Do you believe in the concept colloquially known as “Love?”

Author’s note: That’s right, folks! Emotional climax means it’s flashback time, again. I wanted to thank everyone for sticking around so far and can’t wait to conclude this story to begin work on the next one! As ever, your guys’ likes, comments, follows, and favorites are very flattering— this is my first published work and I’m still learning so much, so even the criticisms are super helpful. I’m trying to balance the ratio of porn:lesbian angst:cozy romance:drama:weird, so let me know your thoughts. I’m always really curious about what people think about chapters like this where it’s not really all that erotic. And this one is definitely kinda pushing what I was hoping to make a cozy romance lol. I promise I plan a happy ending! Back to the story. Well, after this flashback, that is!

Do you believe in the concept colloquially known as “Love”

***

I hated Zoe Stevens. I hated Desmond Peters.

Zoe was a goody-two-shoes who couldn’t mind her own fucking business and got my weed and coke plug arrested. Which made watching Desmond grinding on his new girlfriend all the harder to cope with. It was Tanner’s birthday and I didn’t like Tanner for some reason, but I tagged along just because I was pissed off at Desmond for cheating on me.

I couldn’t really blow up at him over it. That’s just how our group of friends was. Everyone slept with everyone. Everyone dated everyone. Everyone cheated with everyone. Desmond and I were probably the worst offenders, too, so it wasn’t like I should have been surprised. I was probably gonna dump Des after midterms, but he had a hookup for Ritalin and it was cheaper to pay him with sex. The semester was getting stressful, I didn’t have any coke, I didn’t have any pot, I wasn’t getting any sex, I was pissed off at everyone.

“Look at this.” Rochelle laughed, pointing at Tanner across the bar confusedly opening a gift bag. His face switched to abject glee upon reaching into the bag and pulling out a baseball cap depicting a rooster underneath the word ‘BIG’. Tanner, happy to make another addition to his collection of obnoxious baseball caps, threw it on his head and hugged you excitedly.

“Oh my God, he got him a birthday present?” I laughed. “What are we, six?” Tanner released you and your eyes did that thing where they looked at me from across the bar, and you had to turn your head away to stop them. Like the sight of me was magnetic. “I didn’t even know he knew Tanner.” I lifted my hand to summon the bartender, who promptly ignored me because I was a notoriously bad tipper.

“He doesn’t!” Rochelle laughed. “He knows Zoe, who brought him as a DD.”

“Why the fuck does everyone use him? What’s wrong with a taxi?” I groaned, waving at the bartender again. Or just drive yourself, driving’s not that much harder drunk. Rochelle shrugged, eating a pretzel from one of the little bowls. “I swear, I can’t go out without him showing up and staring.”

“Well, good news,” Rochelle shrugged, eating another pretzel. She was getting fat, I noticed. I’d say something if she pissed me off. “Zoe wants him. Bad. For months.”

I turned and saw Zoe next to you at the bar, intentionally blocking your view of me. “She’s building up courage right now to just say something because he’s, like, socially retarded and can’t take a hint in either direction. Anyway, she doesn’t like coming out to these things, so she’ll take your little staring problem with her on the way out.”

I was relieved. Your crush on me was notorious. Everyone knew. It was creepy, but harmless. And you were like an infection. One friend would have a class with you and suddenly they were making excuses for you, or telling me you weren’t all that bad. Another friend would get too drunk at a party you drove them home from and they stopped laughing at the jokes we made about you. Someone would need tutoring help, or community service hours, or legal help and would come back preaching the gospel of Charlie Parvel. Soon enough you were the prophesied hero of parties, people would cheer when you showed up, and would all regale the uninitiated with stories of your beer runs, your helpful advice, your thoughtful gestures—people were telling me to give you a chance!

I sighed, relieved to hear the good news. I spun around in my stool and once more saw Desmond grinding on his new girl. She was ugly. Had a nose like a beak and a double chin. She was just willing to put her big tits into tiny outfits, so she thought she was hot shit.

“Do you think if you and me kissed it would make Desmond jealous?” I asked, turning to Rochelle with an exaggerated kissy face.

“I’m done with all that fag shit, Tori.” Rochelle swallowed another pretzel. “And you are not going to make Desmond jealous.” She indicated to my small boobs.

“You’re too fat for me, anyway.”

“Fuck you, skank.” Rochelle scoffed, dropping the handful of pretzels she had just picked up back into the bowl. I wanted to tell her that the pretzels weren’t giving her the beer gut, but decided not to. I still needed her help if I was gonna get laid.

I hated all these people. I needed sex. Cocaine or weed would have been fine substitutes but Tanner didn’t want that shit around his cousin, Zoe. I looked over and saw her hovering her hand above your shoulder, unsure whether to touch you or not. This was going to take all fucking night to get rid of you. I couldn’t pick someone up around you. Your staring never stopped and it just got sad and pathetic whenever I was doing stuff with someone. Killed the mood. “They’re set to have their first kiss by 2090.” I stated flatly.

“Jealous?”

“What? Please.”

“Oh come on, you love the attention.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Yeah. But, like, when he stops staring, you’re gonna start seeing the man-shaped thing you call a reflection. You won’t have that unconditional attention propping up your ego.” She made a pouty face.

“Fuck you, ho, I’m hot as fuck.”

“Tell that to Jude, Tyler, Gloria, me, and fucking Desmond.” She laughed, sipping her margarita. “Nobody’s even buying drinks for you.” Her face got a wicked grin, looking down the bar. “Or paying attention to you.”

I followed her gaze and saw you. Zoe wasn’t blocking the view anymore. You had a full, unobstructed view of the gun show. But you were looking at her. You were smiling at her while she stood in front of you, holding your hand.

“Come on,” Rochelle nudged me wearing a satisfied smirk. “That was good! Buying drinks; Paying attention. It’s like, ironic or some shit.”

I ignored her, watching you watch Zoe. Were they doing fucking Shakespeare in the middle of a club? At first I was just seeing how long it would take you to look back at me. I made a game of it, counting down the seconds in my head until you’d glance back over.

3… 2… 1… now!

Now!

5… 4… 3… 2… and… 1…

0?

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds—you had to be fucking kidding me. No man watches every home game of women’s volleyball as a fan of the sport, where was your creepiness when I needed it?

“Fucking finally.” I put on a smile, shaking my head at Rochelle. “I’m free.”

“Why are you rolling your sleeves up?”

“It’s hot in here.” I planted my elbow on the counter, holding my hand up like I was signaling the bartender.

“That’s a t-shirt.” Rochelle sipped her margarita again, suddenly swallowing to point at my arm. “You’re flexing!”

I looked over my shoulder to see you… still talking to Zoe. Still looking at her. I furrowed my brow. Usually that works. Normally only lipstick lesbians really cared for my biceps, but you were kinda fucked in the head and liked watching me flex, too. The only reason I wore that shirt was because Desmond liked midriff. But so did you. I wore it despite knowing you would stare.

“No,” I shook my head, spinning away from the bar and putting both my elbows behind me on the counter. “I was trying to get that bitch to sell me a drink.” I straightened my legs, pushing my butt off the seat and stretching my core. My abs lengthened and I flexed to really make them pop. “Now I’m stretching.”

Nothing. No, wait! Zoe looked over her shoulder, hiding her face from you as she laughed about something you just said. Your hands were getting animated. She glanced over at me and her smile faltered. I stopped stretching and tried to look at anything else, my eyes immediately falling on Desmond with his hands on that girl’s fat cow tits.

Rochelle laughed, taking a final swig from her margarita. “Looks like you just lost one of, what, three season pass holders? Just do what you usually do—find some freshman girl with a fake ID and make her think she’s a dyke for a night. Des might think he fucked up his chance at a three way.”

Yeah, that would probably work. Des was a simpler man than one might assume an eventual millionaire to be: big tits were better than small, but two chicks was better than one. But it wouldn’t do what I needed. He’d get pouty, he’d try to talk, but he wouldn’t chase me unless I had the other chick with me at all times. Or worse, he’d try to convince me to throuple with the ugly slut he was with right now. If I could make him jealous enough, we’d probably be back together long enough to get me through midterms. Then I could end things on my terms.

“Kinda glad for him.”

“Fuck. You.”

“No, not Des, Pervy Parvel. Decent guy aside from his staring problem.” I shot her a dirty look. She looked back incredulous. “Des wants you to scream ‘no’ and **** you and call you his sister’s name. Charlie just wants a pretty girl to notice him. You tell me who the creep is. Honestly, I was probably gonna pop his cherry if Zoe hadn’t called dibs.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

She shrugged. “I bet he makes cute noises and wants to cuddle afterwards. You know how virgins are. They squirm and whimper and say thank you and you just get to, like, program them and fuck them up for the rest of their lives. It’s a good thing Zoe got to him first because she’s sweet. She’ll probably ease into it. I bet she’s a virgin, too, wouldn’t that be funny? Would they even know what they’re doing?”

“He’s a perv.” All men were, but you especially. I didn’t buy into the nice guy schtick. I knew what you were doing. You did all of this for my attention. You did all these nice things to make everyone like you and pity you and pressure me into going for you because you were just ‘oh, such a nice guy!’ Your dorm was probably filled with porno mags with pictures of my face glued on them and used tissues. Probably had all those fucked up fantasies of a big strong woman hitting you with a whip and dripping hot wax on your chest, too.

Rochelle did not agree, shaking her head. “He’s sweet.” He’s manipulative. But Rochelle had always been easy to fool. Couldn’t tell you how many pregnancy scares she had because a guy was ‘allergic to condoms’.

The music switched to a new song that everyone was just obsessed with: I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas. Everyone started hooting and slinking onto the dance floor. Zoe gripped your hand tighter and pulled you off your stool as you half-heartedly fought her.

You never danced. You always stayed at the bar guarding purses and drinks and staring at me have a good time. But there you were, jumping and shaking your shoulders and everyone was cheering and clapping because their mythical party savior was dancing for the first time. She was smiling at you and you were staring at her.

I hadn’t noticed Rochelle leave, but I did see her tonguing some random guy on the dance floor. I wish I could tell you my thought process, but there wasn’t really much of one.

All I knew was that you were a manipulative pervert and drove drunk people home. I knew Zoe was the reason I wasn’t snorting lines in the bathroom. I knew I was horny. And I knew Desmond could be guilted into getting back together with me for a couple weeks if something bad happened to me. I started grabbing empty bottles and glasses, taking them to a table that had been abandoned. I stole a beer someone wasn’t watching and chugged it just to get the smell on my breath. Then I waited.

I was good at pretending to be drunk. I could even make my eyes shake and pupils dilate by focusing and unfocusing. Some guys were into it.

The song ended, but then Hey There, Delilah came on and all the single people left the dance floor. By the time the wave of bodies dispersed, I could see you swaying with her on the dance floor. To this day, I still hate that song.

That bitch couldn’t have you. She gets my plug arrested by sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, she doesn’t get to have a win. I took one of the glasses and dropped it on the floor, letting it shatter as I slumped back in the booth, looking like I was falling asleep. Soon I was swarmed with people checking on me and I started asking where my car keys were.

I don’t know what she said to you, but she didn’t look happy. She looked really sad, actually. She looked like you did whenever I left a party with someone else. She knew what I was gonna do. Or rather, what I was gonna say you did to me.

You weren’t a good guy. I was gonna prove it. We’d go back to my apartment and have sex, get me out of my rut, then I could go to everyone the next day and turn on the waterworks of how I got taken advantage of. It was a win-win-win: I got sex, I got Des’ attention, and I got you ostracized from any event I was likely to be attending so you couldn’t stare anymore. Win, win, win.

Initially, my plan was to just pretend to sleep during the car ride. But you kept doing nice shit, trying to manipulate me. As if I didn’t know you were only doing this to finally get your dick wet with the great Victoria Washington. It was pathetic.

I tried to bang my head on the way into your car, but your hand was already resting at the spot, softening the blow significantly. You didn’t even seem annoyed at me screaming my words or giving you backwards directions. You gave me a granola bar and a bottle of water you kept in your glove compartment for just such moments. You let me fuck with your stereo as I remapped all your saved stations.

I think I wanted you a little angry. I don’t know, maybe I was just trying to get your mask to slip. Even if you just dumped me on the side of the road, my plan would still mostly work minus the sex. I could say whatever the fuck I wanted now that we had time away from other people.

Every time you did something nice, I started adding details to the story I was gonna tell. Tiny dick, came instantly, weird shaped penis—the usual, sure. But then more petty shit. He wanted me to fart on him! He made me pretend to be his grandmother. He wanted me to wear one of those Nazi arm bands! Everything from calling me slurs, hitting me, having gross fantasies, and anything else I thought could get you expelled or even just shunned. You could go to jail for all I fucking cared.

You looked away to make a left turn and I stuck my fingers down my throat, throwing up all on your floor. “Oh, frick!” You’d said, like a mormon. You reached behind my seat and grabbed a small bucket, handing it to me. “My bad! I forgot to hand this to you, earlier.”

Get fucking real. I had just puked on your carpet. I once got smacked for spilling a soda in a dude’s car. Why was I not getting bruises I could show off? That’s how I know you were just being too nice. You weren’t even screaming at me. Nobody was that pathetically nice.

“Yyyyer nnnnot mahd?” I had to ask.

“Not at all! It happens. I fricked up and forgot to give you the bucket.”

“Yyyeh, it’s puke. In yer cahr.”

“I do this a lot. I have a cleaning kit, so don’t even worry about it.”

This works? People believe this bullshit? How the fuck did all my business major friends fall for such an obvious grift?

I kept trying to get you to touch me inappropriately. I’d stumble into you, I’d sway so my chest stuck out, I asked you to feel my abs the whole way up the elevator. You declined sweetly, redirecting my attention to other things without ever insulting me.

“No, thank you. It was the fourth floor, right?” “Oh no, that’s ok. I keep hearing about how hard Dailey’s stats class is.” “Whoah! Almost took a tumble there! Which door’s yours, again?”

I guess it made sense. There were cameras. There were neighbors. Even in the car there might have been passing witnesses. The mask would slip once you were comfortable in my room.

“Sssshoe’ssss commme aff!” I demanded, kicking my heels off to the side as we entered. I figured it was an easy way to signal my invitation for you to stay in a way I could deny later. You complied, but didn’t leave the doorway.

“Okay, well, get some sleep. I’ve heard alka-seltzer helps with hang-overs.”

Oh, no. You weren’t getting cold feet, now, you pervert. I slid my foot under my rug, letting it trip me. You ran over and started checking on me. I just groaned and moaned.

“Ok, let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

“Ooh, yes please.” I giggled, putting my hand suggestively close to your crotch on your pant leg. You said nothing, supporting me as I walked us to my room, trying to move in such a way that your hand touched my boob. On a virgin like you, that should have been enough. You gently laid me on my bed and… started walking away?

I started fumbling with my button, whining and grunting. “H-help…” I pleaded, tangling my hands in the armholes of my shirt.

“Oh boy.” Oh fucking boy. Were you mormon? I actually didn’t know much about you. I knew you had a dead sister and were, like, obsessed with me, and did something with the homeless or immigrants or something.

You undid the button and I stuck my legs out for you to pull them off me. You looked off at my wall. “Oh, cool awards! These from volleyball?”

“Izz this underwear cute? I ssspentallotta money onit.”

“Sorry, I don’t know much about that kind of stuff. Lift your arms real quick?” You grabbed the hem of my shirt and lifted it, almost immediately stepping away to look at a picture of me and my dad at the grand canyon.

“I’z hopin’ sum’n’d be pullin’ it offff me tanite…” I kicked your butt suggestively, trying to get your eyes back on me. For years I couldn’t get you to stop staring at me and now you wouldn’t look? Did you know what I was planning? Even if you did, it was too late. At least you could have still gotten laid out of it.

“Oh, I’m sorry things didn’t go as you’d hoped. I’m not supposed to tell you, but he brought her to make you mad before mid-terms, by the way. Something about class standings or something—I don’t know, he sounded paranoid. I don’t really think Desmond is mature enough to have real friendships, much less real relationships. So if you ask me, you kinda dodged a bullet.”

Huh? You knew about Desmond? “I…” I did rub in his face how much better my paper had scored than his. That’s what this is about? He wants me to tank midterms just so he can have ****? “Where di-didja hear this frrrom?”

You gave me your patented sad smile. “People tend to forget I’m around. Your friends aren’t very kind to each other. Oh, turn over on your side, please? It’s much safer when you’re drunk.”

Maybe you were making it up, but that really did sound like something Desmond would do. It was too convincing of a lie for someone on the fringes like you to have made up. Were you actually trying to help me?

It didn’t matter. Desmond was my source for Ritalin, it would have been very inconvenient for me to have to find someone with a prescription myself. You gently reached over and grabbed my shoulder, slowly rolling me onto my side. You reached for the covers of my unmade bed and pulled them over me.

It was… nice. You didn’t linger with your hand, you didn’t ‘accidentally’ feel me with the blanket. It was like you didn’t even recognize me as a sexual thing. “Professor Addler is a lonely guy with a stick up his butt and an axe to grind. If you go to his office hours and just shoot the crap for an hour, he grades much nicer. Hopefully you remember that in the morning.” You stood up and started for the door. “Do you need anything else? Toast? Some water?”

You were leaving? What, you didn’t want me? You thought I was stupid and would fall for the oblivious schtick? I was clearly horny and drunk. I was your little fantasy, just there for the taking! That’s what people do. That’s what you especially were supposed to do.

Was this the treatment everyone was getting? No wonder this was better than a taxi. You didn’t even mention money. It kinda felt nice being pampered like this, even if I wasn’t drunk. Were you really that pathetic? This wasn’t a mask?

“Pasda.”

Ten minutes later you came back into my room with a bowl of buttered noodles and a glass of water. “Iz hot…” I complained and you went to my thermostat. “Annnyy tipz fer ssstats?”

You shrugged, still looking at my wall of awards. Nobody ever looked at my trophies or certificates. It felt nice seeing you look genuinely impressed. Noting how more prestigious they got with each iteration. Nobody noticed that.

“Professors are people. Usually you can just talk to them honestly and they’ll help. For this infamous ‘stats’ class, it sounds like a filter class for the grad level.”

“Uh-huh. Gotsta passit for a shance innnn tha grad prrrogrammm.” It was hard to keep slurring when you were talking about shit I actually cared about.

“So meet with the professor. They don’t care about who scores high, they want someone they won’t want to strangle as a TA. Usually one hour in office hours is equal to like, three hours studying alone. Plus you make a friend who knows people.” You took my empty bowl and left me to sit with your practical advice. I heard my sink turn on. You were washing my dish.

Fine. If you were gonna drag this out, I was going to enjoy the princess treatment. Honestly, it was getting me even more in the mood. I was intending to do some shit with my feet or something just to completely fuck you up, but I decided that tonight, at least, would be fine for you. And maybe I’d walk back what I said tomorrow once I stole Des’ bottle of Ritalin. Might even consider patching things up for you with Zoe if your advice worked.

Sure, you would be knowingly taking advantage of me, but so would any man in your position. You were actually doing pretty good at least selling the whole boy scout routine. But men were simple creatures and sex was sex. It was a fun fantasy, though. It was gonna make the cherry popping feel more fun, like you really were as innocent as you pretended to be.

I lifted the covers, scooting over on the bed to make some room for you. Alright, it was a good show, Parvel. Now the mask can come off. “Join me under the covers.” I didn’t even slur my words. You turned ghost white, averting your eyes.

“Oh, uh, you should get some rest. You have a game, tomorrow, don’t you?”

My game? You cared about my game? How about my vagina, you pussy.“Sex iz gunna loosen me yup.”

“Tori, we’re not going to do that. You’re drunk.” The fuck did you care? Oh! Duh! It’s part of the fun for him.

“I thought you hadda big crush on me orrr somethin’?” Ugh, what would a boy scout need to hear? “C’mon, you’ve been a gentleman. You earrrned it.” Come on, if I couldn’t score with Pervy Parvel I’d need some rope and a stronger ceiling fan. Men were men. Any second you’d stop caring about all that bullshit and just take what you wanted.

Maybe you had Ritalin I could steal if you were really so blitzed out you could resist your biggest crush throwing herself at you. “I do.” You said, breath shaking.

There it was, the mask falling. It was like your feet were possessed, carrying you forward. You were staring again. Right at my abs. I like them, too. I had to admit, I’d put more work into courting you than anyone ever before. But it was fun. It almost felt like the kind of inoffensive love you found only in a chick flick. But it was just a fantasy. Maybe you wanted to be that kind of guy, but they just didn’t exist. Not in the real world.

Honestly, I was probably doing you a favor. Teaching you a lesson about trusting people or trying too hard to look like a good person. This was gonna hurt you, but you’d come out stronger. Smarter.

It would have been nice, though.

Your hand grabbed the blanket, eyes fixed on my bra, now. Go ahead. You closed the blanket on me. It was like your eyes had the magnet suddenly shut off and they shot right into my confused eyes. Sad smile. Like a dad explaining why Christmas wasn’t going to be as big this year. “But that’s not a very good excuse.”

“Huh?” My heart dropped. That wasn’t supposed to happen. What, was I supposed to **** you? What was the fucking game, here? “Why the ffffuck you do all this, thennnn? I puked in yourrr carrr.” Come on, man the fuck up, boy scout!

“Why’d your friends let you go home drunk and alone with some guy with a crush on you?” You had said. Because they wanted you to get lucky, asshole! Whoah, yeah, wait. My friends wanted you to get lucky with me. They were offering me to you. They wanted you more than me. “I’m sorry, but I knew someone was gonna take advantage of you and nobody was gonna stop it.

Yeah! You were supposed to take advantage of me!

“You deserve better than that.” You said. Deserve? Did you know what I was planning to do to you? I was planning on ruining your life! Over fucking speed! I broke you away from your girl scout match made in heaven because you stopped giving me attention for forty-five seconds! If anybody deserved better it most certainly wasn’t me! But that was the problem. You had said ‘me,’ but it felt more like you were saying ‘everybody’. Like you just saw right through all the bullshit excuses and just saw people hurting each other.

That was my moment. I was in denial, but that was the moment I knew you were the genuine article. And that it felt nice. You did all of this, you could have had all of this. And you were just going to walk away because it was the right thing to do? That was something you could just do?

“I thought yyyyyyou werrre a creep? Shit. Ha. Sorry. I’m drunk. And horny.” I tried getting you with a backhand, part of me hoping you’d somehow crack. Because if there was a good person, then that meant there were bad people. And I would be one of them.

“Oh, sorry if I gave that impression. I’ll give you more space in the future.” That’s what it took? You looked hurt, but only behind the eyes. You were trying to hide it. You weren’t trying to manipulate me with your emotions or make your feelings my problem. “I just didn’t know how to approach you.”

Then you stood up and walked away. Where was the yelling? Where was the blaming me for never giving you a chance? Weren’t you gonna steal some panties on your way out? Can’t you stay and cuddle?

“Wwwwait. We’rrrre rrreally nnot gunna have sex rrright nnow?”

“Emphatically, no.” Emphatically? Ow? Yay?

“This issss the first time that’ssss ever happened to mme.”

“Sorry.” You looked back at my awards. You can ask about them… please.

What did I do, now? You did my dishes, you respected my boundaries, you gave me actual advice instead of cheats… it was like meeting one of those guys from the movies. I liked those movies.

You gave a man you hardly knew the only birthday present he got that year. And he loved it. What would he have gotten me?

You were about to leave. It was only 1:12. You could probably get back to the bar and finish the night with Zoe. Take her back to her place and admire her awards, and do her dishes, and talk to her like an adult you respected and not a sex box that argued with you…

“Yyou are mah boyfrrriend, now, Mr. Parvel. If you’rre ssseein’ annnyone, tell’em the bad nnews. Cuzz you are mine, now.”

I wanted the white bread. I wanted the vanilla. I was sick and tired of burning my tongue and cutting up my mouth on mediocre flavors. I wanted good. I wanted kind. I wanted you.