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I pull away, and then I go back to hug her. Damn, I’m going to miss her, but I need to get back to Zach. So many times I’ve wanted to give up, and she’s been the push that I need to keep studying and not give up.
I just gotta get her something while I’m on vacation. She’s going to New York to stay with her dad and party too hard. She keeps inviting me to go with her. I did ask Zach, but he wasn’t that keen on it. Without her, I would've quit Harvard a long time ago.
We start walking in opposite directions and then I stop and shout out, "Love ya!" and blow her a kiss.
She pretends to catch it, "Don’t be a stranger."
I laugh, because she couldn’t keep me away even if she tried. I have a big smile on my face as I walk to the dorm room. Everyone’s running around like mice. Some are getting ready for an all-night party. Others are just dying to go on vacation. Mainly the rich ones, whose parents have handed them pots of money so that they can enjoy themselves. I wish that I had this luxury. But, I don’t. My dad’s dead and my mom’s on drugs. It’s been some time since the state pulled her sizable trust fund and put it in a custodial account. I’m not about to go ask my stepdad Daniel what happened to it just yet. That money had been set up by my grandparents for Mom and any children she might have had. But when she started to take her life off the deep end, her parents had gone to the State of California and ensured that certain restrictions were placed so she couldn’t touch the money without becoming clean. When she left home – searching for drugs and who knew what else – the state merely shrugged and placed the funds in a escrow account. I shake my head as I think about my past and smile as I think about the future with Zach.
As I reach the dorm, I pull out my phone because I think that someone’s calling it. I realize that no one’s calling, but I’ve got it in my hand as I freeze as I open the door.
"What the fuck?" I mutter as I open the door to see that Zach’s sitting on my bed. But that’s not all. Between his legs is Rachel. My saving grace. One of my rocks in college. Only she’s not supporting me; she’s on her knees. Her head is bobbing up and down
on Zach’s cock she’s giving my man the full service.
"Oh fuck yeah, Rach, just like that," Zach moans out loud and for an instant I wonder where this side of my boyfriend is coming from. Sure, he likes getting blowjobs, but I’m a bit surprised that Rachel has the room to bob her head as much as it looks like she’s doing. Zach isn’t super huge. He’s not even huge. He’ barely average.
"I love your mouth on my cock," Zach says as his fingers reach down to feel her tits. Fuck, that’s my fucking man. Getting head. On my bed. In my room. From my roommate.
Let me ask again.
What the fuck?
I don’t know why, but with my phone in my hand, I take a damn picture. It’s as if my fingers can’t comprehend what’s going on. In this moment, I hate him, so much. Zach grabs my jersey, which is lying on the bed, and uses it to wipe his cock. He’s so lost in the afterglow of his climax that he doesn’t even realize that I’m standing by the door.
Snap, another photo!
And as I take the picture, my hate turns to detachment.
Zach is fucking dead to me.
After I take the second photo, he realizes that I’m in the room, "Karen, we thought that you weren’t finishing until two!" He puts his limp dick back into his pants, zips up and gets off my bed.
"So, I’m early, that makes this okay?" I ask, gesturing around.
Rachel’s moving slow and confident. I want to scream at her and tell her not to move. Tell her that she’s sunk so low; ask her why she would do that to me. I thought that she was my friend. I want to cry, but the tears don’t leave my eyes.
"You never want to have sex. I was frustrated in the bathroom, and Rachel said that she could help," Zach explains, as if that’s justification for what I’ve just seen.
"On my bed! In my room?"
"Our room," Rachel corrects me, and then she just leaves. As if she’s done nothing wrong.
Zach holds on to me, pleading. "Look, it’s not like you ever want to have sex. You’ve been stressed." Then his tone turns into a purr as if he’s trying to make out that somehow this is my fault. I know this tone so well. He does it to me all the time. Whenever I don’t want to have sex, his voice changes to this tone. Whenever I want him to come and visit me, his voice changes to the same tone, telling me that it would be easier for me to visit him. Zach has a way of manipulating me to do anything that he wants me to do, which is why I get nervous around him. It starts hitting home that this relationship isn’t what I say it is to other people or even what I tell myself that it is most of the time.
It’s like mom and her drugs.
Zach’s an addiction that I really need to get rid of.
He’s still talking, "I get it. I just needed a…" Then he winks at me as if I’m one of his college buddies.
"Get out!" I tell him softly. But while my words may be soft, my tone is louder than any yell.
He looks at me.
He hesitates for a minute and then blurts out, "I think that you’re overreacting. It’s not like I had sex on your bed or anything. Call me when you come to your senses!" Then he throws my sweater on the floor as if it’s a piece of trash before slamming the door shut behind him.
My phone’s still in my hand, and I mutter, "Overreacting am I?"
