What's Left of Me
Page 63

Jean offers to come pick me up Sunday evening to bring me to her place for the next couple of nights, even though she has class Monday and Tuesday.
Overall, I feel better. The pain is still there, but the prescriptions take the edge off. It is just the fatigue that I wish I could take a pill for. No matter the amount of coffee I consume, I’m still tired.
“You slept with him again? And you didn’t tell me until now?” Playfully, Jean kicks my thigh.
We’re sitting in the quiet living room at her place, just the two of us, while everyone is at class. Jean skipped her only Monday class to hang out with me, so we’ve spent the morning baking two dozen banana chocolate chip muffins, which we’re now finishing eating.
“I didn’t think I needed to make it my Facebook status,” I say before taking a sip of cold milk to wash down the thick chocolate.
“Why not?” she teases. “How was it? You know … compared to last time? Better? The same?”
“It was …”
Why am I having this conversation with her again? Sometimes I think Jean and I are worse than guys with how much sex talk we have. Somehow, one way or another, our conversations always turn to sex.
“Come on! Share the goods. I’ll tell you all about Tristan and how his tongue does this amaz—”
Laughing, I shake my head, “Please, no! I don’t need specifics about his talented tongue. I get it!”
“Fine, no details, but at least tell me it was good.”
“It was better than good.” There’s a hint of a smile as I remember just how good, how amazing, it was.
“Good, good?”
“Jean, it was magical.”
“No!” she screams, leaning back on the armrest. “You did not just compare sex with magic.”
I did. “I did.”
“Have I taught you nothing?”
“Yes … and you’ll be happy to know I passed my pop quiz.” Literally—it popped right out! I start to laugh at myself for how stupid and silly that remark just was.
“What do you mean? Did you … slob the knob?” Slob the knob? She did not just say that. “You did! Oh my God! You totally did!”
“Okay, yes, I went down on him!” I half laugh in embarrassment, putting my face in my hands. I can’t believe I just told her that.
“And … how was it?”
“Fine—good, I mean. I don’t think he knew it was my first time.” My words are muffled from my mouth being covered in my hands.
It’s not that I never tried to go down on Adam when we were together. I did. However, we usually never had that much time when we were alone. We were horny teenagers and skipped all foreplay.
“Did you let him finish in your mouth?”
Why did I bring this up to her again?
Separating my fingers, I squeak out a quiet, “Yes.”
“Good. Spitters are quitters.”
Taking my hands away from my face, I give her a proud smile. “Yeah, I thought you’d be happy about that.”
“Very. I’m a proud momma!”
Parker texts me a couple of times, but my replies are brief. I can tell he’s getting annoyed and frustrated with me. His texts are becoming shorter, and he’s asking a lot more questions. It’s not in my nature to be rude, but I’m trying to give us a little space. We’ve spent too much time together too soon. Our relationship was never supposed to get to this point. I didn’t want things to be any more complicated than they already were …
Are.
Getting away, to another town, is supposed to be good for me. It’s supposed to give me time to get used to the idea of not having Parker around. If I can just keep him at arm’s length, then we’ll be able to hang out again when this is all over. Or, at least, once my treatment is done and my hair comes back.
When Jean’s roommates first saw me they stumbled over their words, trying to be respectful at the sight of my appearance. No one brought up the fact that I was missing my facial hair, but their stares didn’t go unnoticed. I overheard Jean filling them in, and the sudden pity I received made me sick, so I’ve tried to spend all my time in her room to avoid the whispers, questions, and looks.
“Who called?” Jean looks down at my lighted phone.
“Parker.”
“Again? Why don’t you just answer?”
“Because he needs to get the hint. This was never supposed to be about starting a relationship. I didn’t want this.”
“Didn’t want what? To have a man care for you, or to fall in love?”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“Sure, and I don’t love sex.”
Rolling my eyes, I walk away from her. It’s what I’m best at. I don’t want to talk, so I walk away.
The house has become packed since classes let out. The music is so loud that it rumbles against the walls. I need some space from Jean, if only for a minute, so I walk out into the house with my head held high. There are random bodies on the stairs, couch, and even on the kitchen table.
Opening the fridge, I take out a bottle of water. Just as I’m about to close the door, a deep voice asks, “Hey, what happened to her face?” Closing the door, I keep my back to them. With a calming breath, I turn around to confront the guy, but before I can open my mouth, Jean’s voice fills the room, cussing the guy and his friend out. He mumbles an apology, and walks away.
I meet her sad eyes. “I can fight my own battles.”