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“Nope. I’m being nice and letting you off lightly, all right? Now get off the phone and ask this guy to go with you. And if he doesn’t, if he’s too dumb to have the trip of his life with you anddo it,you drop his ass like a hot meatball. Then you get your cute butt out on the strip and find someone better.”
“Marnie!” I’m hissing now but still too speechless to talk.
“You’ve got your orders, ma’am. Good luck, over and out and all that jazz.”
There’s a chiming sound. When I hold up the screen, she’s already dropped off, leaving me alone with an impossible task.
No freaking way am I entertaining it, of course.
For a second, I smile at the absurdity, imagining working up the nerve to ask Chris to come with me. But then my smile melts away.
If I asked, I already know what he’d do.
He’d laugh in my face like any sane man should.
* * *
Words are hard.
I spend the next few days dragging through my thesis, only taking breaks for fresh air and coffee. A few times, I sit down to slash a few more layers of black and grey across my new, super moody stormy sea landscape.
It fits my mood perfectly since I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sunny desert piece.
I’m no happy camper and I hate myself a little more every time I remember why.
I’m also ready to pick up my laptop and hurl it out the window.
Anything to break this funk, this frustration the king of assholery in the room next door casts over my best laid plans for this paper.
The entire week passes in a blur.
I only pop out of the house for drinks with Marnie and a couple of her friends.
Of course she gives me more crap about the pact that will be the death of me.
Of course I don’t breathe a single word about what happened with Chris that night after she slipped away with Tangerine Man.
She reminds me I’d better come home rocking the ex-virgin anthem or else.
By Thursday, I start panic searching for backup ideas because this military profile paper isn’t going anywhere without Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ridiculous to give me inspiration.
What about the new tech startups?
Silicon Valley is crawling with semi-crazy, highly interesting people intent on creating the next cutting edge Web 3.0 app thing or revolutionary new crypto-based whatsits.
For about a day, I think I can schmooze my way into some tech mogul’s lair for an exclusive interview or two. But then I hear another girl in my class, Georgette, is already on it.
She’s got an uncle in venture capital who can get her a meeting with anyone whose name rhymes with tusk.
Damn.
All I’ve got is this flimsy civilian soldier thing I can’t stop going in circles with.
I don’t know why I’m still plowing through hours of articles and videos and books about other guys who just can’t hang up their swords when their enlistment ends—especially when Chris’ room is empty all day—a cruel reminder that our love-hate thing ended just as quickly as it started.
If he drags himself back home before some ghastly hour, he’s silent as a panther. I never hear him.
The loneliness next door taunts me, a cruel reminder of how stupid I was to play truth or dare, and how much I messed up trying to pet a human cactus.
