opened my mouth, but Brittany shook her head and said, “I don’t think cookies mean cock. I think it might mean his balls being that it’s plural and all.”
Jacob burst into loud laughter. “Then that means his balls were in your mouth theoretically speaking! Damn, that’s some dirty baking.”
I gaped at the two. Was this typical conversation? “Oh my God, can we please stop talking about his cock and balls or I’ll never be able to eat cookies again. Like ever.”
“No. Seriously. How come you aren’t all up on that.” Jacob climbed onto the back of the couch like an overgrown cat. “He’s obviously flirting with you.”
“So,” I replied, believing it might be safe to eat another chip without dying.
Jacob’s jaw dropped. “So?”
Brittany closed the history book and dropped it on the floor with a loud thump. Guess there went studying completely. “Jacob is like a sex-starved woman in her mid-thirties, so he can’t possibly understand why you wouldn’t want to take a ride on the town bike.”
I glanced at Jacob, and he just shrugged and said, “Very true.”
“Even I have a hard time understanding that. Cameron is really good looking,” Brittany continued. “And I have never heard any girl talking crap about him, so he must treat them good.”
Having no idea what to say, I dropped into the black moon chair near the TV. Explaining to them the why behind it all was a big fat no go. “I don’t know. I’m just not interested.”
“Do you have ovaries?” Jacob asked.
I shot him a look. “Yes.”
He slid down the back of the couch and sat beside Brittany. “Then how are you not interested?”
Shoving the rest of the chips in my mouth, I struggled to respond without coming across like a frigid prude. But I was a total frigid prude, wasn’t I? Or afflicted, depending on who you asked. Either way, while the idea of cocks and balls interested me, the thought of actually getting up, close and personal with them made me break out in a cold sweat.
And I was sweating now. The chips were already souring in my stomach. I’d be breaking out the Tums later. My mind immediately went straight to the email from last night.
Liar.
Wiping my hands over my jeans, I shook my head. “I’m just not interested in a relationship.”
Jacob laughed. “We’re not saying that Cam is either, you know? You don’t have to want to be in a relationship for a little bow-chicka-bow-wow.”
Brittany looked at him slowly. “Did you really just say that?”
“I did. And I owned it. Gonna make me a shirt that says that.” Jacob flashed a grin. “Anyway, all I’m saying is he’s an opportunity you might not want to pass up.”
I didn’t even give that a thought. “Why are we even talking about this? We have one class together and he lives across the hall—”
“And you’re partners for the rest of the semester,” Brittany added. “Kind of romantic, going out at night and gazing up at stars.”
My stomach tightened. “It’s not romantic. Nothing is romantic.”
Her brows rose as she ran her hand through the short locks of blonde hair. “Well, hello, Debbie Downer.”
I rolled my eyes. “All I’m saying is that I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. And he’s just a flirt. You’ve even said he’s the town bike. This is just probably how he is. He’s a nice and friendly guy. That’s all. So can we just forget about it?”
“Yeah, you bitches be boring me to tears,” Jacob said, and Brittany stuck her tongue out at him. Light glinted off the bolt, and I winced, thinking that had to have hurt. “And I need some salsa to go with these chips.”
“In the bottom cupboard,” I shouted, but he was already halfway in the kitchen, doors opening and slamming.
Much to my relief, the topic veered away from me and the nonexistent whatever with Cam. Hours passed and I became more comfortable with them here and we even cracked open our history books for a few short seconds. When it got close to nine, they packed up their stuff and headed toward the door.
Brittany stopped and sprang forward. Before I could prepare myself, she gave me a quick hug and peck on the cheek. I stood there, sort of shell shocked. She smiled. “There’s a big party at one of the frats Friday night. You should come with.”
I remembered Cam saying he was busy Friday and since he obviously liked to party, that was probably why. I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t be antisocial,” Jacob said, opening the door. “We’re cool people to hang with.”
I laughed. “I know. I’ll think about it.”
“Okay.” Brittany wiggled her fingers. “See you tomorrow.”
Out in the hall, Jacob started pointing at Cam’s door as he thrust his hips and wiggled his ass. I bit down on my lip to stop laughing. It went on until Brittany caught the collar of his polo and yanked him down the stairs.
Smiling, I shut the door and locked it. It didn’t take much time for me to clean up and get ready for bed. The whole bed thing was pointless because I wasn’t sleepy and since I was avoiding the laptop and therefore my email, I ended up watching reruns of Ghost Hunters until I was convinced there was a poltergeist in my bathroom. Turning off the TV, I stood and ended up doing something I hated.
Pacing my apartment like I used to do in my bedroom back home. With the TV off and my apartment quiet, I could hear little minute noises from the other apartments. I focused on those noises instead of letting my mind do the wander thing because tonight had been good and I didn’t want to ruin it. The last couple of days had been great with the exception of the whole plowing into Cam thing. Things were good.
I stopped behind my couch, only realizing then what I was doing.
Looking down, I saw the sleeve of my shirt pushed up and my fingers were wrapped around my left wrist. Slowly, meticulously, I lifted up my fingers, one by one. There were faint pink indents from the bracelet pressing into my skin. For the last five years, I only took the bracelet off at night and when I showered. Those indents would probably be permanent.
Just like the jagged scar the bracelet hid.
I removed my hand completely. The two inch stretch of a deeper pink slashed down the very center of my wrist, over the vein. It had been a deep cut made with broken glass from the picture frame I’d thrown after the first picture had circulated the high school.
When I’d made that cut, it had been the lowest point of my life and I hadn’t been joking around. There would’ve been a matching violent cut on my right wrist if it hadn’t been for the maid hearing the glass break.
The picture had been of me and my best friend; the very same best friend who had been one of the first to turn their back and whisper words like ‘whore’ and ‘liar.’
I had wanted to end it then. Just check out, because at that point in my life, nothing could’ve been worse than what had happened to me, what my parents had agreed to, and the subsequent fallout. In a matter of months, my life had utterly separated into two ragged chunks: before and after. And I hadn’t been able to see a possible after when the entire school got behind Blaine.
Now? The after seemed endless, but shame burned like a low fire in my belly as I stared at the scar. Suicide was never the answer and if anything, checking out was letting all of them win. I’d learned the lesson all by myself since therapy had never been an option. My parents would’ve rather cut off their legs than suffer through the embarrassment of having a daughter that had tried to commit suicide and needed therapy. More money had exchanged hands to keep my afternoon hospital