Erin
The sun hasn’t completely shed its light over the university, hasn’t spilled in through our large kitchen window, but yet still I stand at the counter, eyes on my phone, two names fighting for attention.
I didn’t try to sleep last night — not after seeing Skyler pull Kip in for a kiss, or hearing him talk about how he isn’t sorry for what they did. Whatever it was, he wanted to do it again, and as much as I know it’s all part of the plan I set up, I couldn’t stomach it.
So, I did what I do best. I fled.
Drinking hadn’t helped last time I’d felt that ickiness settling in my stomach after their date at the pier, so I tried running, instead.
Stopping by the sorority house long enough to change into long pants and a light long-sleeve shirt, I set out across campus, running along the dimly lit paths until my muscles were screaming at me to stop.
Every step took a tiny bit of the pain, every sharp breath through my lungs gave a little bit of strength.
When I hit the reflection pond on campus, I stopped, collapsing in a heap on the grassy hill that overlooked it.
I close my eyes, one hand wrapped around my steaming mug of hot chocolate as I go back to that moment, to the stars spread above me, the cool, wet grass on my neck, my breaths shallow but sure.
It was then that I realized it wasn’t the kiss that hurt me the most. It was the way they kissed — the way Skyler tried to fake it, but gave into Kip with every second that passed, melting into his arms. It’s the way Kip spilled his heart out to her before she shut him up with her mouth on his, and the relief that spilled off of him when she was pressed against him.
Sobs racked through me on that hill, every fear and damning emotion surging over me like a tidal wave.
I had no choice but to succumb to it, to let it roll me under its powerful waves before it spit me out.
And when it did, I sniffed, wiping my eyes dry and staring up at the unblinking stars in the sky as I realized the truth.
I was stupid to think this was ever a game.
He likes her. And she likes him.
And now, I have to figure out what to do about it.
My eyes flutter open again, the first bit of sunlight slipping inside our small sorority kitchen. I stare at my phone again, debating my options.
The first person I want to call is Clinton.
We haven’t talked since the semester started, but he always said he’d be there for me if I needed him. And I need him. Bad. He’d know what to say, how to help me see sanity, to make the right decision.
But that’s the problem.
As much as I need him, as much as I should pick up the phone and call him or storm down Greek Row and right into his bedroom, I don’t want to. Because he would tell me the right thing to do.
And right now, I don’t want to be right.
Right now, I want Kip Jackson to be mine again.
I want to find happiness with him, the kind of na?ve, untouched happiness we had before.
I want to remember what it feels like to be held by a man and not flinch away from his touch, to be kissed because I asked for it, not have my lips taken greedily and without mercy.
I want to be taken to bed, softly and gently, and cherished. I want to feel Kip’s hands on me, his lips, his eyes…
Clinton would talk me out of the whole thing, and although that might be what I should do, I don’t.
Instead, I pick up my phone and dial person number two.
Mom.
“It’s early, Erin,” she answers gruffly.
“I need you.”
There’s shuffling on the other end, and I hear my father’s voice murmur something before my mom covers the phone to answer. A door clicks, and I imagine her retreating into her master bathroom, perching on the edge of her deep bath tub.
“Okay, I’m here. What happened?”
She still sounds slightly annoyed by me waking her, but the fact that she’s still on the line brings me comfort.
I sigh, feeling stronger already just by hearing her voice.
She was the only one I could lean on after what happened, the only one who knew how to take what I felt and turn it into something I could control, something I could manage.
As sick as it sounds, that horrifying day brought me closer to my mom, and for that, I’m thankful.
“It’s nothing big,” I say quickly, to ease her mind. “There’s something I want, something I feel like might really help me find some happiness again.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Well, you know you can do anything you put your mind to. If there’s something you want, take it. Make it yours. Make it happen.”
“I know, I know, and I have been trying. I have a plan in place, a way to get what I want, but…” My voice fades, my eyes losing focus on the marshmallows floating in my hot chocolate.
“I’m hurting someone I care about in the process.
And I’m afraid that the more I use her, the more she’ll hate me in the end. ”
“A sister?”
I sigh. “Yes. A very close sister.”
“Oh, Erin,” Mom says, the annoyance back in her voice.
“Listen to me. College is such a small, temporary part of your life. I know these girls feel like they’re everything to you right now, but one day, you won’t even talk to ninety percent of them.
Don’t let your emotions and feelings stand in the way of your goals.
What does that get you? Where has it ever landed you before? ”
Every word she says is like a little prick of a needle, like motherly acupuncture, a mixture of discomfort, pain, and relief.
Maybe I want to hear someone tell me what I’m doing is okay.
Maybe I knew she’d be the one to say it.
“I think it’s really hard on her,” I say, not sure if I want my mom to hear it or myself. “But we’re so close, and what I want is within reach. I’m just not sure if, ethically, the way I’ve gone about it is okay.”
“Well, ethics aren’t everything,” Mom answers matter-of-factly.
“Listen to me. You’ve had things taken from you, Erin.
You’ve given when you didn’t want to. This is karma, the balance of the universe.
Now, it’s your turn to take a little, to get back what you desire to make yourself happy again.
And that doesn’t always happen without a few fires along the way — fires that burn people you care about. ”
“That doesn’t sound right to me.”
“It’s not always about being right. Sometimes, it’s about the end game. Let me ask you this. When you close your eyes and think about reaching that goal, about getting what you want, how do you feel?”
I do as she says, an overwhelming wave of warmth and joy washing over me when I picture myself back in Kip’s arms, his blue eyes looking into mine, his lips kissing the soft skin of my neck.
“I feel…” I shake my head, eyes opening with a new resolve. “I feel perfect. I feel whole again.”
“Then you have your answer.”
I swallow. “I think she wants out of the plan. I’m not sure how to get her to see it through.”
“Well, you got her to agree somehow, didn’t you?
Think about what motivates her, what her weaknesses are, and play into them.
Remind her why she agreed, why this is important not just for you, but for her, too.
” Mom pauses. “You’re smarter than you think you are, Erin.
You’re just a little soft. Don’t let what happened to you play into that softness.
Let it harden you — your heart, your resolve — and take what you want from this world. ”
In the back of my mind, I realize the twisted, questionable morals that my mother’s advice is laced with, but in this moment, I can’t find it in me to dissect it. She said exactly what I needed to hear — what I wanted to hear.
She gave me permission, encouragement, and any thought of backing out is long gone.
When I end the call with Mom, I make another mug of hot chocolate, leaning one hip against the counter and watching the sun rise through the kitchen window as I formulate a new plan.
I know Skyler’s weaknesses — her desire to fit in, her need to fulfill our Greek line’s legacy of being the next president.
Before she came to Palm South University, she was a no one. Here, she’s everything.
But a reputation is a futile thing.
And a delicate, self-conscience girl is easy to prey on.
I almost shutter at that thought as it rolls through me, at how easily I think it, but I don’t have time to digest it before the universe hands me my first test.
Skyler shuffles into the kitchen, hair a rats nest on top of her head as her eyes widen when they land on me. It’s early, the rest of the house sleeping, and she likely imagined she’d find the kitchen empty.
It’s now or never.
“Hot chocolate?” I ask her, lifting my mug a little.
Skyler smiles, but it falls quickly as she props herself on the counter beside me. “I think I need something stronger.”
It should scare me, how quickly I shove my emotions down into a box, slamming the lid shut and taping the edges for good measure.
I can see it all over Skyler’s face, her desire to talk to me, to tell me she wants out.
It’s in the knit of her brows, in the way she chews on her bottom lip.
This is it — my last chance to get her to seal the deal.
So, I set a plan into place, not questioning a single step in it as it forms.
First, I have to break her down, tap into her emotions.
Skyler is perhaps the most caring human being I know, soft at the heart no matter how she tries to hide it.
And, unlike me, she doesn’t possess the will to box her emotions away.
Sure, she may be able to disguise them with a poker face now and then, but in the end? They always overwhelm her.
“It’s funny, you know,” I say, grabbing another mug from the cupboard and starting a cup of coffee for her on our Keurig. “Parents. Kids. The whole relationship that exists there.”
“I’m not sure I’m following, Big.”