15. Bailey
fifteen
Bailey
I can’t help but scan the campus on my way back from class, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
It’s been three days, and there have only been a handful of moments when my thoughts were free of him.
Free from brown eyes and perfect lips. A handful of conversations, just distracting enough to pull me away from the incessant memories of his hands on me, my back against the wall.
Bailey, fucking stop it.
It was a one time thing.
Okay… a two time thing.
Damnit.
Why hasn’t he texted me?
Do I want him to?
The fear of rejection is almost as heavy as admitting I miss him.
I slam my door shut behind me, “Sorry Beto.” I didn’t mean to shut the damn thing that hard. I throw my bag on the table and give him a pinch of food. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Beto just inhales his food, not at all bothered by my existential crisis.
I grab the remote and slouch down onto the old sofa, careful not to hit the tailbone crushing space between cushions. That was a lesson I only needed to learn one good time.
My door swings open, “Bays, I’m bored. Hungry too. Whatcha got to eat?”
“I’m doing well, thanks for asking,” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm.
Liam laughs and sits down next to me. “My bad, Bays. You know I’m not myself when I’m hungry.”
“Understatement of the year,” I mutter.
“What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Nothing, just tired,” I lie. Oh, well, I’m crashing out because the hot guy I made out with at that party and then let hand-fuck me into oblivion three days ago hasn’t text me even though he has my number.
“Liar.”
“It’s nothing,” I pause. “Stupid, really.”
“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to tell me then, should it?”
He’s got a point. “So… you remember asking about that, um, girl I met at the party?”
Liam jumps out of his seat to turn toward me, eyes bright with excitement. “Fuck yes I do.”
“Well,” I continue, “I ran into her again a few days ago.”
“Hell yeah! That’s awesome!” He hesitates, confusion on his face. “I don’t see the problem here.”
“The problem is, I put my number in her phone that night, and she still hasn’t messaged me.” My cheeks heat at how ridiculous I sound. Pathetic, really.
“Dude, don’t worry. She’s probably waiting so that she doesn’t seem too clingy. You know, doesn’t want to scare you off.”
“Maybe.” Conversations with him replay in my mind as I try to find some validity to Liam’s statement. “It’s just that she doesn’t really seem like the type to play games.”
“But does she seem like the type that wouldn’t want to come on too strong? Because if she seemed like she was really into you, it would make perfect sense to me that she would wait a few days.”
“You know, you might be onto something,” I admit. Every interaction, every touch, was careful. He made sure I was okay with everything he did. Maybe Liam’s right.
I hate that I’m lying to him. My chest tightens at the thought, stomach churning with unease.
I wish I was courageous enough to just tell him everything.
Share it all. I know he would be nothing but equally as excited as he is now.
He would celebrate the unchartered waters and fucking bug me for all the details.
So why am I so afraid?
Thoughts of Mom and Dad, and of Sunday School lessons about Adam and Eve swirl in my mind.
Sermons about what God’s plan is… and what it isn’t.
Years of Sundays spent with an old white man at a podium telling me who I can love, and who I can be.
Preaching about heaven and the afterlife, streets of gold, promising us that it’s okay that the top one percent have more than the bottom ninety percent because all we need is Jesus.
I laugh. Funny, because Jesus never paid my bills, Fred, but okay.
I remember those Hell houses they would take us to where we’d have to walk through various hellscapes of people and their sins. That’s probably some form of psychological abuse, but here in the Bible Belt it’s just another Wednesday.
If I brought home a boyfriend my dad would have a heart attack where he stood. Mom would sob, and beg me to repent. Try to convince me that if I asked for forgiveness, the Lord would give me the strength to fight it.
I shudder.
“Damn, dude. She’s really gotten into your head something fierce, huh?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay, I’m raiding your fridge. Thanks in advance.”
“Fiiiiiiine,” I say, shaking my head.
My phone dings in my pocket and I grab it faster than should be humanly possible.
Unknown number: Hey, green eyes
A single text appears and all thoughts of fire and brimstone are out the door. Disappointed parents and confused best friends are a problem for another day because, holy shit, he just messaged me.
I stare at the screen, grateful Liam’s busy in the kitchen.
“That your girlfriend?” He yells from behind me.
How the fuck did he hear that?
“Nope.”
“Boo.”
I take a deep breath as I try to think of a reply that doesn’t scream pathetic.
Shit.
Me: Hey
I hit send before I can change my mind. My hands shake as I practice a natural posture and try to fix my face before Liam gets back. He’s going to know. My p-p-poker face is a joke.
Should I put the phone back in my pocket or is that too obvious?
Damnit.
Okay, leave it out. Calm, cool, collected. Fucking normal. Everything is fine. I’m fine. That’s definitely not sweat on my palms.
I hurry to find the local sports network in hopes to distract Liam. I get it turned on just in time.
He plops down beside me, plate in hand. “Oh, fuck yeah, man. This is supposed to be a good ass game.”
Nailed it.
I put my phone on vibrate and pretend to watch the game. Is it going to be another three days before he texts me back? As if in answer, the phone vibrates against my thigh.
Unknown number: When can I see you again?
Oh fuck.
Bold.
That’s bold.
Hot, too.
His confidence is so fucking sexy.
I adjust my pants, anxious to hide any evidence from Liam. Jesus.
My heart pounds in my chest, refusing to let me forget what’s at stake. I want to see him again. Need to. But fear claws her way in, relentless in her assault. She shows me disappointed parents, people staring in silent judgment, whispers of labels and slurs.
Chills rack my entire body and it’s difficult to pull enough air into my lungs.
Focus, Bays. You’re okay. It’s okay. You’re in your dorm, watching sports with your best friend. Deep breaths.
My pulse slows and a sense of resolve overcomes me. Fuck that.
I beg my thumbs to comply as I type a reply.
Me: When are you free?