That Boy's A Slag... Still The Best I've Ever Had
6 days ago, Remera's POV:
A loud thump wakes me up, followed by plenty more and accompanied by what sounds like a cow with a deviated septum trying to scream for help, I guess Sylvia's getting a round two.
I'm lying in my room, a throbbing headache giving me the overwhelming urge to shoot myself in the head. It takes a few minutes to recall the last night. It took me so long just to be able to talk after all that... and we barely spent half an hour together. Whoever he was he offered to drive me home but I got a taxi, it wasn't the best feeling sitting in the back of a cab with my coin purse out because he ripped my panties. He looked older and I didn't want him to know I'm nineteen. I wonder if he couldn't tell, didn't care, or was too drunk.
A wave of regret hits me accompanied by a shitty feeling.
Cabbage is curled up at the end of my bed. I'm lying on top of an airy pinky flowery duvet. My bed takes up most of the space in my room. A massive window to the right of me and on my left a walk-in closet and a bathroom. I don't even have a desk in here, the walls are white, the carpet is tan, the curtains are green, and my cat is orange.
He looks up at me with squashed fur and his two canines sticking out of his mouth like he's just as hungover as me. It's not that bad, I'm just not used to headaches.
I shouldn't have done that last night. He only asked for consent once and I didn't at all. Why do I keep doing things I know are wrong, why do I keep volunteering to feel like shit?
It's all mental shit too. It took me far too long to learn not to trust men and sometimes I have weeks where I stop feeling anything.
I sigh, letting my tired body hit my bed again. It's 1 pm, and I have a lecture in an hour. Going out on a Sunday was a great idea. Seeing myself in the mirror is painful, my hair is all over the place, I managed to take my makeup off, not all the glitter though, it's everywhere. I love wearing body glitter, people need to stop sexualizing it.
My shower is cold, the hot water is out like it always is. I wear leggings and a Spider-Man hoodie to my cybercrime class. My head lolls as I sit in the back and type notes, paying more attention to the professor's tits, which I am sure are in no way real. Either a woman's tits are a little too big, taking up the entire torso and weighing at least fifty pounds, or they are slightly above average. This is in between, not so large a person would never want them but still so massive. They're also the same size and her nipples point straight forward, not slightly outwards. Technically a breast reduction can do the same thing but she's also a fifty-year-old woman wearing a body suit to work.
I wish I were asleep right now, Criminal Justice isn't an easy major, mostly because the law-specifically U.S.-has no laws. No one principle is consistent, I didn't choose to be a lawyer assuming everything would be completely fair. No, I knew how immoral the government is, especially because I'm going into U.S. law. I'm American but I’m here for some program. Anything to get away from my family.
I’m smart for getting a Criminal Justice degree before actually going, totally not because I flunked my LSAT.
I’ve got an off-campus apartment with two other girls, Sylvia and Celeste. They’re my only friends in the country right now. I'm loving this place, saying cunt is perfectly acceptable.
Unlike both my roommates I left being a slut in high school, but they don't do anything a man wouldn’t so who am I to blame them. Celeste is a music major, her dad’s friends with the manager of the Arctic Monkeys. She got me a part-time as an assistant. One I'm happy to take.
I imagine Alex would give great head.
But I wouldn't try anything with him, I’m not that stupid.
When I get back to the apartment Celeste is doing the dishes, bright pink hair almost blinding me, it was green yesterday, “You need to do your part Remera,” she scolds.
“I don't have a part,” I remind her, “I clean all of my dishes, I don't eat anybody else's food, I pay my share of the rent, and if I'm here I'm in my room.”
“Fuckin’ Americans, I thought you guys were always supposed to be over-the-top, like dicky Canadians.”
“My bad, I forgot being from another country means I can't have a personality,” I roll my eyes, finally making my way to my room.
“And your fucking cat broke that vase!”
From inside my room, I yell, “It's not his fault! He doesn't like the color blue, he thinks everything should be pink!”
I throw my books on my bed, ready to study for a few hours.
However, more than a few hours later my mind is woken up by accidentally dragging a highlighter over the page of an all too expensive book, “Fuck.”
I groan, throwing it closed, bringing my head to my hands, and rubbing my temples. To make it worse I see a call from Kaleb. I scoff and reject it. He calls again, we battle like that for a few minutes until he gives up.
It's dark out already and I can hear the sounds of crickets and the blowing wind. I lick dry lips and feel a chunk missing; that ashole. If he has a McLaren then I'm sure one ripped shirt wouldn't make a dent.
I heave myself up and walk into the living room. Silvia turns her head, brown hair falling across a perfect face, sharp nose and plump lips outlined in her silhouette.
I jump over the couch, sighing, “Are you alright?” She asks.
“Yeah, why?”
She shrugs, “You've just been seeming homesick. But I don't know, we never see you anyways.”
I laugh, “Hell nah. School's just tough, I'm fine.”
“Whatever,” she turns back to Love is Blind playing on the T.V. “I love short guys.”
“Of course you do,” I pick up my phone.
“When are you starting that job?”
“Sunday,” I bite my cheek, “if they were touring my job would be to organize everything, but they're not so I don't have much to do. Honestly, I'll probably just clock in, do homework, go home. Free money.”
Sylva laughs, “That's not very professional.”
“Celeste told me they're working on an album right now, but they just come in, brainstorm for twenty minutes, get high, and leave.”
“We'll be careful, they might call cigarettes that bad word,” she teases.
“That was one time, and if someone says the f-slur while walking by me I'm gonna get a little spooked.”
“You screamed!”
“It was a long day!”
“Shut the fuck up!” We both hear Celeste yell from her room.