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You can do this.
I step into the room and rap the doorframe. “Hello?”
Under sheets, Salvatore groans awake, stretching an arm, while the hungover girl smashes her face more into the pillow. Ignoring me.
“What is it?” he asks, Italian accent clear.
I push up my glasses. “Those roses belonged to me, and it’s okay…it’s okay that you signed for them but not if you planned to destroy them and give them to another girl.”
He makes a face like I’m delusional. “What are you talking about?”
“My boyfriend sent those roses.” I motion to the pink petals surrounding heaps of clothing.
“The card had no name,” Salvatore protests.
“Where’s the card?”
He points vaguely to the nightstand.
I snatch a square card from plastic wrapping. Near torn condom wrappers.
I read the card:
For my girl,
Hope these make you smile. If a whole fandom centered on you, I’d be your number one fan. Miss you, love you <3 <3 <3
I smile so much that tears brim.
Garrison might not know it, but his love is keeping me afloat here. Every time I think of him and talk to him.
“Sorry,” Salvatore says, seeing my reaction and realizing the flowers were mine. “I didn’t know.” He sounds sincere.
I nod, accepting the apology. Maybe easier than most would, but I’m not here to cause more friction. I just want to survive this semester.
Salvatore sits up, ruffling his hair. “Can I buy you more?”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Yeah, let me. It’s the least I can do.” He glances at the sleeping girl, and then he slips out of bed. He’s buck-naked.
Oh my God.
I spin on my heels. My back to the naked man.
I saw…I saw his dick.
Salvatore grabs boxer-briefs off the ground.
“Really, Salvatore, I don’t need more flowers—”
“It’s not a problem, Willow.” Before he comes closer, I shuffle out of his room. Putting more distance between us, and for the third time, I tell him firmly that I’m okay and do not need more roses. And I quickly dial Garrison and find solace in my bedroom, sinking on the edge of the mattress.
My face is burning in embarrassment.
I’m dead.
I’ve died. I put a hand to my forehead.
“So what happened?” Garrison asks.
“Uh…I think…” I inhale. “So I kind of saw Salvatore naked and—”
“What?” His voice is hot and confused. “How?”
I rehash everything and thank him for the card, but Garrison is understandably stuck on the Salvatore part.
“He’s a fucking douchebag, trying to buy you flowers when he knows you have a boyfriend. I don’t even care if they’re replacement flowers—”
“I know,” I cut him off in agreement.
Garrison is quiet.
I swallow my mortification. “Garrison?”
“As long as you know that his intentions are fucked…”
“I do.” I exhale a deep breath.
He pauses, then asks, “I have the better-looking dick, right?” His serious tone makes me smile.
“Definitely, always.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
I lower my phone at the sound of another incoming call. “My dad is calling.”
“Right now? It’s two a.m. here.”
“Sometimes he calls late. I think he’s lonely and has trouble sleeping.”
Garrison sighs, concerned. “You gonna answer?”
“Not right now.” I let the call ring out. My dad has still been on my case about an internship. Especially as my second year is coming to an end and the summer is in sight.
I’m afraid unless I follow the path he wants, he’ll stop helping me with tuition. He hasn’t made that threat yet, but it feels like this underlying truth shoved beneath the rug. He has power over me.
Power that I can’t seem to get back.
march
64
garrison abbey
Today is going to be a good day. It’s what I think when I wake up. It’s the thought I bring with me into the shower.
Good day.
Today.
March 9th.
Tomorrow is Willow’s birthday, and a plane ticket rests on my desk. Waiting for me. She has no clue, but I’m taking a red-eye flight tonight. I’ll be in breathing distance of Big Ben and the London Eye by tomorrow morning.
And fuck, if I’m not riding on the high.
Beads of water roll down my jaw, shower pouring over me. Heat amasses with gathering steam.
I place a hand on the tiled wall, and with my other, I stroke the length of my dick. Tightening my fist around throbbing veins, my muscles burning, I close my eyes and imagine Willow.
I picture the moment where I wrap my arms around her body. How she buries her head into my chest, her fingers gripping my shirt. Like I’m the safest place she knows.
We hug close for a while, and after a tender, longing kiss, I lift her up around my toned waist. She gasps against the crook of my neck, feeling my hardness against her heat.
I ache to fill her, and she’s pleading for me to be closer. “Inside,” she cries in a breathy whimper. “Please, please.”
She’s said those words in real life before. Just like that. And remembering them now does a number on me.
