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I type in Kenyan University and his name. Pictures of him pop up. He has blond hair and eyes that captivate you. The kind where the world stops when you stare into them.
He’s gorgeous.
I swipe and notice the pictures are almost two years old. His swimming and lap times are the more recent ones. I swiped once more and found one from last year. Shirtless. His jaw is sharper. The expression in his eyes harder. Darker. He looks older. Gone is the playful smirk he wore that night. He has more tattoos on his chest, torso, and neck. His body is hard and ripped. His shoulders are broader. His stomach is more defined compared to when he was a sophomore. His biceps bulge when he breaks through the water. There are more veins on his forearms. The look in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking, or maybe it’s the pictures. People look different online than in person.
At the diner, I didn’t get a good look at him. All I remember was the tattoo of the skull on his hand. I was stammering like a dork, embarrassing myself.
My brother hints that he’s dangerous, and I believe him. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like rebelling and going against him.
I replay the conversation with my brother about my parents caging me at home. Maybe they sensed something bad would happen to me, like a sixth sense. The feeling you overhear parents talk about when they predict how their kids will turn out if they don’t discipline them in a certain way.
I didn’t listen when they said to stay home and not go out, not to trust boys, or to do things without their permission.
I wasn’t supposed to confront Zack that night. The plan was for me to remain at home. I was angry that they hired Veronica to babysit me like I was a child. At the time, I thought it was stupid. Maybe it was, but I convinced Victoria to take me to confront him at the frat party.
I was angry and stupid. I didn’t think anything bad would come of it. I was pissed off like any girl my age would be after a boy lied, cheated, and risked your parents' trust. I was excited when the popular quarterback said I was pretty. He had me wrapped around his finger, with stars in my eyes. At school and at his games, he kissed me every time we were together. He said he would wait until I was ready. He wasn’t like the other guys. Everything was perfect until I allowed him to sneak into my room and let him fuck me. He had me when he said I had a beautiful body.
When my mom walked in on us, it was too late. The deed was done. He practically flew out of the window. It was awful. My parents, and to be honest, the sex. I didn’t feel anything I read or heard about. No butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
The next day, he bragged about it with his friends. All the things he said to me before were bullshit. He said I was it for him. That he never met a girl like me before. That I was different. It was all lies, and I fell for it.
If your parents warn you about boys, listen. If they want you back at a certain time, listen. If they tell you that you are too young for something, listen. Because when shit happens, it’s too late to go back.
Don’t trust a man when he says you’re beautiful. It means he wants something from you. When things don’t turn out the way he planned, he does something worse.
Like Zack did to me. He did the unthinkable. He didn’t care if I stopped breathing or if my hands shook. He got what he wanted.
Now I feel useless, drowning in a sea of my own tears from the pain and rejection.
Everything I felt came in an exact order after he fucked up my life.
After the lie, the consequences.
After the consequences, the pain.
After the pain, the tears.
After the tears, the damage.
After the damage, nothing is left, and I can’t go back to the way I was.
It’s too late. Now, I’m someone else.
I’ve never been on Kenyan’s campus before. It has a Gothic Revival-style that was popular in the 19th century. I widen the picture of the school map on my phone with two fingers to try to find building four. I walk past the old cemetery, hoping I’m heading in the right direction on the narrow cobblestone pathway through campus, bordered by rows of ancient trees whose gnarled branches cast eerie shadows upon the ground.
Despite its age and aura of mystery, the campus is a bustling hive of activity. Students hurry to and from class.
A magnificent cathedral-like church with pointed arches, stained glass windows, and flying buttresses dominates the campus. It looks like they conduct rituals instead of prayer inside.
I have to admit, the campus is beautiful. The leaves and trees add to the effect. It looks like I’m inside the set of a fictional novel where this is a school for vampires and werewolves.
Massive, aged stone buildings stand above, their spires extending upward like fingers stretching to the sky. It’s old but prestigious.
Graduating from Kenyan is like graduating from any other Ivy League school, except you are guaranteed a job through connections. There is no fancy football team like in Ohio. Swimming is the sport of choice, and its legacy is their culture. I’m sure it’s due to the history of the school.
I look around to familiarize myself with the campus.
I check my phone to see what other places it has to offer wishing I could stay in one of the dorms. I locate a local spot on the map named Babylon, marked with a food symbol.
