May Kill Me

Eight

I was never a sorority, game day, rush, bid, sister type of person. This is not to say that I had anything against sororities, but the idea of joining one never appealed to me.

It was bad enough to come to Jonathan's games, dress up in 'cute clothes' because that's what the other girlfriends did, slather on makeup, and pretend I cared. It was important to him, so I didn't complain.

When I asked him to come to an LGBTQIA+ reading with me once at a café/bookstore in Newton, he refused. I had to go alone, take the bus to Newton and sit at the reading alone.

I had a good time at the event: the stories were pretty good, and the vibe was relaxed and fun.

At the end of the day, it was a gathering of people who aspired to make a living out of storytelling.

When the event was over, and I checked my phone, I had 23 missed calls — all from Jonathan.

One of his texts accused me of cheating on him.

The one following that one was that he was heading to Newton right now and that I shouldn't leave the café.

We argued all the way back, with Wheezeer's El Scorcho playing in the background.

Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?

Newton is, statistically, one of the safest towns in the state.

Why didn't you tell me? I had to find out from your mother. Do you know how embarrassing it is to not know where your girlfriend is?

I literally told you when and where I was going a few days prior, and you actively said you don't want to go!

I can't believe you just up and left! You left without saying anything! You left without me!

How would he have reacted if we were still together and I went to a frat party? Would he have driven all the way from NYC to pick me up? Or would he have flowed into a rage, as he did after the reading?

"Oh, my god!" A tan girl with blonde hair cried out next to me. She was clutching her phone, showing it in her friend's face who looked nearly identical.

I assumed these were girls from a sorority.

Sorority girls/women usually had a look to them: medium height, tan, long-haired, on the slimmer side, sporting blindingly white teeth.

And they were peppy. So very peppy.

This place was full of them.

For the past half hour, that's all I've been doing — people-watching while nursing my bottled water.

Not very environmental but I didn't trust tap water, and I definitely didn't want to drink alcohol at a place I wasn't familiar with while being surrounded by people I didn't know.

Abigail, Andrea, and Krista were nowhere to be seen.

As soon as we walked through the doors of the frat house, they pretty much abandoned me.

A quick Google search gave me directions to the nearest bus terminal, which would take me to New Glasgow.

It was $25.

A bit pricey, but much cheaper than an Uber ride all the way home.

This was something that I learned after the party in Senior year when Jonathan was kind enough to publicly humiliate me: always make sure you have an escape route.

The two girls next to me keep squinting over the phone, voices hushed, entrapped by whatever they were looking at.

At that point I was bored enough that I started making a mental list, I was pretty good at those after nights of being unable to fall asleep.

The best way to doze off or pass the time was to make lists: I could have been doing at least ten other things if I stayed home.

One of the girls gave me a quick glance, her eyes sliding over my clothes and face. I knew that look: it was a look girls were so good at — assessment, calculation, verdict.

To these girls, I was a crust. Nothing to be threatened by.

It always blew my mind how well girls were at it — being vicious to one another.

So I decide to move, go outside maybe, or even to the kitchen, perhaps whip up my phone and be like those sorority girls — completely engrossed in texting or watching Tik Toks or whatever.

I planned to essentially kill time until I thought it is acceptable to leave.

On my way to the kitchen, a tall bulky guy bumped into me, spilling some of the contents of his Solo cup on my boots.

He mumbles a 'shit, sorry, dude," before walking away without even giving me half a glance.

Dude?

Dude!

What the fuck!

Just because I didn't have a pound of makeup on my face, and wasn't wearing some frilly top from TJ Maxx didn't mean I wasn't a girl.

I was about to go into the kitchen, look for paper

towels to wipe the beer or whatever the fuck that idiot spilled on me when I saw him standing by the kitchen island, leaning casually against it with his left hip.

Jonathan Bauer.

When I saw him, I flat-out froze.

There was a face I didn't expect.

What was he even doing here?

And he was talking to someone, someone who wasn't Mia.

The girl chatting with him was barely 154 cm tall, curvy, tan, and very blonde.

I could see her eyelash extensions from the hallway.

What was he doing here?

My hands balled into fists, as I watched the two of them talk.

The girl laughed at something he said, opening her mouth wide and tilting her head back.

Jonathan smiled at her, seemingly happy that she was entertained.

There was a time when I was so jealous — murderously jealous — of any girl who even looked his way.

I lived under a constant threat that one day I won't be good enough for him, that he will get tired, and think there was someone better out there for him.

Then there came a time that I prayed for it: I prayed that someone would catch his attention enough to make him want to replace me.

The girl said something, brushing her hair to the side, and Jonathan nodded.

That was when I should have left, turned, and walked out before he could spot me.

But it was too late: Jonathan turned his head as if pulled by some invisible string, and locked eyes with me.

He smiled, as my insides froze, raising one hand to wave at me.