Stories We Tell

[ Prologue ]

                                       [   P R O L O G U E   ]

    Perhaps it should have occurred to me, when I climbed into the passenger's seat of Trevor O'Connell's beat up Aston Martin, that something emotionally damaging could happen within the four hour drive between my College dorm room and my parent's front door. After all, he was a Psychology Major, and given my recent string of ex-boyfriends, I had a weak spot for them. Moreover, Marnie had heard him listening to Bob Dylan from her adjoining dorm room the week before, a revelation that had made me just a tiny bit weak at the knees, as it would anyone who still held the lingering hope that classic music hadn't gone to shit in the last decade. That, coupled with the fact I'd recently learned my brother wasn't coming to Thanksgiving because his model girlfriend wanted him to meet her parents instead, should have really been a red light.

    I wasn't nearly stable enough to be stuck in the claustrophobic atmosphere of a sedan that smelled like cedar air freshener for half a day. Especially when the driver's seat was occupied by a boy I'd only held a proper conversation with half a dozen times, but seen almost naked coming out of the dorm co-ed shower on too many occasions.

     However—not surprisingly, I must add—the murky state my head was swimming in from one too many rounds of tequila the night prior failed to think of those minor details. And instead, I found myself piling into his car like I'd been meant to do so all along, welcoming the warm air wafting from the heater as I tugged my beanie down over my ears.

     Little did I know then, waiting for Trevor to pack our duffels into the trunk of the car, that everything was going to very drastically change over the course of the weekend.

     For better or for worse, I hadn't quite figured out yet.

     But things would definitely change.