Nine Years Ago

Another Saturday night, another party at some shitty house with shitty keg beer.

My friends are having a blast, meeting new guys or playing drinking games. They’re letting loose, like normal girls in their junior year. After a week full of stressful classes and exams, I should be doing the same.

But I can’t.

Because I’ve been watching Paxton grind on a busty redhead for the last hour and a half.

I down another shot of vodka that someone pours and leaves on the counter, making it my fifth. My bones are Jell-O, my heart is smashed to a thousand pieces, and I feel like I might throw up from dejection any second.

We had been sleeping together for over a year now, late night calls and sneaking around was our specialty. Not that I wanted it to be, but any time I broached the conversation of becoming more, Pax had the best counters to snake out of the conversation.

He’d charm his way out with talk that tricked me, manipulating his way around the subject without giving a straight answer. Or he would kiss me, using his talents to shut me up and get me off. Or he would explain about his future and football, and I’d be dumb enough to fall for that answer again.

When Pax sees me on campus, he either waves or smiles, but never comes up to walk with me or have a conversation. Usually, he’s always flanked by a buddy or two, ever the social butterfly. That person who is with him will always smirk, as if they know who I am.

I get the distinct feeling his friends talk about me behind my back, that they know I’m the poor desperate girl that Pax keeps in a drawer and takes out when he feels like playing with her.

Shame burns at the base of my neck, and tears well up in the corners of my eyes. Why does he do this to me? Deep down, I know how he truly is, even if no one else sees it. In those moments when we lie next to each other after sex, our heads on the pillows, talking about nonsense … that is who Paxton Shaw truly is.

But the question I should really be asking myself is, why do I stay? Why do I allow myself to be emotionally abused like this?

Especially when he’s across the room, using his lips to explore that girl’s collarbone. I’ve heard rumors of him going home, mostly from Chelsea who wants me to ditch him so she can cut off his penis. Or at least that’s what she always tells me. I had never believed her, being too blind for my own good when it came to him.

But now … I wanted to throw things. Smash plates. Play Boyz II Men on repeat while eating ice cream and watching chick flicks starring Gerard Butler.

Before I know what I’m doing, my feet are marching me across the room.

“Jackass!” I get up in their space, screaming at Pax.

A few drunk students around us giggle at the girl being overdramatic at a party. The redhead Pax has been mauling glances up, her eyes glassy and confused.

“Excuse me?” Her tone is rude and aggressive.

Pax is the only one staring at me like I’m an injured deer. “Demi, go home. You’re drunk. Go find Chelsea.”

He’s talking to me like I’m a five-year-old, like he doesn’t know me at all. Like he pities me.

“Fuck you, Pax.” My words are slurred and angry.

“Is this your girlfriend?” Redhead backs away from him.

“No,” Pax says at the same time I laugh my head off.

“Whatever this is, I’m not getting involved in drama.” She puts her hand up to him and then melts away into the crowd.

“Fucking Christ, Demi!” He throws his hands up, fury painted all over his face.

I cower, embarrassed about what I just did but also feeling desperate and small. Pax grabs my elbow and leads me outside, into the darkest part of the yard where no one can hear us. To others, we look like a couple in the midst of a fight. But I know that he’s about to shatter my heart into a million more pieces.

Why am I a glutton for punishment?

“What the hell was that? I thought we agreed, we have a good time when we’re together, and we have fun separately when we’re out.”

I poke him in the chest, all of the wrongs he’s committed against me making me go out of my mind. “No, you agreed to that! You just want to have your cake and eat other’s cake too, you piece of shit!”

Pax runs his hands through his shaggy blond hair. “Demi … you aren’t my girlfriend. We fuck sometimes. Shit, I knew this might happen. I knew you’d probably catch feelings.”

He says this matter of factly, like I’m some sort of emotional female and he isn’t at fault for any of this. I can practically hear the ventricles of my heart cracking under his fist, tears falling freely from my eyes.

“You are an asshole. You lead me on, build me up and act like we’re … like we could be something. Do you feel anything for me? I want a straight answer this time.”

I’m shaking, so mad and so hurt that I can’t see straight.

Pax looks at me, more pity in his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Demi—”

The alcohol gets the best of me, I pull my hand back, and smack him across the face. The sound reverberates under the trees, out of the sight of anyone else. Even when we fight, no one is present to see it. Our entire relationship takes place in the shadows.

We stare at each other, and I can’t believe I had the gall to do that.

I run, in the opposite direction, hating the person who would beg for a boy’s attention and get so worked up that I’d resort to physical violence.

Two days later, when he texts me to apologize, I end up in his bed at one a.m.