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And it was true, the realization bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Because after our incident at his apartment, I haven’t heard anything. No texts, no calls, no emails from the billionaire. I was as good as dead. Worse. I was alive, walking around like a zombie with leaden feet and a heavy heart. I might as well be dead.
So I was here to speak with a school counselor again. Doctor Carrie Mableton’s been a part of my life for the past couple months now, and I hoped she’d help me get over Mason, or at least stop me from crying so much.
But reality always intrudes.
“That kegger last night was the shit!” came a hoot over my shoulder.
A guy in a fraternity shirt bumped into my curvy frame and pushed past. He was yammering into a phone and didn’t notice that I’d practically been knocked off my feet.
“Yeah, a lot of bitches came through,” he continued. “I fucked one of them last night. And then guess what? Yeah, her fugly ass friend tried to get on my dick afterwards. I had to say no, the girl was fucking disgusting, a total ho-bag.”
The guy was walking pretty fast but I heard every vile word as it was uttered.
But he was lost in his own world.
“Shit no, you nasty fucker. Though maybe I should have. Next time. Yeah, I’ll get a bag ready and put it over her head, jamming that puss from the back. Hell yeah, next time.”
The guy ran up the steps to a frat house, fist bumping another dude on the way in.
I literally stopped in my tracks.
God! Was that how all guys talked about girls with each other?
So disrespectful.
Like women were just vaginas with legs, no brains, no hearts, no nothing.
But it seemed true. There were frat houses everywhere on this street, and they were probably all full of dudes being gross. The Gamma Phi Omega fraternity. The Alpha Kappa Kappa frat. The men’s varsity crew team. I guess guys never outgrew the need to talk smack about women. It was so disgusting, they needed sensitivity training stat.
But realization ran over me then. No wonder Mason and his friends were so vile. They were just like this guy here, except twenty years older, lameass Peter Pans still living their charmed lives. They’d never grow up. They’d never mature and become upstanding citizens, someone you’d be proud to know.
Ugh. The realization made me shudder, and I hurried on my way. Hopefully, these dudes would never have daughters because the girls would be screwed from the get-go, taught that they didn’t deserve to be respected and cherished.
Almost running now, I burst into the Student Health Center, a blocky building off to the side of campus, shaded by trees with a small patch of lawn in front. The building was innocuous enough, just a nondescript rectangle in the middle of nowhere.
But I was revealing my secrets inside.
The crushing doubts.
The wreck my soul had become.
Letting myself into the cool, air-conditioned office, I signed my name onto a sheet. A quick look at my watch assured me I was right on time for our appointment. And soon enough, a middle-aged woman poked her head out.
“Good afternoon, Beth. Come on in.”
Dr. Mableton was a pretty woman with kind eyes behind her heavy-framed glasses. She gestured for me to sit down on the chair across the way, and I made myself comfortable, arranging pillows just so.
Finally, I was ready.
“You look better today,” she began warmly, notepad already in hand. “Much, much better.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled and settled into the chair again. “I just had a nice lunch with my father and his wife.”
“Oh good!” The psychologist actually looked happy for me. “I was hoping they would show up and meet you like promised. How do you feel about it?”
I liked that Dr. Mableton jumped right into the session instead of making a bunch of silly small talk. The professional was there to help me, not to bleed minutes from the clock. I smiled back and breathed in thoughtfully. Dr. Mableton was the best shrink I ever had. Well, she was the only one, but still.
“It was really good, Doc. Really good. George and Lynne are going to move back to New York.”
I bit my lip, uncertain.
“But that’s not all.” She shot me a probing look, pen poised over a notebook. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
And as terrible as it sounds, the truth came rushing out then.
“I was jealous,” were the blurted words, the admission hanging in the air. “I was jealous of my dad because he has someone who loves him. And I have no one.”
Expression agonized, I stared at the fingers twisted in my lap. Did that make me a selfish jerk? Someone who couldn’t be happy for others, not even her closest kin? Did the doctor think I was totally self-centered, caring about no one but myself? But no, her job was to help, not judge. I cleared my throat and met her eyes tentatively.
