It's Not Natural

"Why didn't you call me last night?"

I look this text over and over, realizing what I've done last night was terrible. It was my one year anniversary with my first and most likely my last boyfriend, Dillon. I'm an introvert and extremely shy, and I hate all people. It's nothing personal against anyone. I've just been through so many times of despair and worry and needing to be accepted. And now I think I threw it all away.

Yesterday had been Friday night and I had been forced by my best friend, Catarina, to join her at a party. I didn't think the party involved a lot of drinks and a lot of grinding on others during dancing. Eventually, I'd been coaxed into a room with a guy, and I didn't remember what came after that.

Now I'm sitting at the bedside, staring down at my phone. I've never realized my friend hadn't taken me home until now. She is long gone, I'm sure. If I'm lucky, she woke up with a hangover. Worst-case scenario? Dillon found out where I'd been the night before.

Mere minutes before, I'd gathered up my clothes that were strewn here and there, avoiding the slight mess that was everywhere. I'd hastily pulled them on, still working on adjusting my skinny jeans and fixing my Love Pink tee. I feel violated as I look at myself in the mirror, my lips puffy and my hair messy. Just to tame my platinum blonde hair, I have to run my fingers through my long locks roughly just to remove some of the knots. It doesn't help much.

I gaze at myself in the mirror of the dresser, large golden eyes staring back at me. It's not my fault I'm called a wolf or animal; my eye color is just a shimmering golden. Many people envy it while others find more reasons to make fun of me at school for them. It doesn't help I have nerdy glasses either. I am in the nerd clique, and most hate me for it, but Dillon found a way to love me even through his status of a popular jock. I feel horrible for betraying him.

I spin around in surprise, noticing the boy in the bed stirring. He looks around, running a hand through his chocolate brown hair and peeping open ocean blue eyes. His gorgeous tanned skin catches the light, and I look down at my arms. I'm almost terribly pale; it looks almost unnatural. Sighing briefly, I regret the motion instantly as he looks at me with a bit of confusion. A glimmer of recognition shines in his eyes and he sits up.

"Oh, the girl from the party last night. It was fun, huh?" he asks with a grin, his messed-up hair making him look younger than he really is. I predict he's eighteen. I'm seventeen.

"This girl has a name," I reply, trying to sound intimidating but instead sounding skittish and almost scared. "And I can't remember what we did last night, so I can't answer that."

"I need to know your name, thanks. And last night.. well, we just had a bit of fun. I think you lost your virginity, but anything for fun, right?"

"Charlotte. And, what?! I don't need any business with you, and I never meant to get involved with sex with you or whatever."

"Charlotte.." he says, as if testing the name on his tongue. "I'm Laurent. Nice to meet you, beautiful." He seems to ignore my last words and flirtaciously winks at me.

I tilt my head slightly to the side; Laurent isn't that bad of a name. It's actually quite nice. I also realize it's a name of French descent, much like my own name. Wonderful, I have something in common with this guy who's probably going to rip apart my relationship.

"That's cute, the way your head is tilted like that." Laurent points out with a smirk, reaching for his boxers and jeans in a pile on the side of the bed and tugging them on quickly before throwing off the covers and standing.

I immediately straighten up as he stands up, and afraid he's going to make a move on me, I swallow roughly and dash out the door. I can hear him cry out, wanting to stay but I can't. Something draws me in to Laurent, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's because I hate him or because I might like him. Wait, why would I like him? I can't believe that thought came to mind.

I sprint down the stairs, noticing the mess remaining from the party. I also realize people are conked out on the floor and on the couches and practically everywhere. Throwing open the front door, I don't bother to shut it behind me as I run home. Thank God I live four or so blocks away; Catarina and I walked here. I don't bother to answer my parents' questions either as I throw open that door, too, and run upstairs to my room, throw my phone at the wall, then sprint into the en suite bathroom and throw up until I have no breath left and I am left gasping for air.

I will not get acquainted with this boy. I will not. Over and over, I think it in my head, and promise myself.