knew it would happen. Knew we’d get happy, and you’d become more attractive to her because of it. I planned your makeover. I was just as much at fault as you. I never should’ve believed you. But you made me feel amazing and loved and sexy, and I didn’t listen to my head. I actually started to believe love could be a good thing.”



“Keatie, I was stupid too. I don’t know what I was thinking. You are so different, so much fun, and I feel like an equal with you.”



His eyes look moist. Like he’s on the verge of tears, which causes me to tear up. I try not to blink, so they won’t come out, but I can’t control them.



Dawson wipes away the tears from one side of my face and kisses the other side.



“I’m sorry. Please go out with me again.” He pulls the key necklace out of his pocket and tries to give it to me.



“I don’t want it, Dawson. Why don’t you give it to Whitney?”



“No. I bought you the necklace because I love you. You do have the key to my heart. I just thought for a second someone else did. And she used to, but I think you changed the lock because she just didn’t fit anymore.”



And although what he says is sort of romantic, I’m not buying it.



“We’re not getting back together.”



He looks defeated again. I hate seeing him like this. It’s the same look he had that night at the Cave, when I set out to make that gorgeous face smile again. And I did. But it wasn’t enough.



“Please tell me we’re not through.”



“I can’t say one way or another right now. I’m not trying to punish you or make you feel bad. I can see you feel bad already. But you know how parents always preach that there are consequences to the decisions we make? What you did hurt me, and I just can’t forget it.”



“Fine, don’t forget it. Forgive me. Understand. I was completely blindsided when she broke up with me. Then I tried for six months to get her back and now, all of a sudden, what I wanted for so long is being offered. I think I just needed closure, maybe. You once told me that Whitney should have forgiven me. Why can’t you?”



“That’s when you were drunk and pawing at my chest. I wish you had been drunk when she texted you. But, no. You chose her, stone cold sober, as you were supposed to be getting ready to go on a trip with me. Ego or not, it says a lot about whether you really loved me. If this is going to go anywhere further, you’re going to have to prove it to me. And, more importantly, you need to prove it to yourself.”



“I’m sorry,” he says again.



“You keep saying that. You’re like a freaking broken record. You should tell yourself you’re sorry. I thought things were good. You wanted to meet my family, we were having fun, you seemed happy, the sex was amazing, you told me I owned you, and then poof. A few texts from her, and I’m history. I can’t forget that because you think you’re sorry.”



He hangs his head. “Shit. Everything you’re saying is true.” He pulls me close to him, holds my face like he does after sex, when he’s the sweetest. Then he tries to kiss me.



“I can’t do this. I gotta go.” I tell him.



I run into my dorm and collapse in a heap on my bed. Then I decide I don’t want to face my girlfriends yet. They will ask me a million questions that I don’t know the answers to, so I sneak out the back door and over to Riley’s room.



Revenge sex.



9:15pm



I’m lying on my side on Riley’s bed. He’s sitting on his wheeled desk chair, rolling around, unable to sit still.



“So, you talked to my brother and you’re not back together, right?”



“Right. And I’ve been thinking.”



“Oh, no.”



“Shut up. Now is not the time to make fun of me!”



“Sorry,” he says, as he throws a pencil toward me and winks.



“This is serious. Talk to me about hooking up.”



“Well, see, there’s your problem. Hooking up is not supposed to be serious. It’s supposed to be fun.”



“Well, I’m trying to decide which way I want to go. I'm leaning toward bad girl. Carefree. Emotionless. You know, a girl version of you.”



“I'm not emotionless.”



“I know that, but you can have meaningless sex. Well, maybe that’s what I want. I’m tired of caring. When I was in detention, we made a list of the top five hotties at school. I think I'm gonna work my way down that list.”



“Who else was on the list?”



“Jake, Aiden, Logan, and you.”



“Really!? I was on the list? Who put me on the list?”



“Uh, I don’t remember. So anyway, Logan is cute, but he kinda hates me. Which might make it difficult. Aiden is into some other girl. And then there’s Jake. I think he should be my first target. Plus it would have the added bonus of revenge.”



“Baby.”



“What?”



“You deserve more than that.”



“Oh, I know, I just don't want it. I'm done with boys toying with my emotions.”



“I don't think you should.”



“Why?”



“Guys don't like sluts.”



“You like sluts.”



“Yeah, short term, but not long term.”



“Exactly! I want short term. The shorter the better. Uh, and when I say short, I’m referring to the length of the relationship, not the length of his you know what.” I smile at him and raise my eyebrows.



“What am I gonna do with you?”



“Just what you've been doing. Picking up the pieces of what's left of me.”



“Dawson wants you back.”



“Well, this is about what I want. And tonight I wanna get fucked up. In more ways than one. You in?”



“I'm always in.”



“Good, tonight’s gonna be fun.”



Monday, October 17th



Maybe it was a lot of puke.



7am



I wake up feeling horrible. My head is pounding and I feel sick.



Last night. Oh, last night.



I don’t think I want to remember it.



I lie in bed and look through my Facebook feed to see if there is anything on there I need to be embarrassed about.



Fortunately, I don’t find anything.



Then I take a quick look at my emails. I scroll through all the sale ads and see one from Grandpa. It’s one line.



-So, Hotshot, did you find yourself yet? Cause we haven’t heard from you.



I feel bad that I haven’t emailed Grandma and Grandpa for a while.



I reply.



-I’m working on it. Sorry I haven’t emailed in a while. It’s been busy.



Grandpa, I have a question for you. What’s the difference between love and true love?



I want to add, And why can’t I seem to find it?



But I don’t.



My mind flits back to last night.



I’m pretty sure I was the life of the party.



And not in a good way.



I remember telling Bryce to go get the good stuff out of his room. Doing shots. Dancing with Jake and Bryce in front of Whitney and Dawson.



Kissing Bryce.



Kissing Jake.



No. Really, I was making out with Jake.



We were dancing. His hands were all over me. My hands were all over him. I didn’t care who saw or what anyone thought. I had one mission.



To get laid and forget about Dawson.



To hurt him back.



Jake pulled me onto his lap. I was straddling him. Making out with him. Giving him a drunken lap dance. Dallas was putting dollar bills in my skirt.



Ugghh.



I throw my covers back, get out of bed, and turn on the shower.



I pull the hairband out of my ponytail and shake out my hair.



Oh gosh, my hair smells like puke.



Which makes me feel like I could throw up.



Again.



I shower, grab a towel, and stand in front of the mirror and dry myself off.



I stare at myself in the mirror to judge how bad I look.



I’m going to have to dress nice today. Pretend that I feel fine. That I’m not embarrassed.



But as I dry myself off, I see that I have three little hickeys. One on the side of my neck and two more on my chest near my bra line.



I remember Jake was sucking down the side of my neck.



I remember giggling as he was kissing down the front of me.



I’m also pretty sure that’s when Dawson got pissed and left.



I very clearly remember telling Jake I wanted to go back to his room. That we should have revenge sex. I even told him that I wanted to, um, do it. But I used the F-word.



And I never say anything like that. Not even with molten-lava-hot-asshole Dawson. I’ve said that I want him, but never used that word to describe it. Ever.



I remember Jake telling me we’d go soon.



I was feeling groovy, as Brooklyn's dad would say.



Well, I was until I wasn't.



All of a sudden, the alcohol I'd consumed hit me.



I remember telling Jake I didn't feel so good while we were on the chair kissing, but he didn’t stop.



I’m pretty sure that’s about when I puked all over Aiden’s room.



Then it all gets blurry.



Riley holding me.



Riley taking me to his room. Riley holding my hair while I puked. Riley waking me up this morning at four and sneaking me behind the dorms and then through my window.



I put on a lot of eye cream and concealer to hide my puffy eyes, use the concealer to hide the hickeys, then go into my closet to try and find something to wear.



I dig through my closet and decide I just can’t do it. I don’t care what I look like today. I know Kym always says that looking good helps cure a hangover, but I just can’t do it.



I grab the plaid skort, a long sleeved white T-shirt, and the black cardigan, since black fits my mood. I add some black knitted thigh highs to keep my legs warm and a pair of red suede fringe boots.



Okay, so those might make me feel a little better. I grab my red furry Longchamp bag and pet it. Decide it needs to come with me too.



I go back in the bathroom to throw on some powder and mascara and brush my wet hair.



I add some sea salt spray and scrunch it into waves.



I look in the mirror and decide that it’s just going to have to do.



Katie had an early morning Spanish Club meeting, so she was gone before I even got up.



There’s a knock at my door.



I open it and find Riley with Revive Smart Water, pumpkin bread, and Advil.



“You are a life saver,” I say, grabbing the Advil from him and downing it.



As we walk to history, he says, “So, I’m thinking breakups and shots are not a good mix for you.”



“No shit. Do I need to die of embarrassment now?”



“You have ceramics with Jake this morning. That ought to be interesting.” He starts laughing. He seems to think this is just so freaking funny. “I think you may have gotten a little puke on Jake last night.”



“Oh, god.”



“Okay, well, maybe it was a lot of puke.”



“Just kill me now, Riley. What would be a fun way to die?”



He tosses his arm around my shoulder. “Oh, no. I'm not killing you. You're too much fun.”



“You held my hair while I puked.”



“Yeah, baby, that's okay.”



“Thank you. In case I didn't thank you last night. Like, during the puking.”



“Oh, you thanked me. You bawled, thanking me.”



“I bawled?”



“Oh, yeah. You had a drunken bawling meltdown. You kept thanking me for not being a stupid boy. You cried about the surfer and the orange, fake-boobed slut. You cried because you have a monkey nickname. I have no idea what that was all about. You cried about wishing on the moon and how since then your life has been shit. You cried about Dawson. About how you hate love. About how you are love cursed.” He licks his lips and smiles. “You want to be embarrassed about something, that’s what you should be embarrassed about. And that I changed your shirt. Did you even notice you were wearing my shirt this morning?”