I push my face into my pillow, trying to drown out his words, but I know he speaks the truth.
I know he’s all I have.
I know my mama doesn’t love me.
I don’t know what I did to her to make her feel that way.
The only reason I’m at this college is because of him. How messed up is that? But it’s true. Rhett is why I’m at this university, and while I’m taking courses and actually doing well, all of that comes second to my true purpose.
To get close to Rhett Montgomery.
He could go to any college in the world, I’m sure, considering his family is so wealthy. But he chose to remain close to home and go to a state university near where he grew up, which is surprising. His mother went here, though, and I even read a newspaper article online that quoted him saying that he came here to be close to her, or some sentimental bullshit like that. Any normal girl would say, “Aw, how sweet,”, but I don’t get it.
What I do get is that I’m done with being scared. Hiding in the shadows for the first eight weeks of the fall semester is pretty damn stupid—and cowardly. I’ve wasted half the semester alone just following him around. But it took that long to even work up the courage to say something to him. Not that I was the one who approached him first. Of course, he had to notice me versus the other way around. The girl who pretended not to care about him, that’s the one he wanted to talk to.
Not surprising though. I discovered pretty early that boys love a challenge. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen to my first serious boyfriend, a loudmouth guy two years older than me who could burp the alphabet after draining almost half a keg at the regular Friday night parties. All the girls laughed and thought he was so talented and funny while I merely rolled my eyes and told my one friend—Lyssa, who I miss terribly—that I thought he should be embarrassed by his so-called skills.
Turned out he overheard my rude comment, and then he chased after me for weeks. I kept telling him no. Finally, I relented, broken down by his constant texting and walking with me in between classes. At one of those infamous Friday night parties, he got me drunk, took me up to his parents’ bedroom—they were away for the weekend, so it was his turn to hold the party—where he proceeded to kiss me all over my body and then take my virginity with a couple of swift pumps of his hips.
Once he got inside, it was all over in less than ten minutes. I was left with a searing pain between my legs, a wet spot beneath the mattress, and the dawning realization that I’d sacrificed my virginity to the boy who was popular for burping the alphabet.
Talk about lame.
But once it was over, it was over, and I could freely give away my body to any boy I might be interested in and not feel shame or guilt over it. It’s weird, but it was like once the bridge had been crossed, I never looked back. Any attention is good, right? Better than none at all. I’m not ashamed of the list of boys I’ve had sex with, but I’m not necessarily proud of it either. Mainly because I never loved one of them. I can’t even say that I cared for any of them. Not in a deep and meaningful way.
Does that make me callous? Probably. But sex is just sex. Love is for those who want to end up damaged for the rest of their lives. Look at my father, nursing his broken heart for years while the woman who ruined him for anyone else continues to live her life like he doesn’t even matter.
Love is for idiots who want to hurt. Love is for suckers who think they need it in order to survive.
Love doesn’t keep you alive. It bleeds you dry.
I can pretend to fall in love with Rhett, though. That won’t be difficult. He’ll take me right where I want to go.
This is why I’m hanging around the gross diner just off campus, the one I know he likes to frequent with his friends on a Saturday afternoon. The place smells greasy and I want to go home so I can take a shower, but instead I’m drinking a bitter cup of coffee and messing around on my laptop, scrolling Pinterest. Really, I should be studying, or writing the essay that’s due Tuesday. But I’m too anxious, too keyed up thinking about seeing Rhett and what I might say to him to concentrate on anything meaningful.
I’m not disappointed when I finally spot him either. He enters the diner within twenty minutes of my arrival, surrounded by his frat brothers. My stupid heart trips over itself at seeing his dark brown hair wind-tousled and his cheeks pink with health, wearing a black sweater and jeans. He looks like he walked straight out of a goddamn Ralph Lauren shoot, the all-American rich boy who can do no wrong. I ignore the tingles of electricity I experience when our eyes lock, ignore my fluttering, nervous stomach when he slowly makes his way toward my booth, that giant smile on his face unabashed in his pleasure in seeing me.
“Why do we keep running into each other?” he asks, his voice warm, his eyes sparkling as he takes me in, as if I’m the best thing he’s seen in a long time.
“Small town, I guess.” I shrug with so much fake nonchalance I pray he doesn’t realize what a phony I am. But he doesn’t. He’s too enthralled with me, which is unbelievable. I tried my best to look like the girls he takes photos with on social media, and I did it all on a budget too, while those girls probably spent way too much money on their hair, clothes, jewelry and whatever else they own.
Me? I sorta already looked like them. I’m a dark blonde, and if I had more money, I’d pay for highlights, but that’s not going to happen. Instead, I bought a cheap curling iron at Walgreens and practiced and practiced until I got the waves just right. He seems to like girls with wavy hair. Subtle makeup. Sun-kissed good looks and big, toothy smiles. Luckily enough, my teeth are fairly straight—thanks, Dad—and I never had braces. I’m blue-eyed and pink-cheeked thanks to my mother. I’m pretty, and Rhett seems to like them pretty.
What a superficial asshole.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” he says, that smile still curling his lush mouth. His friends are calling his name but he’s ignoring them, completely focused on me.
“I’m usually here in the morning.” This is a lie. Though my shift usually starts Saturday afternoon so normally I wouldn’t be here no matter what.
“Well, lucky me that you’re here right now.” His smile grows and I find myself smiling in return. I almost stop, almost wear the scowl that wants to appear when he’s around.
I need to smile, though, so I let go, offering him a quick one before I press my lips together, like I have to contain my excitement at his proximity.
We remain quiet for a moment, just staring at each other, and I’m not sure how this is happening but I go along with it. His friends are still calling his name, the waitress having already seated them at a nearby booth. They don’t want him talking to me. They want to bask in his attention for a few hours more.
I’m starting to get the sense that everyone wants to bask in Rhett Montgomery’s attention.