The Temporary Virginity of the American Player

24. I Feel Like a Hormonal Teenage Girl.

It didn't feel like September 1st. Well, maybe it did and I just didn't notice. It was hard to notice when your heartstrings were getting clipped by an invisible pair of rusty scissors one by one. My mind was racked with ideas of foiling Lena Whitton's departure, but none of them seemed realistic enough to follow through with. Blowing up her car was out of the question, as was kidnapping because both are felonies. I wasn't actually out to get arrested again...then again I really didn't care because for some reason I didn't understand, I didn't want her to leave.

After giving me the news, Lena had stayed almost an hour before heading home, claiming she had to pack up her stuff. She wasn't wasting any time with the whole leaving thing. She really was ready to go, which  stung. I knew she wanted to get away from here and from the whole Travis problem, but Boston was so far away. She'd undoubtedly do well in a city singing, but she'd be missing everything here. Not that there was anything out here but me, but she'd be missing me. I felt so selfish for wanting her to stay...and confused. Very, very confused.

To sort my shit out, I had resorted to sitting beneath a self-made fort of blankets and sleeping bags with a rather large bowl of Ben & Jerry's chocolate ice cream with big chunks of fudge in it. Twinkie wrappers littered the floor, as did boxes of Mike & Ikes, Juji Fruits, and Swedish Fish. I had spent a good majority of the early morning walking and bawling all around the apartment, watching TV shows that I never would have watched under any normal circumstance, and eating all the food we had left in the fridge. It went like that from early in the morning to the afternoon. It was twelve o'clock when I finally settled down in my fort and gorged myself on Twinkies. To top the scene off, I watched The Notebook on TV.

That's right. I had opened the ultimate chick flick into his life with open arms, hoping that it could shed some knowledge onto why I was so hung up over Lena leaving. I mean, all girls tended to believe that a shirtless Ryan Reynolds was the answer to all of the world's problems; and who's to say he wasn't? I wasn't a girl...but I thought Ryan could help me understand.

I had the apartment to myself again, which was probably why I had resorted to this new low. Had my male friends been here, I would have been out drinking and possibly doing naughty things tonight, or at least watching a manly flick like James Bond. Alas, there was no one to guide me. Johnny was still out with Christy and Joe...well, Joe was a deserter. Who knew where he'd gone off to? I was just a man in his cave, alone in my principles. This was a dangerous thing.

My eyes were as big as paper plates, watching Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams in the rain. Man, Rachel reminded me of Christy...Johnny didn't exactly remind me of Ryan though. They had one thing in common however; they were both hopeless and dumb. One does not simply go back with an ex like that...especially when your ex is cheating on her fiancé with you. One does not simply allow themselves to be that desperate. Do they?

"Why didn't you write me," Rachel demanded. "Why? It wasn't over for me! I waited for you for seven years. But now it's too late."

I sniffled, digging my spoon into my chocolate ice cream and downing a big scoop, trying to hold back an unmanly sob. Damn you, Rachel.

"I wrote you 365 letters. I wrote you every day for a year!"

"You wrote me?"

"Yes! It wasn't over. It still isn't over!"

I sobbed loudly, tears streaming out of my eyes as candy fell from my mouth. I sniffled and cried as they kissed in the rain like a girl would have, and when the door opened and the lights turned on, I was uncontrollable.

"Nick?" Johnny's innocent voice called from the doorway.

"Turn off the lights," I cried between sobs, cramming more ice cream in my mouth. "Turn off the lights!"