Message-ID: <52055asstr$1127243402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <poster@giganews.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-TN-Interface: 209.99.127.21 X-Original-Path: news.giganews.com.POSTED!not-for-mail NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2005 12:19:08 -0500 From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipio@yahoo.com> Reply-To: nick_scipio@yahoo.com X-Original-Message-ID: <pvg0j1lmct9o5db016l53vncv4u29g0al4@4ax.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-DMCA-Notifications: http://www.giganews.com/info/dmca.html X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Otherwise we will be unable to process your complaint properly X-Postfilter: 1.3.32 X-Greylisting: NO DELAY (Relay+Sender autoqualified); processed by UCSD_GL-v2.1 on mailbox8.ucsd.edu; Tue, 20 September 2005 10:19:15 -0700 (PDT) X-Spamscanner: mailbox8.ucsd.edu (v1.6 Aug 4 2005 15:27:38, 3.7/5.0 3.0.4) X-MailScanner: PASSED (v1.2.8 25020 j8KHJE1C048744 mailbox8.ucsd.edu) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2005 13:19:07 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 3" by Nick Scipio - Ch 27 (MF, teen, caution) Lines: 1977 Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2005 15:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2005/52055> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw Author: Nick Scipio Title: Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall Part: Chapter 27 Universe: Summer Camp Summary: Coming-of-age story about a teenager whose family spends their summer vacations at a nudist camp. Keywords: MF, teen, caution Revision: 1.2 Word Count: 14,005 Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/ FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/ Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/ ***************************************************************** STANDARD DISCLAIMER This story is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read any further. This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described. This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio (nick_scipio@yahoo.com). It may be freely distributed with this disclaimer attached. Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved. ***************************************************************** Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall by Nick Scipio CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN I stomped out of the Hilton's lobby and toward the parking lot. As I approached the Jeep, however, I pulled up short. It was sitting too low, and it looked like someone had... As I drew closer, I momentarily forgot about Gina. Instead, my blood burned with raw, searing fury. The Jeep's tires had been slashed, and someone had spray painted the body with graffiti. The soft top hung in tatters, slashed in a dozen places. All of the lights were smashed out, and the glass of the windshield was crazed, as if someone had taken a tire iron to it. _Rod!_ I dropped my things and stormed back to the hotel, intent on murder. When I burst into one of the ATO party suites, the people there looked up in shock. I scanned the room with a furious glare. "Where's Rod Fortner?" I finally asked. They stared at me blankly. "The Pikes," I ground out. "How should _we_ know? And who the fuck--" "Try down the hall," one of the guys slurred. In the next suite, the Pikes looked up at the commotion when I entered. Rod himself stood in the middle of the group, his tuxedo shirt casually undone at the neck, his tie hanging loose. When he saw me, he smirked. "What's the matter?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain. "Do you need cab fare back to"--a condescending laugh--"the dorm?" I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp. I wanted to make him beg for his life. I wanted to teach him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. So I lunged at him, but another Pike got in the way. When I surged forward again, two of them tried to hold me back; I overpowered them with sheer fury. My fingertips caught the barest hold of Rod's tuxedo, but he flinched from my grasp, his face a mask of alarm. Unfortunately, six to one was _not_ good odds, especially since I was the one. When someone hit me, I lashed out wildly, but ended up fighting for my life in a chaotic melee of punches, grunts, and crashes. Finally, someone tackled me and I lurched into an end table. I went down hard and the breath whooshed from my lungs as the other guy landed on me. His friends pulled him up, but my knee collapsed when I tried to stand. I managed to rise to all fours, but-- "Wait, he's mine!" Rod kicked me in the ribs. Hard. Then he kicked me again. Despite a sudden, searing pain, I tried to rise, and he delivered a third kick to my face. I tasted blood, salty and hot, and dumbly watched it run from my mouth. I couldn't believe it was my own. I even put my hand to my lips and stared in confusion as my fingers came away red. "Don't _ever_ fuck with me!" Rod shrieked. "You miserable faggot!" I struggled to get up. He kicked me again, pain exploding in my side. "What the fuck's going on here?" a new voice asked. I recognized it, but couldn't identify its owner. Rod reared back for another kick, but someone--the new voice, Rusty!--pulled him off. It was all over but the shouting, and by the time the police showed up, Rusty's date had a towel full of ice pressed to my swelling eye. My lip and other cuts had stopped bleeding, but my clothes were covered in blood. My ears were ringing, my battered knuckles had already begun to swell, and even my _teeth_ hurt. But worst of all, fiery pain lanced through my side with every labored breath. Through a haze of pain, I told the police officers that I wanted to press charges. Unfortunately, they pointed out that _I_ had attacked the Pikes, who could press charges against _me_. "But I've talked them out of it," said the older policeman, his voice gruff and full of paternal concern. "Self-defense might be pushing it, what with the beating you took, but you _did_ start it. So you just keep your mouth shut about pressing charges. Okay? Now c'mon, kid, let's have the paramedics look at you." The paramedics wanted to take me to the hospital to X-ray my ribs, but I refused to go. I can't really explain why, but it was a point of macho pride, of which I was in short supply. So they put butterfly closures on the cut over my eye and the one on my cheek. They cleaned my split lip and gave me a proper icepack for my swollen eye. Finally, the older police officer sized me up. "I'm sorry, kid, but the hotel manager says you have to leave the premises. Where's your room? We'll go with you while you get your things." "I'm no' thaying in th' hotel," I mumbled, my swollen lip and face making my speech almost unintelligible. "Okay, then," the officer said, "we'll take you to your car." "They trash'd it," I said, pointing to the Pikes. "Tires slashed. Can't drive." "You don't say?" the officer asked, leveling an accusing glance at the Pikes. "I'm sorry, officer, but he's mistaken," Rod said unctuously. "My friends and I haven't been near his car." "See for y'rself," I slurred. Then I tried to get to my feet, but pain from my ribs made my head spin. The officer helped me up. "Okay, kid, let's go see about your car. You too," he added to the Pikes, "let's go." The smug frat guys sauntered after us, but only after a moment, as if they _deigned_ to obey the command. As I painfully limped down the hall--my knee would barely hold my weight--the younger policeman leaned close to the older one. "Ned, that's Bill Fortner's kid," he hissed, indicating Rod with a glance over his shoulder. "We can't arrest him." "If he messed up this kid's car," the older cop, Ned, said, "then I damn-well _will_ arrest him." "Bill Fortner plays golf with the Butchers"--the powerful bankers behind the World's Fair--"and he eats lunch with the mayor, for Christ's sake. He's not the kind of guy you wanna tangle with." "I know who he is, and I don't care," Ned said. "If his kid vandalized this kid's car, then he's going to jail." "Where he'll stay for about an hour," the younger cop said, "until his father's lawyer springs him. And then the chief'll be asking why you arrested Bill Fortner's kid. Ned, it's not worth it. Besides, if you arrest the Fortner kid, he'll press charges against _this_ kid," he added, pointing to me. "Assault is a much bigger deal than vandalism. _Think_ about it, Ned. Don't be crazy." The Pikes were still twenty feet behind us, out of earshot. They were laughing amongst themselves, confident that their families' money and influence would protect them. Judging by the conversation between the two cops, it wasn't an unreasonable assumption. At the elevator Ned scowled and punched the call button. He was silent for the entire trip to my Jeep. When he saw it, he surveyed the damage and whistled. "We had absolutely nothing to do with this, officer," Rod said, oily and sincere. "Check their hands, Holden," Ned said to the younger cop. "See if they got any spray paint on 'em." The Pikes' hands were all clean, of course. Rod smiled smugly and winked at me. I stiffened, but was too injured to do more. "All right," Ned said in resignation, "you gentlemen can go back to your party." "Thank you, officer," Rod said. "I'll mention your thoroughness to Chief Lewis." Ned smiled tightly, without warmth. "Can we give you a ride someplace?" he asked me. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" "The paramedics said my ribs weren't broken," I said stubbornly, wincing at the pain of speaking. "They said they didn't _think_ your ribs were broken," Ned corrected. "I'll take my chances." I tried to heft my discarded overnight bag and nearly passed out from the pain. "C'mon, kid," Ned said gently, "you're going to the hospital." I was too light-headed to argue. The ambulance had already left, so the cops put me in the back of their cruiser. "Is there someone you want us to call? Your parents? Your girlfriend?" Ned asked on the way to the hospital. "Girlfriend," I mumbled. Then, painfully, I gave him Kendall's name and number. "Payton... Payton... that name rings a bell. Is her father a cop?" he asked. "Yessir," I said. "In Chattanooga." Holden snapped his fingers as that triggered a memory. "He's that guy who drives his RV up here for all the football games. He's the one with the good-lookin' wife and daughter, you know, the ones with fantastic knockers. Um, sorry, kid," he added to me, "no offense." I tried to smile, but ended up wincing in pain instead. "_You_ know," Holden continued to his partner, "he hangs out with Leffenbach and the other homicide guys." "Oh yeah, I know him," Ned said. Over his shoulder: "You're dating his daughter? Why didn't you say so?" "It hurts to talk," I said, smiling feebly. Ned and Holden thought that was hilariously funny. _I_ didn't think it was so funny, but I was in too much pain to voice my opinion. At the emergency room, they ushered me straight into one of the examination areas. With two cops for an escort, I got prompt attention. Later, when I returned from getting my chest X-rayed, Kendall was waiting for me. She looked like she wanted to hug me, but the policemen must have warned her about my injuries. I could tell by her expression that I looked like I'd been hit by a bus. "Three fractured ribs," the doctor was saying to her, "multiple contusions, and multiple facial lacerations. He doesn't have a concussion, but we'd like to keep him overnight for observation." I shook my head as hard as I dared. The doctor saw, but ignored me. "We'll give him something for the pain"--the nurse swabbed my right buttock and I felt a quick sting--"and bandage his ribs. Luckily, the facial lacerations won't need stitches." He turned to me. "You really should stay in the hospital tonight." "I want to go _home_," I said obstinately, irrationally. "All right," he said with a note of disapproval. Then he turned to Kendall. "We've given him a shot of Demerol, but you need to give him one of these pills every four hours. And encourage him to cough, even though it hurts. We don't want fluid to pool in his lungs, which could cause pneumonia. Keep ice on his eye to keep the swelling down. He's going to have one heck of a shiner, but he shouldn't have any major scarring from the lacerations...." Kendall was paying attention to him, so I lay back and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts dark and seething. ----- In the end, I didn't go home after all: I spent the remainder of the weekend at Kendall's apartment, in bed. She slept on a pallet on the floor beside me, when she slept at all. She contacted her father's friends at the police department and had my Jeep towed to a body shop. She also called Earl Walker to cancel my flying lesson, and Coach Travis to tell him that I couldn't wrestle. She insisted on calling my parents, although I persuaded her to tell them I'd suffered a bump on the head in a minor car accident. When I talked to Mom, she said she wanted to fly up immediately, but I convinced her not to. The effort to sound nonchalant left me digging my fingernails into my palms to suppress the pain, and by the time I hung up, I was drenched in sweat. Kendall even called Gina, who'd heard about the fight, of course. Unfortunately, she'd heard that I was in intensive care (_How do rumors get so blown out of proportion?!_). She'd been calling area hospitals all day, looking for me. When she learned that I was at Kendall's apartment, she rushed over I had told Kendall a sketchy, edited version of events, and she obviously blamed Gina for what had happened. Gina seemed more worried about me than anything else, and in deference to my condition, the two girls were civil to each other. Gina also came to sit by my bed for most of Sunday, but the pain pills kept me knocked out, so I only have vague memories of her being there. Not surprisingly, I didn't go to class on Monday. Kendall wrote notes to each of my professors, giving them the car accident excuse. She told Siobhan that I wouldn't be able to model for at least a week, and Siobhan said to return when I was ready. While Kendall was in class, her roommates checked on me throughout the day. They clucked over me like mother hens, but I mostly slept. Trip and Abby had a quiet dinner with us, and even T.J. and Glen stopped by. When they arrived, I managed to prop myself up on the couch in the living room. I tried to act normal, but with a black eye, split lip, and other cuts and bruises, I looked like I'd gone a couple of rounds with Muhammad Ali. To my surprise, T.J. scoffed at my car accident story. "Bullshit, Loverboy," he said. "You took a beating. I took enough of 'em myself, and I know one when I see it. Who did it, those Pikes? Do you want us to kick their asses?" For once, Glen didn't try to restrain him. "Those bastards," T.J. fumed. "They think they can get away with anything! I'll show them...." Fortunately, I managed to talk T.J. out of doing anything to the Pikes. I definitely _wanted_ to get revenge, but I reluctantly admitted that it would only cause further problems. So I decided to let Rod have his victory. It was surprisingly easy to do, especially since the night was so fresh in my mind. But I didn't exactly relish the thought of another fight (and that's what it would be, a no-holds-barred fight to the last man standing). Maybe it was my fractured ribs. Maybe it was my black eye. Maybe it was my other cuts and bruises. Maybe I told myself I was an _adult_, and should act like it, regardless of what Rod did. Glen didn't say anything, but I could tell that he approved. I don't know why, but that meant almost as much as T.J.'s fearless willingness to take on the Pikes in the first place. After they left, Kendall put me to bed. Unfortunately, I lay awake for a long time. I'd found a comfortable position, where the pain of my injuries didn't intrude upon my thoughts. So I mentally replayed the entire Night at the Hilton (it had capital letters in my mind). I felt a mixture of guilt and anger about the whole night, and I was especially ashamed of what I'd done to Regan. Sex wasn't a weapon, but I had used it that way. I wanted to blame the alcohol, but I couldn't. I wanted to blame Gina, or even Regan herself, but I couldn't. I was too honest with myself to blame anyone _but_ myself. I had basically raped Regan, no matter how much I wanted to rationalize it otherwise. At the time, I'd been certain that she would _want_ to have sex with me. Worse, when she tried to get away, I held her, I _forced_ her. How was I any better than Rod? I wasn't, and I knew it. With one dark, angry decision, I had sunk to his level. I didn't like the feeling, and I made a silent promise to myself to never act like him again. When my thoughts dwelled on Rod, though, I began to seethe with fury. My one regret--aside from taking the beating of my life-- was that I'd only been able to splash blood on his fancy tuxedo. Unfortunately, it was _my_ blood. I hadn't even scuffed his shoes, even when he kicked me while I was down. _There ain't no justice._ After condemning myself for what I'd done to Regan--and deriding myself for not landing a punch on Rod--my thoughts turned to Gina. Where to begin? I'd like to say that I was surprised by her cocaine use, but too many clues started adding up. Everything pointed to coke, and I cursed myself for not seeing it sooner. In part, I blamed it on my inexperience with drugs in general. Sure, I _knew_ about cocaine, in the abstract, but until I met Felicia, I hadn't had any _practical_ experience with it. In high school, Gina and I had avoided anything harder than alcohol, so I didn't automatically think of drugs whenever she did something unusual. I also blamed myself. I hadn't paid as much attention to Gina as I should have. Worse, I had overlooked many of the signs, through ignorance, preoccupation, or sheer stupidity. In her own way, she had asked for help, but I hadn't given it. I'd been too wrapped up in my own life and my own problems, and I hadn't seen what was right in front of me the whole time. I had to blame Gina as well, though. She'd obviously been lying to me all along. She used euphemisms like "freshen her makeup," or "powder her nose." I laughed at the double meaning of the last phrase--a double meaning I hadn't understood until it slapped me in the face. "Fresh-cut flowers" explained her sniffles. A head cold explained her morning-after stuffiness. Lies, lies, and more lies. In the end, though, I blamed Regan and Rod most of all. I was positive that Regan had given Gina the cocaine, and Rod was her ultimate source. For a moment, I thought about calling the police and reporting him for dealing drugs, but I was cynically convinced that his family's money and connections would keep him out of jail. (As it turned out, I was right. A month after my one-sided fight with the Pikes, Rod was pulled over for speeding. The officer noticed him casting furtive glances at the back of his Porsche. His suspicions aroused, the cop searched the car and discovered nearly two kilos of cocaine. Rod was promptly arrested. Evidence also surfaced that he was one of the main coke suppliers for the Greeks. His high-priced lawyer eventually got all of the charges dropped for "lack of evidence," which was a farce. Shortly after, Rod moved to Miami--fled like a craven cur, more like it--to finish college. I'd like to say that he came to grief due to his drug dealing, or due to his silver-spoon, self-entitled personality, but he actually became a successful investment banker, and lives in Bermuda. There ain't no justice, huh? He is married to wife number _five_, but I digress....) I thought back through the previous months, analyzing every little detail of my life with Gina. The first time I was sure she had used cocaine was the trip to the sex shop, with Regan. Another was Regan's birthday party at Rod's house. Several other times quickly leapt to mind, once I started putting clues together. Finally, I thought about how I had broken up with her. She deserved better, and the thought of living without her left a knot in my stomach. But I decided to get back together with her only if she quit doing cocaine. And if she quit the sorority, of course. The cocaine was merely a symptom of the problem; Regan and Rod--and people like them--were the problem itself. For my own part, I'd have to deal with my guilt about Felicia, but I also felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. In my mind, I equated Felicia with Rod, and since Gina and I had both strayed, neither of us had the moral high ground. Despite her denials, I was convinced that she _had_ fucked Rod in Vermont. I knew how horny she got when she was on cocaine--from unwitting personal experience--and I couldn't imagine her restraining herself. So if I could forgive her for Rod, she could forgive me for Felicia. I also vowed to get Kendall and Gina back together. If I wanted my three-way relationship to work, _I_ needed to do something about it. Kendall seemed more inflexible than Gina, but her stubbornness was subtler and harder to counter. Regardless, I knew I'd have to deal with it after I got back together with Gina. I didn't know how the details would work out, but I had a general plan. And with that in mind, I eventually drifted off asleep. ----- Reality intruded upon my plans a couple of days later. I had healed to the point where I could get around on my own, although my ribs still hurt any time I exerted myself. After a bit of convincing, Kendall let me move back to my dorm room. My suitemates and friends from across the hall held an impromptu homecoming party when I returned. It wasn't much--a Twinkie with a wooden match instead of a candle--but I definitely appreciated it. Later, I called Gina. She asked how I was doing, and apologized for not spending more time with me. She seemed a bit distant, though. "I just got the feeling that Kendall didn't want me at her apartment," she said. "And besides, after the other night...." "Yeah," I said heavily, "that's something we need to talk about. We also need to talk about our relationship." Silence. "Hello?" "I heard you," she said coolly. "Well?" "I thought I... I mean, I thought _we_... but... I mean, you said...." She fell silent with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess it's not going to be as simple as I hoped." "Right. So we need to talk," I said. "Um... do you mind coming over here?" "Okay. I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour." "Half an hour? Why so long?" "I need to call Regan and--" "Regan?" I said, my voice hard. "What's _she_ got to do with this?" "I need to call and tell her I won't be able to study with her tonight," Gina replied frostily. ----- When I ushered Gina into my room, Billy gathered his things. "Hi, Gina," he said. To me: "I'm going to the theater to work on the set. And I'll probably spend the night with Jamie. Is there anything you need before I go?" "I'm cool, Billy. Thanks." He smiled and then nodded farewell to Gina. I gingerly sat on the bed and gestured to the spot next to me in invitation. After a moment's reluctance, Gina abruptly sat. I apologized for how I'd acted at the hotel. I explained that I'd been drunk, angry, and shocked by the cocaine. I also apologized for what I'd done to Regan. I didn't come right out and use the word "rape" (I was too scared to admit it to anyone but myself), but I didn't offer an excuse for my actions--I had none. Then I told Gina how much I loved her, and how I wanted our relationship to work. I'd gone over the speech in my head a dozen times, and I wanted to strike the right balance between self- reproach and optimism. "But you're going to have to do your part if we want this relationship to work," I said at last. "In the first place, you shouldn't be _doing_ cocaine. You know better than that. And you shouldn't be hanging around with people who do it, either. I'm sorry, but if you want to get back together, you're going to have to quit doing cocaine. And that means you need to quit hanging around with Regan. You might even have to quit the sorority too." I finished with a well-rehearsed note of confidence: "I love you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get us back together and get you off drugs." She snorted softly in contempt. "Well, I'm glad you're willing to _let_ me make all those sacrifices," she murmured. "I know it won't be easy," I said, a little confused, "but we can do it. Together." "No," she said, with flat finality. Then she looked at me, her dark eyes sad. "You just don't get it, do you?" I felt my brow crease. "I said we could get back together if--" "I _know_ what you said, Paul. I'm not deaf. And I'm not stupid, either." She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands along her jeans, as if to calm herself. "You don't understand. I don't _want_ to get back together." Then she stood defiantly and moved a few feet away. "And who do you think you are, talking like _you're_ taking _me_ back? I asked _you_ to leave, Paul, not the other way around." "I know," I said, blissfully ignorant. In retrospect, I wasn't even listening to her; I still had my speech swirling in my head, including her imagined responses. "But you didn't mean it like that. I know, I know, I told you that if I walked out, I was never coming back, and I'm sorry I said that. Neither of us meant the things we said. So now--" To herself: "I should've listened to Regan." She met my eyes. "I thought we could be adults about this. I thought we could just leave things as we'd ended them: I asked you to leave and you said you were never coming back. Why can't it be that simple?" "That simple...?" "How self-centered can you be? You don't get it, do you?" "Get what?" "Paul," she said softly, "we shouldn't see each other anymore. I thought I was clear, but...." She looked up gravely and held my eyes. "I'm breaking up with you." I whooshed, as if a baseball bat had hit me in the gut. "I'm sorry." "But... but... but I love you," I said, as if that answered everything. "And I love you too. But right now, I don't _like_ you very much." "What do you mean?" "I mean that I can't keep living like this. I can't keep waiting for _you_ to fix things. Not when I know that you're _never_ going to do anything. And you said you'll never break up with Kendall, so what am I supposed to do, Paul? Am I supposed to sit by the phone, waiting for your call, hoping that you'll decide to spend some time with _me_, instead of Kendall?" She shook her head. "I'm not some Stepford Wife." I blinked. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. But I can't be with you. I can't keep waiting--day after day, week after week--hoping that you'll _do something!_ You can't just keep me on a shelf and take me down when you want to play with me. I'm not some toy." "Toy? What're you talking--" "And you want _me_ to give up Regan and the sorority?" she asked, warming to her invective. Sarcastically: "How noble of you. So, what're _you_ willing to give up to save this relationship? Huh? Wrestling? Flying? Kendall?" "What's she got to do with this? We got along fine before you--" "Ha! How can you be so blind? We got along fine when she wasn't around all the time. Now that she is, she's sucked you in-- _manipulated_ you--and you somehow think _I_ need to make all the changes in this relationship? Fat chance, buster!" I stood up too fast, and my head swam. Gina didn't relent. "I've been nothing more than a convenient sex toy for you since we came to this stinking little city. And I came here because of _you_, Paul. But you chose Tennessee because of Kendall. Did you ever think about what _I_ wanted? Huh? Ever?! No! You just thought about what _you_ wanted. You've been taking me for granted since we came here, and I'm sick of it! "You haven't done a _thing_ to fix our relationship," she continued, fulminating. "Not a thing! I tried to be patient. I tried to fix things. I tried to extend an olive branch to Kendall. But for what? For you to tell me that you'll _allow_ me to give up my friends and quit the sorority? For you to tell me that you'll take _me_ back, when I broke up with you in the first place? "One of us has to have the balls in this relationship, Paul," she said. "I thought it would be you. I _hoped_ it would be you. I desperately gave you every chance--with Regan telling me the entire time that you were just taking advantage of me--and what did you do? _Nothing!_" she half-shrieked. "So now, I finally work up the courage to break up with you, and you tell me--you _deign_ to tell me--that _you'll_ take _me_ back?! Screw you, Paul. Screw you _and_ your sanctimonious offer. I hope Kendall's happy with you. You two deserve each other. Goodbye!" With that, she stormed out. I stared at the closing door and seethed. I wanted to chase after her, to answer to her tirade, but I couldn't. I could barely move faster than a steady walk, and only then at the cost of shooting pain in my side. She would be long gone by the time I made it to the elevators. As I repeated her words in my head, I sat down in a daze. "What the fuck just happened?" I wondered aloud. ----- At first, I couldn't believe that Gina had broken up with me. I stayed up most of the night, going through the conversation in my head, listening to her final words. I kept coming to the conclusion that I'd heard her wrong, that I'd simply misunderstood. The next morning, I stumbled through breakfast, with Kendall fussing over me and Trip trying to draw me into conversation. Even Professor Joska couldn't get a rise out of me when he publicly lambasted me for sloppy work on my Sunsphere sketches. Christy finally got through to me, while we fixed snacks in her room after lunch. She put her hand on my arm and turned me to face her. "Paul, what's the matter?" "I guess I'm still upset about my Jeep," I lied. "I think they're going to total it." It was an evasion, but true enough, since the cost of repairs was more than the Jeep was worth. For a long moment, Christy gazed at me impassively, her blue eyes searching. "Do you trust me?" she asked all of a sudden. "Huh?" She enunciated clearly: "Do you trust me?" "What's that have to do with the Jeep?" I asked. "Nothing," she said irritably. "Just like your black eye has nothing to do with the Jeep. And your fractured ribs have nothing to do with it. Your split lip has nothing to do with it, and your cuts and bruises have nothing to do with it. _None_ of this has anything to do with the Jeep. That's not even what you're upset about. Oh, sure, you're probably upset about the Jeep, for real, but that's not what I'm talking about. What I want to know is, do you trust me?" "Yeah, I guess." "Then quit lying to me," she said simply. "I'm not a child, and I'm not going to run away if I hear some bad news. I'm an adult, and I'm your _friend_. If you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth, then at least don't lie to me. Or learn to lie _better_, although that's hardly good advice." I blinked at her. "Okay," she continued, "you've seen my nervous and blunt side... this is my frustrated and blunt side. I'm frustrated that I obviously care about you, but you won't let me help. I'm frustrated that you treat me like a child--instead of your friend--and you tell me silly stories about car wrecks when you've obviously been in a fight. I grew up with five older brothers, Paul," she said heatedly. "I know what the results of a fistfight look like." She balled her fists but held them rigidly by her side. "And finally," she said, "I'm frustrated that you obviously had a fight with Gina, and now you're sulking about it, but you haven't mentioned a word about what happened. Trust isn't a thing for half-measures, Paul. You either trust me, or you don't. So," she finished with a challenging glare, "would you like to start this conversation over again?" I looked at her for a long, uncertain moment, trying to gauge her sincerity. She returned my look with remarkable sangfroid. After another moment, the enormity of my situation hit me. I couldn't imagine living without Gina. My bluster collapsed and I hung my head, my shoulders sagging. Christy gasped softly and stepped close. I lifted my head and gazed at her, my eyes stinging. "What happened?" she finally asked, her hands clasped before her. "Do you mind if I sit down? This is probably gonna be a long story, and my knee still hurts." At that, I laughed bitterly. "My side still hurts, and my face still hurts. But mostly, my heart hurts." She wiped unshed tears from her eyes and nodded. Then she sat beside me. In fits and starts, I told her about the Night at the Hilton. She was a good listener, and didn't interrupt. I mostly stared at the floor, my eyes glassy as I recounted events. I didn't elaborate about Regan; instead, I simply told her that I wasn't proud of what I'd done. When I told her about my fight with the Pikes, she gasped and held her hand to her mouth. Finally, I told her about my talk with Gina. "So I think she might be serious about breaking up with me," I finished. "I still can't believe it, but...." I swallowed hard and blinked several times to clear my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Paul," Christy said. The next thing I knew, she was hugging me, her head on my chest as she gingerly circled me with her arms. I automatically wrapped my arm around her and stared straight ahead, lost in self-pity. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "I... I don't know. I'm still not sure what she meant. I mean, did she _really_ mean it? We've been together since we were fifteen; she can't just walk away from three years, not in the blink of an eye. She just can't!" My disbelief turned to frustration. And anger. "I can't believe she'd do that. I mean... _three years!_ And she's willing to throw it all away for some dumb sorority!" Christy sat up and gazed at me. "Paul, it's not dumb to her," she said reasonably. "You told me she doesn't spend much time with you, and none at all with Kendall. All of her friends are in the sorority. Besides, you've got Kendall too. Gina sees that. You said she's very smart. Do you think she doesn't see a widening gulf between you because of Kendall?" "No, but that doesn't mean she needs to break up with me." "You said yourself that you haven't done anything to fix things. She's got a right to be upset, Paul. It may not make sense to you, but think about things from her perspective." "How am I supposed to do that when I never talk to her?" I asked sullenly. "Exactly," Christy said, the word full of irony. "But that doesn't mean she should just break up with me! I'm sure I'm wrong... she didn't break up with me. I must've gotten something mixed up." "It doesn't sound like it." "But how do you know?" "I've broken up with guys before, Paul," she said gently. "That's pretty much what it sounds like." I snarled. "This is all Regan's fault." Christy blinked. Then she turned me bodily. "Paul, it's _not_ Regan's fault." It was my turn to blink at her. "_You_ were in this relationship, not Regan," she said, shooting to her feet. "It's not Regan's fault any more than it's _my_ fault. Regan might've been the cause of some of the problems, but if you had a better relationship with Gina, then she wouldn't have _needed_ Regan's friendship. So this is as much your fault as it is Gina's. And Kendall's," she added heavily. "I like Kendall," she continued, "but she's partly to blame. So don't try to pin this on Regan, or the sorority, or anyone else. This is _your_ responsibility. Yours and Gina's and Kendall's. And if you don't see that, then you're not the man I thought you were. And you're definitely not a man I'd like to call my friend." For the second time in a week, I felt like someone had hit me in the gut with a baseball bat. "Now, quit whining about whose fault it is," she said, "or what you should've done differently. It's time for you to _do_ something. That 'something' is up to you, but you're not going to accomplish anything by brooding. And another thing--" I looked up at her, ready for the next blow to my ego. "--talk to Trip. He's got a remarkable head on his shoulders, and he's a lot more mature than most guys I know... including _you_. He's your best friend, and he obviously cares about you as much as I do. I bet he'd even have some good advice for you. If you asked him, that is... instead of sulking like a wounded animal, too hurt to let anyone help you." She visibly composed herself, but her eyes still held the fire of conviction. "I'm sorry, Paul," she said, "I probably could've said that better, but.... I'm tired of seeing you wallow in self- pity, or blaming everyone but yourself." After a moment she threw herself into her chair and laughed, a little helplessly. "My mother's right: I _shouldn't_ talk to people when I'm emotional." "That's okay," I said, the first words I'd spoken in several minutes. "I probably needed to hear that." "Not like _that_ you didn't," she said, picking at an invisible piece of lint on her jeans. "Maybe I did," I said. "I mean, I certainly don't talk to myself like that, and maybe that's the problem." It was my turn to laugh helplessly. "Other people do"--I thought of Susan, and Trip--"but I don't listen very often." "Regardless," Christy said, "I'm sorry I said that the way I did. I didn't mean to be rude." "You weren't rude. You said what you were thinking. And just because I don't want to hear it doesn't mean it's not true." She nodded. Then she dithered with her invisible lint. "Thanks," I said at last. "For what?" she asked, half-apologetically. "For telling me the truth." "You're welcome." "And... for being my friend." "I can't help it," she said with a half-laugh, her eyes bright with tears of shared emotion. ----- The insurance company _did_ total my Jeep, and the money they offered was a joke. A _bad_ joke, at that--less than seven hundred dollars--and I couldn't afford to buy a motor scooter, much less another Jeep. Worse, the insurance adjuster listed the cause of damage as "Vandalism," which didn't jibe with my accident story. Rather than wait for my parents to find out and begin asking awkward questions, I called them. "Have they arrested the guys who vandalized your car?" Dad asked. "Um... not exactly," I said. "The police didn't find any spray paint on their hands, and there weren't any witnesses, so..." "I see," he said heavily. "So instead of calling the police in the first place, you went looking for a fight." "Yes, sir," I said. (I didn't usually call my father "sir," but at the moment it seemed appropriate, not to mention properly contrite.) "That wasn't the brightest thing you've ever done, son." "No, it wasn't," Mom added. "But are you okay?" "I'm fine," I said. "Well, I'm _healing_. The doctor doesn't think I'll have any scars, and my eye isn't black and blue anymore. It's a sickly shade of yellow and purple, but I guess that's better than what it was before." "Do you want us to fly up?" Mom asked. Before I could reply, Dad answered: "No. He needs to deal with this on his own, Beth. He doesn't need us running to his rescue." "All right," Mom said, clearly unconvinced. "Trust me," Dad said. "Right, son?" "Yes, sir. I'm fine. The girls...." I swallowed hard. "Um... the girls are taking good care of me, and I've talked to the insurance adjuster about the Jeep. They're going to mail the check to the house, so if you'll just hold it for me, I'll...." "You'll?" Mom prompted when I didn't continue. "Or," I said tentatively, "you could use the check to repay the money I owe you from Christmas." "No," my dad said immediately. "Why not?" I asked. "I won't have _much_ left over, but still...." "No," he repeated. "But thank you for making the offer. You need to set aside the insurance money to buy a new car." "But I owe you--" "Paul," he interrupted, "we want you to pay us the four hundred from your summer job." "Why?" I asked, a little confused. "Because you need to _work_ for the money you use to repay us. This money from the Jeep was never really yours. We bought the Jeep as a reward, because of your good grades. So if you repay us with money from the insurance company, it won't make a difference to you. It's not money you had to _sweat_ for. Money takes on a whole new value when you earn it yourself. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir." "So keep the money from the insurance company. And we'll talk later about helping you buy a new car." "Thanks, Dad," I said. "You too, Mom. I'm sorry about the Jeep, and I'm sorry I got into a fight with the Pikes. _Trust me_," I said, unconsciously probing my ribs, "I'm really sorry about that." "We know you are, son," my dad said. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled. "Sometimes you have to learn lessons the hard way." "No fucking kidding," I said sourly. When I realized what I'd said, my eyes flew wide. "No fucking kidding," my dad echoed with a genuine laugh. "You two," Mom chided, although I could hear the smile in her voice. "Is there anything you need, honey?" she asked after a moment. "Are you sure you don't want me to fly up?" "Beth," my father said in gentle reproach. "He might like to see me, David. After all, I _am_ his mother." "He doesn't need his mommy coming to rescue him." "All right," she finally admitted. "I'm fine, Mom," I said. "Kendall's taking good care of me. I'll be okay." "Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm sure. I love you." "We love you too, honey." "Bye." ----- I took Christy's advice and talked to Trip. I told him a bit about the Night at the Hilton, and about my last conversation with Gina. He nodded sagely throughout, never interrupting. I still felt as if I were admitting my shortcomings by asking for advice, but Christy's words--the _truth_, I silently admitted-- echoed in my mind. "So," I asked at last, "what would you do?" "What would I do?" he asked rhetorically. "Well, first, I'd suppress the urge to say 'I told you so.' But since I've been trying to get you to _do_ something for months, I'm going to be childish and say it anyway." I waited. "I _told_ you so!" A moment later, he continued: "Okay, now that that's out of the way, let's see if we can fix things." "Do you really think I can fix things?" I asked, hope lighting my expression. He laughed. "No way. But you're going to try, no matter what. Hell, _I_ did, when Lori broke up with me. So I guess I can't blame you for doing the same thing. And don't feel bad. I made a royal mess of my relationship with Lori, but it took me a long time to figure it out. I'm sure it'll take you a long time too." "I thought you were going to help," I said, a bit resentfully. "What do you think I'm doing now? I'm telling you what's gonna happen, and that I'll be here to help put the pieces back together when you figure it out for yourself." "Some help _that_ is," I muttered. He laughed again, genuine and affable. "I know what you mean. But _you_, my proud, stubborn friend, are going to have to learn this lesson for yourself." Another laugh, this time more of a chuckle. "My grandfather used to say 'don't try to teach a pig to sing; you'll waste your time and annoy the pig.'" I felt a growing sense of dismay. "Are you saying I'm a pig?" He clapped his arm around my shoulder. "Yep. But at the end of the day, us pigs have to stick together. So call Gina. I may be wrong--I _hope_ I am--but I doubt it." "I think you're wrong," I said. Surprisingly, he laughed. "What?" "I thought the same thing when Lori broke up with me." "This isn't the same at all," I said defensively. He merely arched an eyebrow. "It's _not_." ----- "May I please speak to Gina?" I said when Faith answered the phone. "I don't think she wants to talk to you," she said. "Would you just ask her, Faith? Please?" "Okay," she said dubiously. To my surprise, Gina came to the phone. "Hello," she said, her tone guarded. "Hi. Um... it's date night," I said, only half joking. "Where do you want to go for dinner?" "That's probably not a good idea," she said, a catch in her voice. "Not right now, at least." My face fell. "Oh. Okay. Then can we get together somewhere and talk?" "I don't know if that's such a good idea, either, Paul." "Gina... _please?_" After a moment, she agreed. We met in the Presidential courtyard. The night was crisp and cold, and our breath steamed the air before us. "What's _she_ doing here?" I asked, looking over her shoulder to Regan, who stood a discreet distance away. "I asked her to come," Gina said. "Why?" "Because I don't trust myself with you. I need to live my life without you--or _start_ to, at least--and I love you too much to simply let you go. So I asked Regan to come with me, in case I don't have the willpower to... to say no to you." "You don't have to say no," I said. "I can change. I'll spend more time with you. I'll make time for you. I'll do anything you want." She shook her head. "We can't, Paul. We've already tried that. And I can't keep hoping you'll take care of things. I've got to live my life for _me_. Besides, you've got Kendall, and--" "I'll break up with her, if that's what you want," I said impulsively, although I immediately regretted it. She looked up in surprise, but quickly shook her head. "That wouldn't be fair to Kendall. Besides, I know you love her. I wouldn't ask you to do that to her. I used to love her too... once. I guess there's still some part of me that does, as crazy as that sounds. And I can't hurt her just to try and save our relationship. We're past that point, I think. So no, Paul, don't break up with Kendall. That would just make things worse." "I'll break up with her if we get back together. I swear I will." She shook her head, firmly. "Paul, we can't get back together. Don't you see that? We've crossed the Rubicon. _Alea iacta est_." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means 'the die is cast'; we can't go back to the way things were." "But we _can_ go back," I urged. "We can always go back. I'll do whatever you want. _Anything_. Please! Just don't break up with me." For the first time, I noticed her hands. "Where's your ring?" She looked at the finger where she should've worn her silver P-G- K ring. "I didn't see the point in wearing it," she said softly, sadly. "I mean, I haven't seen the point for the past couple of months, but taking it off would've been... symbolic. But now? What's the point? We haven't been P, G, and K for a long time. We've been P and G, and P and K." "What've you done with it?" I asked, my tone a mixture of distress and regret. "It's here," she said, fishing a silver chain from the neck of her blouse. The ring dangled from the chain. She turned wistful. "P-G-K was a special time in my life. I don't want to forget that. But as a symbol for our current relationship?" She scoffed softly. "It's a bit ludicrous, don't you think?" "It's _not_ ludicrous, Gina." She sighed. "Yes, Paul, it is. And I'm sorry. I love you, but... I can't be with you. I hope you understand that. And I hope you'll forgive me... someday." With that, she lingered a moment, but then turned and walked away. Regan joined her and they headed toward South Carrick together. I stood in the cold for a long, long time. ----- I spent the next weeks in a daze. I went to class. I did my homework. I lived my life. But I didn't enjoy it. My injuries were healing--a follow-up doctor's appointment showed that my ribs were knitting nicely--but I still couldn't do any strenuous physical activity. Since my Jeep had been totaled, I couldn't get to the airport for my flying lessons. Trip solved that problem by buying a 1970 Chevy Impala. He said he bought it so he and Abby could go on dates without having to use her parents' car, but I'm positive that my situation had a lot to do with his timing. Whatever the reason, he got up early every Saturday morning and took me to the airport. Without my extracurricular activities, I had a lot of free time on my hands. I found solace in my classes. Joska's midterm was a terror, but I earned one of only three As in the class. In American Literature, I turned in a paper on Lost Generation authors and earned an A+. I aced my Calculus midterm, and was doing well in my other classes. I knew I'd make the Dean's List, but I was empty inside. Gina had been such a part of my life for so long that I simply couldn't let her go that easily. I called her every day, sometimes twice a day. She refused to take my calls, and finally had Faith tell me not to call anymore. I didn't stop. Eventually, Gina came to the phone, but our conversation was awkward and depressing. After that, she took my calls about half of the time, but she never called in return. I thought if I showed her how much I loved her then she'd take me back. When that didn't work, I told myself that I was doing it for her benefit, since I didn't want her to destroy her life with cocaine. Then I convinced myself that I needed to save her from the sorority, and a fate worse than Kendall and Big Mistake Guy. It was all bullshit. Pure, self-centered bullshit. I eventually came to a stark realization during all those imagined conversations when Gina wouldn't take my calls: I wanted to win her back to absolve myself of the guilt I felt at losing her--_failing_ her--in the first place. And even though I knew what I was doing, I continued to call her. Finally, _Regan_ called me. "Meet me in the courtyard," was all she said. Outside, the weather was cold, but the sky was clear and cloudless; it was a beautiful winter day. It fit Regan's Nordic features perfectly, right down to how her eyes matched the cerulean sky. She walked up to me and stood with her hands in the pockets of her long fur-trimmed cashmere coat. "Leave Gina alone," she said bluntly. "You're just making things worse." I looked at her, my eyes full of suspicion and my own misery. Her expression softened. "If you love Gina--if you _loved_ her-- then you need to quit calling her. She cries every time you do. Did you know that? Do you care?" "Of course I care!" "Then quit calling! She's not going to get back together with you, and you're only making things worse by calling her all the time." She straightened her shoulders imperiously, but then she sighed and shrugged. "You're only making things worse for both of you. I mean, _look_ at yourself. You look like crap: you haven't shaved in days, your cheeks are hollow, and your sweater's inside-out. "Look, I know we've had our differences," she continued, "but we both care about Gina. And you can't keep torturing her like this. You can't keep torturing yourself like this either. It's not healthy. Let her get on with her life. She still loves you--I can't change that, Lord knows I've tried--but she can't get back together with you. Don't you see that?" "Yeah, well, what would _you_ know about it?" "Don't be a jerk, Paul," she snapped. "I'm trying to help you here. I'm trying to help your friend. _My_ friend, too. If you love Gina, let her go. Besides, you've also got Kendall to think about. I don't know how you made that weird love triangle work, but Gina says you really love Kendall. So don't get hung up on Gina and lose Kendall in the process." "Yeah, and you really cared about what happened to Kendall before!" Her expression hardened. "I didn't have anything to do with that. That was Hayley. And... look, I'm sorry I said anything about it. Gina made me promise, but I was angry with you, especially after what you did. Anyway, I'm sorry about what happened to Kendall. Hayley does things sometimes... _mean_ things. And that time, she went too far. I don't know if it'll make Kendall feel any better, but they almost kicked Hayley out of the sorority for what happened." "But they _didn't_ kick her out." "No, but that's really none of your business. It was _sorority_ business, and we took care of it. _They_ did, I should say, since I didn't have anything to do with it. And the fact that I feel bad about it won't change what happened. But if you really love Kendall, you can't keep pining away for Gina. I don't know Kendall, but I know how _I'd_ feel if my boyfriend was hung up on another girl." I set my jaw and willed myself not to agree with her (without much success, unfortunately). "Look, I know you love Gina. She loves you too... still. But she's got to learn to live without you, and you need to do the same." I didn't want to give in so easily, so I fought back the only way I knew how. "Why? So you can have her all to yourself?" "Paul," she said with sad weariness, "I've had her all to myself since I first met her. And whose fault is that? She tried to spend time with you, but you were always busy with Kendall." "She could've spent time with us. But she didn't. I guess that's because you got her hooked on drugs." "That doesn't have anything to do with this," Regan said calmly. "And she's not 'hooked' on anything." "Oh yeah?" "What would you know about it?" she asked, with more than a touch of derision. "I know it's illegal." She rolled her eyes. "So was alcohol, at one time. Besides, alcoholism destroys more lives than coke ever will." "And that makes it better?" "You tell me, you're the expert." I clenched my jaw, but didn't reply. "Besides, it's just a party drug." "It's still illegal," I said stubbornly. "And it's not what we came here to talk about. We came here to talk about Gina." She paused to let her words sink in. "If you love her, you can't keep calling her all the time. You've got to let her go." I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. I didn't _want_ to agree with Regan, but she was right. Deep in my heart I knew that my relationship with Gina was over. But knowledge and admission are two very different things, and I was reluctant to face the truth. "Look, I'm sorry about everything that's happened," Regan said, almost gently. "I'm sorry about what Rod did to your Jeep... and then to you. If it makes you feel any better, I broke up with him because of that. But I can't change what happened. And I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and Gina. I don't know what she saw in you, but she must've seen something, or she wouldn't've held on so long. So don't spoil what you had by making her miserable." Reluctantly, I nodded. Regan seemed to sag, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Thank you," she said softly. Before she turned to go, I stopped her. "I... I'm sorry," I said. "Just move on with your life, and let Gina move on with hers." "That's not what I meant. It'll take me a long time to get over Gina, and one conversation with you isn't going to make it happen any faster." She looked at me warily. "What I meant was, I'm sorry about what I did... to _you_... at the hotel." Her eyes narrowed. "I shouldn't've done what I did. I know it was wrong, and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I'll understand if you don't... but I wanted you to know how sorry I am." She clenched her jaw and nodded. Then she blinked her eyes several times and swallowed hard. Finally, she nodded again, jerkily. I watched her as she walked away, tall and poised and coldly elegant. I didn't want to like her--I probably never would--but I was glad she was Gina's friend. ----- I thought about calling Susan, but decided against it. I even thought about calling Mom, but decided against that, too. I wanted to deal with my own problems without running to either of them for help. I guess I wanted to act like an adult for a change. I spent a lot of time with Kendall, but I didn't talk to her about how I felt, either. A mixture of anger and guilt kept me from confiding in her. It hurt her feelings, but she could read my moods well enough to know not to press the issue. I was angry that she had deliberately manipulated the situation to her advantage. As I looked back, I realized how she'd dug in her heels when Gina tried to talk to her. Or worse, how she'd actively sabotaged Gina, as she'd done after the intramural football game with the Pikes. I wasn't trying to shift the blame--my own guilt was far, far greater--but I finally admitted to myself that Kendall had her own plans for our future together, and Gina wasn't part of them. In a way, I couldn't blame her. Susan had once told me that a person can only have a committed relationship with _one_ other person. Maybe Kendall was trying to get me to realize that, but I doubted it. Instead, I think pure selfishness played a major role in her actions. I also felt guilty, especially for my offer to break up with her if Gina would take me back. It was gutless, rash, and self- serving, and I knew it. I was actually glad Gina hadn't accepted. I loved Kendall (even though I wasn't happy with her at the moment), and I never would have forgiven myself if I'd broken up with her simply to tilt at the windmill of my relationship with Gina. So, for various reasons, I didn't want to share my inner thoughts with Susan, Mom, or Kendall. Instead, I talked with someone else. _Two_ someones, actually. Not surprisingly, Trip was the first, since we already spent a lot of time together. Not only did he take me to my flying lessons, but he flew with me on my cross-country trips. We also worked on our architecture projects together, of course, and I gave him tips to improve his drawings. I even helped him with his wrestling, albeit from the sidelines. And I told him the _whole_ story about the Night at the Hilton. He was surprised and a little amused by Leslie and the strap-on, but shocked about what I'd done to Regan. He realized that my own remorse was far greater than anything he could've inspired, so he didn't lecture me. In addition, he truly understood what I was going through with Gina. More and more, I came to appreciate his insight, hard- earned through personal experience. So we talked about what I was feeling, from rage and frustration to despair and remorse. When we weren't talking about Gina, he kept my attention on other things: Kendall, music, life in general, music, architecture, and music. Since music was an integral part of his life, we listened to all sorts of bands I'd never heard of before: R.E.M., Duran Duran, the Cure, Talking Heads, and more. We also listened to his favorites, like the Beach Boys and the Beatles. I listened to a _lot_ of music during those dark days, especially when Trip started making "mix tapes" for my little stereo. I also realized that he was influencing my moods with his music selection; it was hard to be melancholy when I listened to "Good Vibrations" or "Here Comes the Sun." When I got angry--with Gina, with myself, or with life in general--Trip quoted an appropriate song, which usually turned into a discussion about the band's influences and history. When I was sullen, he asked me about famous buildings. When I turned melancholy, he made me quiz him for architecture (he still didn't have a good grasp of the Human Sciences, much to my amusement and consternation). I also spent a lot of time with Christy. Wren seemed to understand that I was going through a tough time, so she was friendly instead of flirty. We still posed together for Siobhan's class, but she no longer tried to get a rise out of me. I don't know how much of that was Christy's doing and how much was common sense on Wren's part, but I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Christy and I didn't talk as much as Trip and I did, but we didn't really need to. We mostly hung out together and drew. While I sketched buildings from Europe and the great American cities, she drew pictures of people. She drew a lot of pictures of me, or Wren, but she also drew other people: Mariko, from Japan; Vanessa, her best friend from San Diego; her brothers; and her nieces and nephews--all _nine_ of them. ("My family's Catholic, Paul. We like sex and we don't believe in birth control!" she said with a laugh. I thought she was kidding about the birth control part. But maybe not.) She also drew pictures of Simon, and I learned quite a bit about him. His undergraduate degree was in History, and he was studying at Oxford on a Rhodes Scholarship. He eventually wanted to get his Ph.D. and teach college somewhere. In part, she had been drawn to him because of his encyclopedic knowledge of ancient history, including its art and culture. Her father didn't like him because he wasn't a military man. Admiral Carmichael had some firm ideas about whom his only daughter should marry. Christy's mother kept him firmly in check, though, and insisted that their daughter could marry whomever she _chose_ to, "regardless of what a stuffy old Admiral thought." The "stuffy old Admiral" in question had a few choice comments, such as "but I'm her father!" According to Christy, her mother countered him with a polite-but-resolved "that's nice, dear" at every objection. "Oh, Paul," Christy said, reminiscing with a laugh, "you should've seen his face. Don't tell _him_, but my mother has always run the house. He may be the Admiral when he's at work, but at home, he's just 'Harold.' When Simon asked him if he could marry me, I think he wanted to growl and say no. But one look at my mom and he just smiled and said, 'Welcome to the family, son.'" She turned pensive. "I wish Daddy knew Simon like I do. He might not be in the military, but he's _not_ a pacifist or anything. And gosh, Paul, he's so brilliant! History is _alive_ for Simon. He sees it in his head. It lives and breathes for him. He reads Greek and Latin, too. And he's sensitive and intelligent and... I love him. "My father will come around sooner or later," she said, almost imperiously. "I love Simon, and I'm going to marry him. That's all there is to it." With that, she crossed her arms and issued a petite harrumph. I chuckled at her girlish resolve. "Does your mom actually like him?" "Oh, gosh yes," she said, her eyes bright. "My mom's never met anyone she _doesn't_ like. And she sees how much I love Simon; she just wants us to be happy. We talked about it a lot after Simon asked me to marry him. My mom and I have always been close- -we were the only two women in a house _full_ of men. That's a lot of testosterone!" I laughed. "But Mom has always supported me. James and Danny like Simon too, although Danny hasn't actually met him yet. Danny's like my mom, though; he likes everyone." "What about Harry?" "Harry's too much like my father," she said. "But Diane, his wife, is an eminently sensible woman, and she told him--quietly, of course--to keep his mouth shut." She frowned. "I just wish Rich liked him. My mom will bring Daddy around, but I don't know what to do about Rich." A sigh. "Rich doesn't have a wife to tell him 'that's nice, dear.'" "Why doesn't Rich like Simon?" I asked. "I mean, has he met him?" She shook her head. "Rich was deployed with his team when Simon was in San Diego. No," she added with a sigh, "Rich doesn't like the _idea_ of me marrying anybody, much less a civilian. He's always been very protective of me. _Over_protective, you might say. Laurence was always telling him to lighten up, but Rich is one of those people who's suspicious of everyone. Laurence used to say--" When she didn't continue, I looked up. Her eyes were somewhere else. "Is Laurence your other brother?" I asked gently. She looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Then she blinked back tears. "How did you know?" "Lots of little things. I didn't know for sure, but I suspected." She wiped her eyes and then swallowed hard. "You've got a picture on your desk," I said, filling the silence. "I've seen it a hundred times, but I didn't figure out what it meant until a little while ago. It's a picture of Laurence, isn't it, the one with the helicopter and his crew?" She nodded. "And that's him you're pinning the wings on, right?" Another nod. "Well," I said, "I got to thinking... Harry flies jets. James flies helicopters, but in the _Navy_. Danny's in the Marines, but he flies jets. And Rich is a Navy diver. So who's in the Marines _and_ flies helicopters?" "Oh." "And you've said things over time... I mean, you once told me that you were the youngest of _six_ kids. And another time, you said that you grew up with _five_ older brothers." I made a show of counting on my fingers: "Harry, James, Danny, Rich, and... who? I haven't exactly figured out what happened, but I can guess." "He was killed," she said softly. Then she blinked back more tears and tried to smile. I set my sketchpad aside and she rushed into my arms. Body- wracking sobs shook her. I rubbed her back and simply held her. When her tears eventually subsided, she sat up and tried to compose herself. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently. She nodded. Then, hesitantly, she wiped her cheeks, as if gathering her courage. "He's-- I mean, he _was_ six years older than me." She paused for a moment and then smiled. "He always wanted to be a Marine. Danny sort of... fell... into the Marine Corps, I guess you could say, but Laurence always knew what he wanted to do. "I remember going with him to my father's office when I was a little girl, five or six. Daddy worked at the Pentagon, and Laurence was always fascinated by the Marine guards and their uniforms. We'd come home and he'd tell me all about what he wanted to do when he grew up. "My father loves all of my brothers," she said as an aside, "but Laurence was his favorite; I could tell. My dad wanted him to join the Navy, but Laurence had his heart set on the Marines. He wanted to fly, too, but not jets. He said he wanted to be 'down with the grunts,' where he could make a difference. I think Danny understood, even if my father never really did. "Danny's been through Parris Island, and he knows what it's like on the ground. Rich does too, but what he does is _so_ different from the others. Anyway, Laurence went NROTC at Notre Dame. When he graduated, he chose the Marine option, of course, and was selected for flight school. You saw the picture from when I pinned his wings on his chest. "Oh, Paul, I was so proud of him that day. He and I have always been closer than any of my other brothers," she said. "I think it's 'cause the others are so much older. I mean, Harry's fourteen years older than me, and I barely remember him living at home when I was a little girl." She shrugged. "The same with James; he went to college when I was nine. I spent more time with Danny and Rich--they're only fifteen months apart--but even then, I was just a kid to them. "But Laurence... he and I spent lots of time together, especially in Japan. I think that was one of the happiest times of my life. We explored everything together. He didn't even mind having his little sister around. We found Nobu's monastery together. Did you know that?" I shook my head, but she wasn't paying attention to me. "But last year, he was flying a training mission at Camp Pendleton when something went wrong. A linkage in his tail rotor came loose and one of the blades flew off. The whole rotor sort of... disintegrated. The helicopter went down. No one survived." "I... I'm so sorry, Christy," I said, my chest tight with shared emotion. She looked up, tears filling her blue eyes, dulling them with pain. She tried to look brave, but gave up after a moment. "Oh, Paul," she wailed softly, "I miss him so much." Once again, I held her as she cried herself out. She clung to me for a long time afterward, neither of us willing to let the other go. ----- For Kendall's birthday, I thought about buying a replacement for her P-G-K ring, which she had quietly stopped wearing. Unlike Gina, though, she had put it in her jewelry box and never mentioned it again. So her finger was conspicuously bare, and I refused to buy her something else. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I wanted her to see her empty finger and think about what we'd lost. (I kept wearing my own ring for a while after that, but I could tell that it bothered Kendall, so I stopped being childish and took it off. I thought about wearing it on the chain around my neck, but decided against that too. So I quietly put it in my desk drawer, where I could keep it close without actually wearing it. Call me sentimental.) Instead, I scraped together enough money to take her to dinner and a hotel. The Hilton had too many bad memories, so I made reservations at the Radisson. I borrowed Trip's car and took her to a nice restaurant for dinner. I wasn't my usual happy self, but she seemed to understand. After dinner, we went to the hotel. My injuries from the fight with the Pikes hadn't healed to the point where I was up for any sexual acrobatics, so we simply relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. Whatever other faults Kendall might have had, she loved me. And she knew enough psychology to understand what I was going through. She even explained it, as we lay together in bed and talked after turning out the light. "It's the five stages of grief," she said. "Denial--" _I certainly went through that stage,_ I thought ruefully. "--Anger--" _Check. In spades._ "--Bargaining--" _So I was _supposed_ to make spineless, self-serving offers in order to win Gina back?_ I snorted in derision. "--Depression--" _Ah, well, it's nice to know that I've at least gotten to stage four,_ I thought sardonically. "--and Acceptance," she finished. "I don't know if I'm to that point yet," I said softly. She nodded, her hair soft against my shoulder. Then she put her hand on my chest, her mere presence reassuring. "I still think about Gina all the time," I said softly. "But at least I've stopped calling her." "That's good... I think." "It is," I said. "I might not like agreeing with Regan, but calling Gina all the time wasn't doing anyone any good. Especially not you and me." I laughed ruefully at that. "What's so funny?" "Would you believe that _Regan_ pointed that out to me? I still don't like her--or her entire sorority, for that matter--but at least I know that she's Gina's friend." I snorted. "She's a better friend than _I_ ever was." "That's _not_ true, Paul," Kendall said, sitting up. "You were a very good friend to Gina, and for a lot longer than Regan has been. You've been through a lot with Gina, and you don't have anything to be ashamed of." _Except neglecting Gina, having sex with her best friend (against her will, even worse), shamefully offering to break up with Kendall, lashing out at anyone around me, brooding, whining, and generally--_ "Stop it, Paul," Kendall said firmly. I looked at her in surprise. Then I remembered who she was, and her uncanny ability to read people. She caressed my face and smiled gently. "Stop condemning yourself. No, you're not perfect. You made mistakes. You're human, just like Gina... just like me... just like everyone else. But you're also kind, generous, thoughtful, intelligent, and sensitive. You're everything I ever wanted in a boyfriend. And I've read a _lot_ of trashy romance novels with idealized heroes, so you had a lot to live up to." I smiled, albeit a bit wistfully. "I know how much you loved Gina, and how much you miss her. But we'll get through this. We'll do it together. I know you've been a bit put out with me," she said, "but I want you to know that I'll _always_ love you, no matter what." "Thanks," I said softly. She nodded. "I even loved Gina, and I'm sorry to see her go. But we have to move on with our lives, the _two_ of us." I nodded. After several quiet moments, I smiled reflectively. "Are you sure you're only twenty?" She nodded. "Hey!" I said, with a bit of artificial humor. "I just thought of something." "What?" "I'm not dating a teenager anymore." She smiled. Seeing the love in her eyes, I tried to shrug off my dark mood. "Does that mean we can't have sex?" I asked. "I mean, isn't that statutory rape or something?" "I'll show you 'statutory rape,'" she threatened playfully. I smiled, for real. "I was hoping you would." With that, I directed her hand to my growing manhood. A few minutes later, she straddled my hips and groaned in pleasure as she eased herself onto my erection. As she looked down at me, her dark hair hung down and framed her face. She looked beautiful. When I eventually tore my eyes away from her face, I cupped her heavy breasts, simply hefting them and teasing her nipples with my thumbs. "I love you," I said at last. "I love you too." "I'm sorry I've been in my own little world for the past couple of weeks." She smiled in understanding. "And thanks. Thanks for being you, for being there for me, for understanding, for everything." To my surprise, she laughed softly. "What?" "I've always been amazed by how you can _talk_ while we're having sex. Not just talk, either; you have _conversations_, and while you're inside me, even. What?" she asked facetiously. "Doesn't my pussy hold your attention?" "Oh, it holds my attention. It holds a lot more than that," I said. "But I think about all sorts of things when we're together, and I-- Oh, my God!" She grinned down at me. "I've been doing my Kegel exercises." "I can tell-- Oh, God!" "So... they're working?" "Oh, yeah, they're--" Clench. After a pause: "Are you gonna let me--" Clench. I pursed my lips. "Well," she said in satisfaction, "if I'd known _that_ was the way to shut you up, I'd've-- Oh, no _fair!_" I stopped teasing her clit. "Now, would you like to let me speak?" She shook her head. A moment later she relented with a self- satisfied grin. "My muscles are strong enough that I can squeeze the vibrator out of my pussy." My eyebrows shot up. "I've been using it a lot, lately," she admitted. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I guess I haven't really been in the mood. And with my ribs...." She shushed me with a finger over my lips. "We'll have plenty of time. We've got the rest of our lives." With that, I put my hands on her hips and she bent over me. Her breasts crushed against my chest as her lips sought my own. My ribs still ached, so I couldn't easily thrust into her from below, but with a combination of her internal muscles and the small movements I _could_ make, I soon reached the point of no return. When Kendall felt my dick swell with the first twinges of orgasm, she sat up and arched her back. I cupped her breasts and then clamped my eyes shut as she began squeezing my cock with her pussy. She didn't have as much control (or strength) as Felicia, but I certainly wasn't going to complain. I erupted within her, pleasure radiating from my loins in a white-hot wave. When I came to my senses, she grinned down at me. "What?" I asked, a little confused by her eager look. "Do you want to watch me masturbate?" My eyes widened in excitement. My cock had begun to soften, but it immediately swelled anew. She felt it and grinned. Then she licked her fingertips and slowly--ever so slowly--trailed them down her body. Out of my peripheral vision, I could see her watching as my eyes followed her hand. It moved down the valley between her breasts, over her trim stomach, and finally, to her hairless sex. Her labia were spread around my shaft, and the protective hood of her clit winked at me from the top of her slit. When her fingers found the hidden bead, she moaned softly. Then she began moving her fingertips in small circles. As she moaned again, semi- theatrically, I grinned up at her. She was obviously exaggerating her reactions for my benefit, but only a _little_ bit. Enraptured, I watched as she played with her clit, bringing herself closer and closer to orgasm. My cock, still buried in her pussy, added to her pleasure. Her stomach fluttered with the first signs of climax, and I felt the twinges in her pussy. She breathed deeply and began rocking back and forth. When she came, she grew quiet. Her internal muscles gripped me, squeezing my cock with their new strength. I squeezed back, clenching my buttocks and making my manhood swell within her. She grimaced in pleasure but never made a sound. After several moments she drew a quiet, shuddering breath. I gently pulled her toward me, and she collapsed against my chest. My ribs protested with a dull throb of pain, but I ignored it. Then I began rocking my hips, my erection moving within her. She groaned softly as another wave of pleasure washed over her. She was too far gone with orgasmic bliss to control her inner muscles, but I didn't care. I simply rocked my hips and worked us both toward another orgasm. Hers was first, but it lasted a long time. When I bathed her inner walls with my seed, she shuddered and clutched me tightly. After several blissful moments, my hips sagged to the bed, and she began shedding tears of joy. "I love you _so_ much," she whispered between spasms. "I love you too." I stroked her back and thought about my life. I was lucky to have Kendall--lucky to _still_ have her. As much as I missed Gina, Kendall was still a part of my life, and I needed to act like it. It was a hard thing to admit, but I needed to grow up. And that meant paying attention to someone other than myself. It meant paying attention to the girl in my arms, to my friends, to the people I loved and trusted. _When did my life get so complicated?_ I asked myself. _Who cares?_ I answered._ Just deal with it._ ----- Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. 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