My stomach wrenches. I really want to ask what she means by that.
Is she an orphan? Are her parents gone? Is she… alone?
But instead, I nestle up in the softness of my chair and sigh. “Leah… have you ever been in love?”
“Wow. Way to get super heavy on me,” she snorts.
I grin. “I’m serious. Have you?”
She pauses, as if she’s thinking about how to answer. And now maybe I get why she didn’t FaceTime. It’s probably harder to disguise the truths she doesn’t want to tell with me looking at her.
“I don’t know if I believe in love,” she speaks softly. I feel the emotion in her tone. “What about you?”
An odd sensation of longing sets in my chest, and it confuses me.
I don’t do relationships. At least, I never have before, and I don’t think I necessarily care that much that I haven’t. Granted, I’m a guy in his teens, so the hormones are definitely there, but with technology these days, getting off is much easier for us hopeless nerds.
I’ve had phone sex before. Sometimes I do the sexting thing on Snapchat. But when it comes to being able to express real interest in someone, face to face, I guess I’m as inexperienced as they come.
It might just be the way I am, like the social anxiety thing. Maybe I’m not meant to experience being with someone for real… Surely, physical relationships aren’t for everyone, right?
But right now, there is something there. And it’s unfamiliar.
Is it love? Do I feel it for Leah?
Or am I just wishing I could feel it with someone else?
“I’m not sure if I know… how to feel it,” I stammer. “Love, I mean. It should feel obvious, shouldn’t it?”
“Yea, it probably should,” she sighs in my ear.
“Maybe I love you, KillaClam.” My lips twist, and she laughs softly. “I mean it. We should… love each other. Just as friends, or whatever. Because I think love is… important. Even if I don’t really understand it.”
“Is this your cheesy, cornball way of asking me to go steady, Lex Luthor?” I can hear her grinning, and it flutters my chest with glee.
“Please. I know better than to try to lock you down,” I tease, and she giggles. “You’re a wild stallion.”
“And what are you? A donkey?” She cackles.
“I don’t know. Maybe a zebra?”
We both start laughing.
But then I hear something over the line. A voice that sounds male, maybe more than one. And they’re shouting something.
“Oh, fuck…” Leah mutters. “Shit shit shit…”
My brow furrows, and I sit up in my chair like a reflex. “Is everything alright?”
“Yea… uh… it’s fine,” she breathes, sounding suddenly frantic. And a little scared. “I gotta go.”
“Are you sure…?” I ask. The noises on the phone are getting louder.
Someone is yelling, and they don’t sound happy.
“Bye, Luthor,” Leah whispers, her voice shaking. “Hold out for the real thing, okay?”
“What?? Leah, wait!” I bark into the phone.
But it’s too late. She already hung up.
My stomach is churning with nerves. I want to call her back and check on her, to make sure she’s okay. But then I don’t want to get her in trouble…
I know literally nothing about her situation.
Who were those men? Why were they shouting?
Where the hell even is she??
Instead, I pull up a text to her number.
Me: Leah, just let me know you’re alright. Please.
Of course, I get no response.
Not for the rest of the night. Not for a while.
Not until I finally hear from her again, months later…
When everything gets way too real.
Meanwhile…
(Also 5 years ago)
Disgraced.
It’s not a word that means much to me. In the grand scheme of things I’ve been called, this one actually has a pretty nice ring to it.
I’ve officially been kicked out of college, after two faculty members walked in on my ethics teacher screwing me in his office.
I know. Ethics. The irony was not lost on anyone.
Professor Kensington—who, let it be known, was way too hot to be a teacher—was immediately fired, though I think his wife finding out he likes to fuck guys might have been the more detrimental consequence.
And I was expelled, just like I knew I’d be. All the money and sweet-talking in the world from my parents couldn’t undo the emotional damage I’d caused. The tarnished stain I apparently made on the good name of Columbia University.
Dramatic much? I mean, come on. They act like they’ve never seen a professor raw-dogging the life out of a student on his desk before.
Do I regret ruining Professor Kensington’s life like that? If I say yes, will anyone believe me?
Sure, he didn’t have to fuck me… In his office. With the door unlocked. But still, I came onto him. And I did it for no other reasons than to sate my infinite, unwavering boredom, to get a rise out of my shithead parents, and play the part of exactly who the hell I am; who they all expect me to be at this point.
A willful worshipper of chaos. An American Psycho, if Patrick Bateman was just pretending to give a shit about his lavish lifestyle and stupid fucking business cards.
At least, I said the words. I’m sorry did leave my lips while I was seated in the dean’s office, beside my irate, ashamed parents. But they were just that. Words. With exactly zero substance to back them up, and my parents could obviously tell. In the Town Car on the way home, my father told me I’d disgraced our family.
I felt nothing from that either.
That was six months ago, and while I was successful in getting myself out of school, it kind of just brought me back to square one. Living at home, in the same giant Upper East Side townhouse I grew up in, with my parents who actively despise me, and absolutely no clue what I want to do with my life, or even how to spend my time.
For months, I’ve been drifting, like a well-dressed tumbleweed, and unfortunately, the constant uncertainty, paired with nonstop indifference and loathing from my parents is guiding me back into old habits.
Staring at the orange flame, I watch it drifting closer and closer to my fingertips as the match burns. The heat warms my skin, then stings as it begins to singe me, sheeting my body in chills. It burns out and I drop it onto the floor of my bedroom terrace with the rest of them.
A sweet breeze of early summer rustles through my hair, brushing it in my eyes while I strike yet another match. My eyes stick to the little burst of fire, though this time, I use it to light my cigarette. Taking in a long drag, I hold the smoke, puffing it out into the air and watching it swirl. Floating away… into nothing.
What am I supposed to do now? I think to myself while I smoke and sit and stare. Yes, I hated school, but at least it was something. It got me away from this home of unmet expectations and bitterness. Now, there’s nowhere else to turn. It’s all blending together.
Days spent in the gym, flirting and hooking up more than actually working out, followed by nights spent bouncing from club to club, doing drugs, getting fucked, and passing out just before five, only to wake up and do it all over again.