13. Jolie
JOLIE
Like the good girl I am, I go to all my classes today, but I’ve been struggling to concentrate. My brain keeps torturing me with reruns of date night, then my totally unsettling conversation with Ben.
He made sex and masturbating and all the things I was taught not to want sound like this amazing thing.
I mean, what if he’s right?
What if sex is incredible and I just had one bad experience?
But it really was bad… to the point where I don’t even want to pop into the Nolan U Star office. I’ve been actively avoiding it.
The article I’m working on is coming together and it’s due first thing tomorrow, so I really have to get over myself.
I want to be a journalist, and this is such a great experience for me.
I can’t let my evening with Kieran put me off.
I can’t screw up my future ambitions because I let myself get swept away in the moment.
Swept away? That sounds almost romantic.
It was anything but.
Maybe that’s why it was so awful. I mean, he was sweet and everything, but once we started making out, it felt almost like a well-rehearsed dance, like he’d done it a bunch of times already and it was just the routine.
There was no connection, barely any eye contact.
He was just having sex, and it almost didn’t seem to matter who was underneath him.
The more I think about it, the easier it is to reach that conclusion.
He hasn’t called me to check in, hasn’t followed up with a text or anything. He’s obviously not hankering for a repeat.
Carina did warn me he asks a lot of girls out.
What’s the bet that he’s the master of one-night stands and I was just too stupid to realize it?
Seriously, why did I let myself get caught up that way?
Because you were curious. Because you were on a high-speed train and you were too afraid to jump off.
Plunking into my chair, I open my laptop and try to focus on this article. Nylah’s not here right now. I think she said something about eating dinner at her parents’ house.
“One of my conditions of moving out is going there for dinner every Wednesday.”
She made it sound like a chore.
Doesn’t she know how lucky she is?
I’d love to see my parents that easily.
I mean, sure, they only live an hour away and I can go home on weekends if I want, but I think it’s sweet that she has a regular catch-up time with her parents. It’s obvious how much they love her.
And my parents love me too. I’m their only daughter. Their precious girl, and I know I mean the world to them.
Shifting in my seat, I picture myself at the dining room table, talking about our days.
We’d all take turns and have to tell each other our highs and lows from the day.
Ugh, the thought of doing that this week gives me hives.
There’s no way I can ever admit to my parents what I did on Friday night.
They just wouldn’t understand how I could be so reckless.
They’d be horrified.
Unlike Ben.
He was horrified for a completely different reason.
“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Those weren’t his exact words, but that’s basically what he couldn’t believe.
Obviously at the age of nearly nineteen, I should have experienced one of those. I should have been touching myself or something. I’ve tried to do it a couple of times, but it just doesn’t work.
I should probably talk to Caroline about all of this.
She’d understand what I went through on Friday night, right?
But I’m too embarrassed.
I can’t even believe I told Ben—a basic stranger!
He just caught me in a weak moment, is all. There was just such a sweet compassion in those pale brown eyes of his that the words practically fell out of me, and now I can’t stop thinking about them.
With a huff, I once again try to focus, managing two whole paragraphs of my article before slumping back in my seat and thinking about that tall glass of water yet again.
He really is handsome in that all-American good boy kind of way, and I shouldn’t be thinking about him.
I don’t want to find him handsome.
In fact, I’m not even sure I ever want to see him again. I basically exposed every humiliating part of myself, and it’ll no doubt be super awkward next time we talk.
So don’t let there be a next time. Just avoid him.
Along with Kieran.
Ugh. Am I creating a list now?
By the end of my time here, will I be jumping around corners so I don’t have to run into anyone I’ve embarrassed myself in front of? That could be half the student body!
Rubbing my eyes, I reread what I’ve written, then refer to my notes.
Ben’s answers were so good. They showed so much of who he is as a person, and it made me really respect and admire him.
I love that the first thing he’d do after winning a championship is call his older sister.
I also love the way he spoke about the other players on the team.
I focus on those answers and manage to put together a big chunk of the article before my brain is drifting back to Marty’s and Ben’s words…
“Seriously, sex is not a sin. Humans were designed to have it. To enjoy it. It’s a gift.”
And apparently masturbating is good for me too.
My eyebrows bunch together as I lean forward and open up an Incognito window on Google Chrome. Glancing over my shoulder like someone might catch me, I turn back and quickly type:
Are orgasms good for you? Is masturbating something I should be doing?
A plethora of information pops up, and I spend the next twenty minutes confirming everything Ben said.
“Huh.” I tilt my head as I read through the list of benefits.
So why was I taught that it’s so wrong?
Maybe because the church I was raised in equated masturbating to impure thoughts and therefore sexual sin.
Could that be it?
They never really explained it to me; they just said, “Don’t do it.” Honestly, they made me feel like it’s the worst thing in the world. Sex is only for marriage, only for reproductive purposes. People who enjoy sex or seek it out just for pleasure… well, that seemed like a naughty thing to do.
Did I just misinterpret everything?
Or is it time for me to figure some of this stuff out for myself?
I guess that’s what I was trying to do on Friday night.
What a backfire that turned out to be.
But maybe touching myself would be okay. I’d be in complete control, right?
Biting my lip, I glance at my bed and wonder if I should try it.
But what if Nylah comes back when I’m halfway through?
Glancing at the door to our en suite, I jump up before I can change my mind and quickly head into the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I turn on the shower so if she does come home, she’ll assume I’m just washing myself.
My fingers are trembling as I unbutton my pants and slip them down my hips. This feels so scandalous for some reason, and I try to ignore that thought as I perch on the closed lid of the toilet seat and spread my legs.
I feel so exposed right now, but I remind myself that the door is locked and it’s okay to be exploring my body.
It’s healthy.
It’s good for me.
Licking the tip of my finger—I don’t even know why—I then reach down and feel around that area. I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that going inside isn’t pleasant, so I avoid that and just kind of touch around my opening.
Do I rub? Do I stroke? Fast? Slow? What am I supposed to do?
Just experiment. See what feels good.
I spend the next few minutes doing just that. I get a few flushing tingles but nothing long-lasting, and when my dorm room door pops open, I bail on this experiment.
Jumping up, I quickly pull my pants up. I’m still a little trembly, so I decide to just jump into the shower and rinse off. The space is filled with steam and I hate to think how much water I’ve wasted, so I only stay under the hot spray for like a minute.
Nylah won’t know. She’s only just got home.
Once I’m dried and redressed, I suck in a breath and walk back out to our shared room.
She’s sitting on her bed with her headphones on watching a movie. The second she spots me, a smile spreads across her face. She looks like she’s about to pull off her headphones and talk to me, so I quickly dart to my desk and start working on the article again.
And that’s where I stay, at my desk until after midnight.
Until I have written, read, edited, reread, edited some more, and refined my article to as close to perfection as I can get it.
The next morning, I force myself to the Nolan U Star office.
I went to the library and printed the article first, figuring whoever edits it for me will probably appreciate a paper copy. I know I prefer to edit from paper. I feel like you see things differently than you do on-screen.
Holding my breath, I enter the office space and am relieved to not see Kieran.
The first person my eyes land on is Angelica, and I force a bright smile. I’ve already decided that I won’t be saying a word about my date to anyone.
Ben swore he wouldn’t tell, and all I can hope is that Kieran isn’t a blabbermouth.
When Angelica greets me with her friendly grin, I have to assume she’s none the wiser to my disaster, so I get straight to the point.
“I finished my article. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to look over it before I hand it in?”
“Of course.” Her smile grows even wider as she ushers me to her desk with a flick of her fingers. Grabbing a red pen out of the Nolan U mug on her desk, she then proceeds to work through the article.
To my relief, her suggested changes are minimal.
“This is really good,” she murmurs as she goes through each paragraph. “Oooo, I like that quote. Nice.” She glances at me, and my smile starts to feel genuine. Once she’s done, she recaps her pen and slides the pages back to me. “So, you could only get one person to interview?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “The rest of the team weren’t that keen to talk to me. But do you think I have enough here with only Ben Evers?”