Chapter 2 #3
His eyes flicker toward our rooms down the hallway.
“Are you also sexiled tonight? I saw Jo go into your room a while ago. And she was definitely not alone.” He rolls his eyes in a you get it kind of way, like we already have an inside joke.
I swallow the thought, and it feels like someone is flipping pancakes in my stomach.
“That was about ten minutes after I got sexiled from my own room and ended up here,” he adds, grinning softly as though he isn’t bothered by the inconvenience the way most people would be.
For some reason, I find myself offering Harrison further explanation.
His dimples seem to have cast a net into my mind and are now reeling some unfiltered honesty out of me.
“Jo and I had a competition to see who could hook up with someone first,” I say.
“Unfortunately, she didn’t quite beat me to it, and in my rush to win, I seem to have exercised some poor decision-making skills. Hence the tears and the boy problems.”
“Oof.”
“Oof is right,” I say, suddenly clutching my gut as another wave of residual cramps seizes my uterus. This conversation has been a welcome distraction, but my vagina is not done reminding me of the night’s events.
Harrison notices my change in demeanor, and his eyes crinkle to take on the same expression he had when I sat down cursing. “Wait, are you hurt?”
“No. Well, yes. I kind of got hurt. But it’s fine,” I say. Harrison’s eyes widen, and as he opens his mouth to say more, I cut him off and gesture to the book sitting on his lap. “Plato. What’s it about?”
His mouth stays open for a moment, and I can see the indecision, his eyes wavering ever so slightly as if he’s reading my mind, trying to decide whether to press me on it. He doesn’t.
“Love,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Soulmates. That kind of thing.”
“Plato was a romantic, huh?” I ask. I hold back a wince as another cramp takes over.
He narrows his eyes as if he can read my wince, which I’m becoming increasingly sure he actually can. “So, in Symposium, this guy named Aristophanes tells a story about how the first humans had two faces, four hands, and four legs.”
“Hot,” I say, playing along.
“Right? But these early humans were so strong and powerful that Zeus, the king of the gods, decided to weaken them by cutting them in half, thus creating today’s humans, with one face, two hands, and two legs.
” He waves his hand around, as if to demonstrate that he, like the humans he’s discussing, has two hands.
“So, Aristophanes theorizes that this is the source of our desire for other people. We spend our lives looking for the person whom we were severed from, who would make us complete. Essentially, we’re looking for our soulmate.
And we’re made whole when we find that person—the person we love wholly. ”
When I don’t respond immediately, his expression grows sheepish, his lips curling slightly and his brows furrowing. He grabs a wavy lock that’s drooping onto his face, then tugs it once before letting it plop back into place. When the maneuver is complete, it’s still blocking his line of sight.
“And—” I say, distracted. “And do you believe that? Do you believe we each only have one person out there who would complete us?”
He blinks thoughtfully before responding.
“I’d like to think so, right? I like the idea that everyone out there has a perfect match.
Someone they can’t live without. My pa—” He swallows.
“That is to say, I think most people never find that person, but there are some couples where you can just tell, you know?”
We gaze at each other.
“I’m guessing the guy you’re having boy problems with isn’t your soulmate then,” he says.
“I’m not na?ve enough to think I’m going to meet a soulmate in my two-hundred-level Spanish class,” I scoff. Besides, after tonight, I’m not sure if virgins who can’t wear tampons get to have soulmates.
There’s a flash of embarrassment on his face, which makes me feel like shit, so I change the subject. “I think we need more alcohol if we’re going to keep talking about philosophy,” I say, shooting him a goofy smile in a sad attempt to lighten the mood.
Mercifully, he laughs instead of taking offense. He stands up, grabbing something from a tote bag on the table next to us. Before I can register what’s happening, he’s throwing something in my direction, and I’m catching something slightly cool to the touch.
I hold up the beer can, reading the label. “Not Natty Light. You’re spoiling me.”
He shrugs, plopping back into the beanbag. “My roommate handed me these two beers in exchange for moving to the common room.” He picks up the other one, cracking open the tab. I reach forward and meet his cheers, clinking the cans together.
I take a sip.
I think this beer is worse than Natty Light.
“At least it’s free?” Harrison asks, glaring at the can.
“This beer and I are not soulmates,” I say.
Just as I think the conversation is finally going to lighten up, a burning cramp shoots through my uterus, so severe I have to look down to make sure someone didn’t pour acid all over my gut.
Harrison scoots forward in the beanbag, poised for action. “What’s happening?”
“No, I’m—” I say, holding up a hand. He waits at my signal, and after I take a deep breath and relax backward, he follows my cue and does the same.
“Listen, I know we don’t really know each other yet, but just…let me know if you want to talk about it, okay?”
His expression is warm, like when you cuddle up with a friend on the couch under a cozy blanket to watch a movie, and then you both get up and give each other a hug before you leave, and the hug is warm and cozy just like you were on the couch under that blanket.
“It’s cramps,” I murmur. The truth, albeit misleading. He nods, even though he looks dubious. “I’ll be fine. But…thanks, Harrison.”
He nods again, and by the time both of our roommates have sent us the all-clear text, it’s been an hour of nonstop conversation, and I’ve made a new friend.