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Ten years.
We have ten years before we can take on our new positions. Ten years before Luca's nuts get trapped in a vice. Never to be free. I know my friend, he may not want to marry Milan but he will treat her well and never bed another once the ring is on his finger.
I wonder what fate awaits me in that department.
I shake my head in the hopes of shaking the thoughts away. It's time to get to work. Then tonight, we celebrate, and get him laid.
He’s only got ten years to satisfy him for a lifetime.
CHAPTER TWO
Present Day - Livianna
I PULL THEcollar of my coat up a bit higher as I cross the campus to the coffee shop. My friend Ashley asked me to meet her there. She is going to regale me with the latest gossip around campus, and most certainly the latest tale of her boyfriend’s screw ups. It’s going to be a long hour. I don’t mind playing the dutiful friend. She’s the only one I am close to at the moment and as much as I could care less about gossip and wish she would dump the dumb prick she’s dating, I put up with it so I don’t alienate yet another person in my life.
I don’t mean to. I don’t do it on purpose. At least not consciously. My father has a dangerous job. One with a lot of secrecy. Secrets that I shouldn’t know. Yet many I had a hand in him learning. With my father’s position, I can’t risk people getting too close. Consequently, I end up seeming like a bitch. Maybe after his upcoming promotion I can relax. He’ll be in a stable position, one that takes him off the streets. Hopefully one I won’t need to partake in anymore. Which means no more secrets. No more stress. No more late night gallivants around town doing shady shit.
It’s all for a good cause, I remind myself. Dad needed the help. I needed him off the streets and out of danger. And we needed the money.
As a kid, I took for granted the amenities and luxuries we had. We were by no means rich. We were comfortable. More importantly, we were happy. Still are. Just a little less.
Things changed when my mother got sick. Cancer. She fought like the warrior she was. We got eight months longer than the doctor’s predicted with her. Even without hair, body frail, and intense pain radiating throughout her entirety, she never stopped smiling. Or laughing. I miss her laugh. Dad does too. He took a lot of time off when she got sick. Caused us to have to sell our house and most of our worldly possessions. I didn’t care. Neither did he. Each item we sold was another handful of minutes we got to stay by mom’s side.
It’s been five years. I still miss her every day. So does dad.
It gets better. The pain isn’t as sharp. Just a dull ache. One I can live with. It means I remember her.
Dad’s doing better too. He took a bit of time off after the funeral before getting back to work. His boss was nice and continued to pay him. Even paid for mom’s funeral and hospital expenses. He said if he had known he would have helped sooner. It’s the reason why I help my dad. Loyalty. Dad wants to repay his boss for his kindness. I want to continue to see my dad living and not succumbing to darkness that threatens his heart without mom around to bring him back to the light. He was a wreck after mom died. He needed a passion. He found it in his job. Just needed a bit of a push. One I was happy to give.
Now he’s thriving at work and the boss has taken notice. I’m proud of him. Even if it means I spend more nights helping him than studying, even if my help means endangering myself and pushing me far beyond my comfort zones.
I let out a deep sigh as I reach the shop and open the door. The smell of roasted coffee beans seeps into my lungs. Damn do I love the smell. Even if I hate the taste. I can tolerate espresso but only if it is drowned in milk and caramel. Ashley makes fun of me. Tells me it can’t count as coffee when it’s prepared like that. She’s right. It’s a latte, or a macchiato. Depends on my mood.
A quick scan of the room has my feet leading me over to a table in the back. Ashley is sitting hunched over her phone. Her still full coffee untouched beside her. Damn. That means there’s big drama going on between her and her man.
Well, not man. That’s being too nice. He’s a boy in a twenty year old’s body.
I detest drama. If a relationship causes this much heartache and anxiety, why stay in it? It’s a question I have asked Ashley several times and I won’t be asking again. Her answer never changes. She says it’s because she loves him. Why does loving someone mean you sacrifice your happiness for theirs? Hell, I'm not even sure she is happy. They spend all their time fighting, arguing, ignoring, and stalking each other. Their actions are so chaotic and confusing. Not to mention they have only been dating for two months. My god, do they even know each other enough to say they love one another?
What’s worse is, they aren't alone in their idiotic thinking. So many students and just people in general claim to love the person they are with. Yet, too easily they dump them and move onto the next. I don't understand. Maybe it’s because I can't share parts of my life with anyone so I don’t get close enough to risk falling in love. At least not in the romantic sense. I love my parents, I love Ashley like a sister. But to love a man? Nope. Never done it. Never felt it.
The thought saddens me and has me pausing before I reach the table. Do I want love? Is that why I feel this sense of longing. I thought it was lack of fulfillment. Lack of moving forward. I go to classes, and study, but it feels like I’m waiting for the next step in life. I thought that would be graduating in a few months and getting a job, starting a career.
Maybe it’s more than that.
Ashley finally looks up and sees me. She smiles brightly. I push the thoughts to the back of my mind where they will remain locked away for the next hour or so.
Immediately Ashley goes into a rant about her boyfriend. “He’s such an asshole. I swear, he does shit just to piss me off so we can have make-up sex.”
Her statement catches me off guard and I struggle to keep my drink from expelling out my nostrils. “What?”
“You know. That rough and angry kind of sex. The push you up against the wall, rip your clothes off, smack your ass kind.” She says it with no hesitation or shame. Her words are smooth in delivery. Like talking about the weather. Meanwhile I’m struggling to keep my composure and the blush from taking over my face.
I am aware of what sex is. I even know what she meant when she said make-up sex. I’m not a Nun. Well, not completely. I’ve kissed a few guys, messed around with some light touching. Nothing with the clothes off. I can’t tell Ashley that. Logically I know I can. I don’t think she would judge me. The opposite really. I think she would make it her personal mission to get me laid.
Part of me wants to let her. I want to know what it feels like to experience that level of intimacy with someone. Problem is, I don’t want it with a stranger. I don’t want it with a random hook-up, or some man child at school. I’m not waiting for marriage per-say or even love. I want a connection. I want to feel like more than a notch on the guy’s bed post.
I also want to avoid having my own horror story. In high school my friend at the time, Jasmine, lost her virginity in the back of some guy’s rusty truck in the high school parking lot after a football game. She said he reeked of body odor and dripped sweat on her for the two thrusts he got in before he was done. She didn’t even get off and he dropped her off at her house afterwards without a kiss or even a good-bye.
