Living With The Player

CAMILLA RENÉE

SUNDAY.

My day in one word is-fast-paced.

Jimmy and I moved around the city. Zoo. Ice cream. Park. Children. Kingston High stood closed because of the weekend. Funny how I didn’t spend a waking second relishing it. My physical body dwelled beside Jimmy, but everything else was back at the motel. Back at last night. Back at his kiss. Back at him.

Each time tugging more fiercely and swearing curse words. To who exactly? Dylan for kissing me? Myself for allowing him? Reciprocating? and then enjoying it? or my father for interrupting us?

So many deeds in one night.

I went directly to my room and fasten the door, my heart racing as I paced from edge to edge. Eventually, I slumped behind it and listened to the footsteps. I held my heart in my hand and watched him zone past me. Or my father? I didn’t know.

I lingered in that position, slept in that spot and woke up with an ache in my back.

Then as the coward, I am, I texted Jimmy that we should go out. I’m expending the entire day away from Dylan. Away from my father.

I went as far as texting my mother to organize my things. We would run late. I lied. We would not make it back in time to prepare. All lies.

Jimmy and I spent less than two minutes at the motel. Exchanged greetings. Prolonged stares from my father. I couldn’t conclude if my mother was aware yet. He’d surely tell her. Possibly while I’m miles away. And Dylan?

I tried to lock him in a cage and toss the key away, but no. He thumped on the door. Cried out. Screeched. Then when I arch closer, he jostled me down with him.

Sigh.

“Are you okay? Stressful weekend? We’re leaving now.”

Jimmy’s thumb circles mine, drumming over the surface with a smile etched along his pretty face.

I smile back without an answer. I cheated on him yesterday. I don’t know what that means for both of us. I know nothing.

I’m a mess. A complete mess. Fifteen words. He broke my resolve with fifteen words. I arch further up the seat in the Uber, clutching Jimmy tightly.

I want to apologise. I want to explain. I want to confess. But I do nothing. A greater part of me is numb. Most of me hasn’t gotten over that kiss.

I trace a line over my bottom lip, rippling all over. How can he feel this good after so long? How can he affect me when I hate him?

I drill my eyes until they’re firmly shut. I need sleep. The only retreat from Dylan and the imprint he left on me.

****

SUNDAY

“You got laid!”

Miranda shrieks, bracing me into her arms. Jimmy chuckles behind both of us. We touched down in Cal-U soil ten minutes ago. I reek of exhaustion, so Jimmy offered to ride with me to my dorm. I can’t wait to get these jeans off.

“You sneaky bastard!”

She coos and I want to drop dead.

“I didn’t get laid, Miranda.”

I voice out, pacing into the room, flinging my bag over my bed and myself right next to it.

“I could’ve sworn you look like you got laid. You have thudded was so wrong but felt so good face.”

I flinch. Accurate much? She’s right. Only it wasn’t sex. Just as good. Maybe better. Fuck me.

“I didn’t.”

I grumble. I hear Jimmy walk in. I think he’s by my bed

“You must be tired gorgeous. I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll text you later.”

I open my eyes and he’s hovering over me, tilting forward and plopping his lips over mine.

Nothing. Not even a flutter. Jimmy’s kisses made me feel bubbly but now it’s just a pair of lips against mine.

He breaks free with a grin, clearly not noticing the distraught on my face.

“Goodbye.”

I mutter. Jimmy just kissed me. I didn’t enjoy it? I didn’t like it? I’m comparing it to Dylan’s. What did that man do to me?

Two seconds is all it takes for Miranda to hop off her bed and onto mine. Two seconds after Jimmy exits the room.

“You better spill. You had sex with Dylan under the same roof as Jimmy?”

I cringe so hard, lifting my weight off the bed.

My shirt squeezes behind me, I reach over and ruffle it back up.

“I didn’t have sex with anyone.”

She eyes me thoroughly.

“I mean it. I kissed Jimmy a lot. We haven’t gone that far plus my parents don’t like him much either.”

“You don’t say.”

She chirps. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“You’ll see.”

Snorting, I fall back to the bed, palm my face and sigh. I sigh twice. Thrice. Repeatedly.

Sighing is the last thing I recall before slumping. Again, my only escape from the trance he put me in.

****

MONDAY.

My schedule for this week is a little more intense. I’m starting my week with chemistry – my least favourite course. The teacher makes it bearable, but I’ll rather study the human mind than discuss atoms and molecules. It’s a one-hour lecture and I practically doze off.

Jimmy didn’t bother enrolling in the course this semester, so there’s no one to even converse with.

Speaking of which, Miranda has been brewing for details. She knows something occurred, but I blankly deny it. Shame? Maybe. I haven’t informed Jimmy either. Mostly because I don’t know what to say. How to apologise. I’m more immersed in courses, assignments, and distractions.

“I will email your assignment for this week to your student account. They’re due before the end of the week.”

Mrs Rae ended with my head over my desk. Finally.

I hear students scampering to leave, most of them as bored as I was. I keep my head over the table for a few minutes, indecisive about what to do with the rest of my day.

I take four full breaths and get up. I’m greeted with an empty lecture hall and silence. My bag is at the corner, so I reach for it and accidentally spill the contents.

Fuck.

I bend over attempting to thrust my little notebooks and pens inside. I have two extra pens for each colour, so it’s about six of them. I only count five.

I arch further beside the table and pick it up, then I stand straight about to shove it inside.

“Hello, Camilla.”

Every hair on my body rockets. I gasp loudly positively startled for an instant.

“It’s just me.”

He recites his words from day one at the party. He does not touch me this time. He’s behind me. He’s keeping his distance.

I can’t feel his breathing.

I silence the voice commanding me to turn.

“What do you want Dylan?”

Is he here about the kiss? I hope not.

“I need your help.”

My mind catches up with his project. There’s a thing called texting. He can’t just drop by here and make it difficult to breathe.

“I need you to work as my shrink or psychologist.”

Triple credits for suspense and the box answer. He wants me to what now?

Is this a joke?

Good. I’ll play along.

“Dylan if you need one, I’ll give you a number. I’ve barely gotten through one semester, I don’t think I’m qualified to do anything for you.”

“I don’t care about your qualifications. I want you.”

Fuck. How can he say stuff like that? It’s a good thing my back faces him. My skin is on fire and he’ll know with one look at me.

I am finding this conversation intriguing and against my better judgement; I follow up.

“Why do you need sessions Dylan? Did you witness a murder? Kill someone?”

“None of those. I think.”

I nip my lip. Don’t smile. Do not crook a grin at his words, Camila.

“So…”

I should pluck my bag and make a run through the door, yet here I am on the edge of my toes waiting for an answer.

“I’ve watched movies where people got better by talking about their problems. Marital affairs. Toxic relationships…”

He trails off, and it piqued my interest even more.

“What do you mean Dylan?”

I mean to sound uninterested, but I lace my tone with curiosity. I bet he’s smirking.

“I want you to help me get over someone. A person I love or loved. It’s complicated.”

My touch halts on the pen. I swallow a hiccup.

Dylan. Love. Those two words in the same sentence? Who would’ve thought?

Does he want to get over someone? Could it be-me?

I jerk my head so fast I nearly stumble. Dylan isn’t in love with me.

It’s half a question and half a statement.

“Her name is Athena. Athena Williams.”

This time I lose balance. The pen in my hand falls to the ground – again and I grip the edge of the table, letting out a sharp exhale.

Athena? He has never mentioned someone named Athena. Where does Claire come into the picture? Is she a rebound? Is Athena his ex? Is he double dating?

What is going on? Aside from the obvious curiosity, there’s also anger brewing. Anger at the fact that Dylan has or had someone else in his life and was kissing me less than twenty-four hours ago. The fuck?

“Will you help me?”

I want to cry out hell no. Whack him until he falls. But I’m too curious about this woman. Whomever she is.

Too excited at my first “patient” Too angry. Answers. I need answers. And so I sell my soul to the devil once more. I willingly hand him the key to the cage. I set him loose.

He’s open to dominating my whole world now.

“Yes.”

I murmur. The burden of my words presses down on my chest.

****

Thoughts!? The next chapter is well… No spoilers.