The Twins & Me

Hate My Guts

I don't sleep at all. Instead, I take turns crying and staring at the wall. I never knew I could cry so much—I never shed a tear for Noah.

Not even on our last night together—I knew it would be the last time we had sex, but he didn't at the time. I made sure to do all the things he liked, like suck on his balls and scratch his chest. Reverse-cowgirl rode him until he came, which I got down to swallow because he liked to look at me when I did it. And I smiled for him.

We cuddled afterward, watched his favorite horror movie. I dropped the ball as I got dressed to leave. I didn't even give him time to react or try to persuade me to stay. At least with the twins I hesitated. Or, at least, my body did.

As I drag myself up to get ready for class—as much as I don't want to go and have to face Arlo in Art History, I know Lila would have questions that I can't answer yet—I open my glass jewelry box beside my bed.

My collar sits inside, patient and obediently waiting for me to put it on again. I trace the embroidered O and A on either side of the gold ring, like maybe the essence of the twins is caught in the stitches. My heart jerks at the perfect little thing I won't ever wear for anyone else and fresh tears bubble inside me.

I don't bother showering or changing; I've still got on my leggings and LU hoodie from the night before. I do go into the bathroom and immerse my face in cold water in the sink, try to ease the redness under my eyes, before pulling my hair up in a bun.

The apartment is quiet; Lila took today off to recuperate from our vacation. She's probably still with her mystery-man in her bedroom, sleeping off a hangover.

As I stare blankly at the Keurig as it spurts out some coffee for me, soft footsteps pad up behind me.

I turn, expecting Lila, but it's Roark.

He's shirtless and disheveled, that morning-after-sex glow all around him. I should probably be happy for him that he's out of the friend-zone, but I don't feel like ever being happy again.

He gives me an easy smile and flips on the kitchen light, which I didn't realize wasn't even on. "Hey, Lila's sister."

I bring my attention back to the coffee machine before he can see my face. "Hey, Lila's friend."

Out of the corner of my eye I watch him grab a glass from a shelf above the sink and fill it with water. "You got in late, didn't you?" he asks.

I just nod.

"College-boy keep you up, too, huh?"

He's joking, playful, no doubt had the time of his life the night before. Part of me wants to sob and part of me just wants to push him over. "You could say that."

He leans against the sink and gulps his water. The coffee machine stops and I chuck a bunch of ice cubes from the freezer in the black coffee.

"You want a ride to campus?"

I'd give anything for Arlo and Ollie to scold me for getting a ride with a guy, but knowing they won't be looking out for me hits my state of mind like a brick. "No, it's alright. Arlo's coming to get me."

"Okay, then. Stay safe out there," he says, filling up the glass again and shuffling out of the kitchen.

Arlo isn't in Art History. The seat beside me—his seat—remains cold and empty. My first instinct is to text him to see where he is, if he's okay, but I'm not entitled to that anymore.

It's probably better this way, anyway. It's easier for them to be mad at me. I hope they do. I hope they hate my guts.

I hate my guts.