noticed that his neck was at my eye’s level.
“How many girls have you fucked?” I inquired, quite sullenly. I didn’t know why I asked him that. It just came out of my mouth. Perhaps if was because those condoms in his room were still bothering me, and the Tequila gave me the courage to confront him about them.
“Why do you want to know?” he questioned. I could barely see him but I knew he was smiling. The tone of his voice revealed it. Jovial, calm, patient.
“Just answer the damn question,” I said, again, with feigned annoyance.
“Let me see.” He started to count in hushed words. “Around twenty, I think.”
That was a lot for a nineteen year old!
“And how many girls have you fucked since moving in with us?”
Again, he counted silently. One, two, three... twelve, thirteen... twenty, twenty-one... twenty-eight...
“Including Chelsea Summers?” he tried to clarify?
Ugh!
“Yes, including her!” I answered furiously, though that time around, my anger wasn’t faked.
“None,” he answered.
“None?” I was taken aback by his answer. “Then why are there dozens of condoms in your drawer? Used condoms!”
“Oh, those? I planted them there as a prank.” He was chuckling.
“A prank?” I was incredulous.
“Yup. I saw a box of condoms when I was unpacking. I opened each packet and filled them with lotion. At first, I thought your mom would be the first to discover them. It would’ve been a great and unforgettable icebreaker. But when you saw them before her...”
“You decided to just keep quiet and let me assume the worst about you?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“That’s so cruel!”
“Cruel? Why is that?”
I didn’t answer. I was trapped in a corner. If I’d reveal how affected I was, he would start to think that I have feelings for him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him instead. “And Chelsea Summers?”
“What about her?”
“You didn’t have sex with her or anything?”
He let out a laugh.
“Why’re you laughing?”
“It’s because you’re acting like a jealous girlfriend all of a sudden. What’s up with that?”
“I’m not acting like anything! It’s just that Chelsea Summers is a slut! I’m worried about you and whatever disease she might’ve given you!”
That’s most probably untrue, of course. I didn’t know much about Chelsea Summers. For all I know, she’s as virginal as I was. But I hated her so much and I was too drunk for civility that I just blurted out whatever was in my mind.
“Chelsea is pretty,” he started to explain. “And she’s nice too. But we’re not going out. And we’re not fuck buddies either. And no, I don’t think she’s a slut.”
“And why are you giving me the cold treatment most of the time?”
“I... I have my reasons.”
“What reasons are those?”
“I’d rather keep them to myself.”
“I thought we’d spend this time opening up to get to know each other better.”
“If that’s the case, then I should be asking questions too, right?”
I swallowed some air as I braced for the worst. I gathered every bit of courage in my body to allow him to continue.
“Shoot,” I finally said.
“Why did you get drunk this evening?” he asked. His tone changed from affectionately casual to intimidatingly stern.
“Geez, you’re starting to sound like my mom.”
“Just answer my question,” he commanded.
“It’s a party, alright? It’s the first party I’ve ever attended my entire life. I just wanted to experience what it’s like. Just for one night... I just wanted to feel like I belong... like I’m one of them.”
A long silence followed. He was exhaling heavily. The warmth of his breath coiled through my neck down to the crevice of my dress.
“How many girls have you fucked?” I inquired, quite sullenly. I didn’t know why I asked him that. It just came out of my mouth. Perhaps if was because those condoms in his room were still bothering me, and the Tequila gave me the courage to confront him about them.
“Why do you want to know?” he questioned. I could barely see him but I knew he was smiling. The tone of his voice revealed it. Jovial, calm, patient.
“Just answer the damn question,” I said, again, with feigned annoyance.
“Let me see.” He started to count in hushed words. “Around twenty, I think.”
That was a lot for a nineteen year old!
“And how many girls have you fucked since moving in with us?”
Again, he counted silently. One, two, three... twelve, thirteen... twenty, twenty-one... twenty-eight...
“Including Chelsea Summers?” he tried to clarify?
Ugh!
“Yes, including her!” I answered furiously, though that time around, my anger wasn’t faked.
“None,” he answered.
“None?” I was taken aback by his answer. “Then why are there dozens of condoms in your drawer? Used condoms!”
“Oh, those? I planted them there as a prank.” He was chuckling.
“A prank?” I was incredulous.
“Yup. I saw a box of condoms when I was unpacking. I opened each packet and filled them with lotion. At first, I thought your mom would be the first to discover them. It would’ve been a great and unforgettable icebreaker. But when you saw them before her...”
“You decided to just keep quiet and let me assume the worst about you?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“That’s so cruel!”
“Cruel? Why is that?”
I didn’t answer. I was trapped in a corner. If I’d reveal how affected I was, he would start to think that I have feelings for him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him instead. “And Chelsea Summers?”
“What about her?”
“You didn’t have sex with her or anything?”
He let out a laugh.
“Why’re you laughing?”
“It’s because you’re acting like a jealous girlfriend all of a sudden. What’s up with that?”
“I’m not acting like anything! It’s just that Chelsea Summers is a slut! I’m worried about you and whatever disease she might’ve given you!”
That’s most probably untrue, of course. I didn’t know much about Chelsea Summers. For all I know, she’s as virginal as I was. But I hated her so much and I was too drunk for civility that I just blurted out whatever was in my mind.
“Chelsea is pretty,” he started to explain. “And she’s nice too. But we’re not going out. And we’re not fuck buddies either. And no, I don’t think she’s a slut.”
“And why are you giving me the cold treatment most of the time?”
“I... I have my reasons.”
“What reasons are those?”
“I’d rather keep them to myself.”
“I thought we’d spend this time opening up to get to know each other better.”
“If that’s the case, then I should be asking questions too, right?”
I swallowed some air as I braced for the worst. I gathered every bit of courage in my body to allow him to continue.
“Shoot,” I finally said.
“Why did you get drunk this evening?” he asked. His tone changed from affectionately casual to intimidatingly stern.
“Geez, you’re starting to sound like my mom.”
“Just answer my question,” he commanded.
“It’s a party, alright? It’s the first party I’ve ever attended my entire life. I just wanted to experience what it’s like. Just for one night... I just wanted to feel like I belong... like I’m one of them.”
A long silence followed. He was exhaling heavily. The warmth of his breath coiled through my neck down to the crevice of my dress.
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