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From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipio@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 3" by Nick Scipio - Ch 27 (MF, teen, caution)
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Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2005 15:10:02 -0400
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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. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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