EmilieLaura drops me off outside Brandon's house but drives away before I can turn around and tell her I've changed my mind. What a disaster! There are other people inside his kitchen—I can't just go and knock on his door. He obviously forgot we had plans tonight!Shit-shit-shit!What do I do now?The painting is clutched to my chest—I'm like a mom protecting her child, but I'm too scared to move. I see a big guy walk past Brandon's kitchen window. Loud laughter comes from inside, and a few cars are parked around his house. Did he invite the entire football team? And if yes, why? I thought we were going to be alone tonight...Am I that easy to forget?Geez, I guess my only choice is to call for a taxi…"Emilie?!"I spin in the direction of the voice, and my attention lands on Vincent. He is standing on the porch with a beer in his hand and beams when he sees me. "Why are you just standing there? It's cold outside. Freaking freezing. Come inside!""Uhh…""We have been waiting for you!
Brandon Where am I supposed to sleep? Snoring comes from the couch; the guys fell asleep ten minutes ago. But not before ruining my floor. Beer cans and pizza boxes lay scattered everywhere, and I would rather not sleep on the floor. The couch isn't an option, either. More than five people are sleeping on the couch, and I cautiously glance down at Emilie. She has stayed at my place countless nights in a row, but we have never shared a bed. Would she freak out if I asked her? In the past, I would have just flopped down beside her without asking, but after getting to know her, I...I care about her, okay? "Do you wanna share a bed?" Please say yes. It would be beneath me to use my sister's bed or Bernie's—that little fucker uses way too much Axe bodyspray. I would suffocate as soon as I smelled his pillow. Emilie looks up at me with a flushed face. "S-sure!" "Great." I walk up the stairs and notice Emilie's gaze is locked on her feet. Why do I get the feeling this is a bigger deal
EmelieI hold my breath when Brandon walks out of the shower. The air around him smells fresh and citrus-like, and my heart flutters when the bed sinks underneath his weight. Crunch-crunch until he lies down and stares up at the ceiling in the dark, just like me. The silence stretches until I can no longer handle it. "I wish I knew what you were thinking." I blurt out. He shifts on the bed, probably to face me. "There is always the option of asking me," he says.My face turns red. "I know what you were doing in the shower, and I guess I want to know if you're mad at me."He is silent for a while before chuckling. "Do angry people usually masturbate in the shower—is that what you're implying? Because if that's the case, then wow...you really need to find new friends."Even though he is sarcastic, I can't stop my blush from spreading. How is this man so blunt?"Don't you ever get embarrassed?" I mutter. "About what?" he asks, suddenly much closer than before. I can feel his hot breat
EmilieLaura: Are you telling me he never tries to do more than just kiss you?I look down at my phone that's lying in my lap. Brandon is driving to the hospital while I'm texting with Laura. Our subject is apparently my non-existent sex life with Brandon, although there are more important things we should be talking about. Like the fact we are heading to the hospital to say goodbye to Brandon's mom, but Laura doesn't know that, and I won't tell her. Not today. Me: I don't want him to do more. Laura: ... you're not a-sexual, are you?Me: What? No? Why?Laura: Because just looking at your man makes me want to have sex, and I think every girl on campus can agree with me. Brandon is hot.Me: I know.Laura: So what's your problem?Me: Ever heard of waiting?Laura: Oh, so it's like that? Well... I'm not against waiting, but Brandon is a man. If you don't have sex with him, he will find someone else who will. That's how men work. Laura: Don't get me wrong! I ship you two, but men will a
EmilieThe blood in my veins freezes over at Clinton's words. Did I hear him correctly? He said those words so casually as if we didn't just say farewell to his wife. Even in grief, the man doesn't cease to be cold and calculating. Brandon takes a moment to respond, and when he does, his voice is calm but laced with controlled anger. "How dare you..." he starts, then swallows hard, collecting himself before continuing. "Now is not the time for this discussion.""I talk about what I want whenever I want, and I won't let you date some nobody without money—"Something swishes past me, and my breath hitches when Brandon's fist connects with Clinton's jaw. The older man stumbles back, holding his face in surprise as Brandon towers over him, visibly shaking with rage. "You will not," Brandon snarls, each word pronounced with deadly precision, "speak about Emelie that way. Nor dictate who I choose to be with."Clinton recovers from his surprise and straightens up, wiping a streak of blood
Emilie I'm alive, but I wish I were dead. Are there many freshmen in college who feel the same way? I pull my towel tighter around my body as I continue my walk down the street with tears in my eyes. There are no clothes to cover my skin or shoes to protect my feet as I walk over the wet asphalt. I'm close to tears, but I won't let them fall. This isn't anyone's fault but my own. Why did I go to that stupid pool party? How did I, for a second, think things would be different tonight? I'm so angry at myself! I shouldn't have let my guard down! I shouldn't have smiled when I received an invite to the party hosted by the cool girls. The girls just invited me so they could make fun of me for having selective mutism! They told me they had a swimsuit to borrow, and after I undressed, they stole my clothes. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there while they laughed and said, "Isn't she pathetic? No matter how we treat her, she won't fight back! What a freak. Jesus, Emilie. How w
BrandonI can't believe I'm putting bedsheets over my couch for Emilie Olsson. She is the biggest loser this town has ever seen. She was bullied in middle school and made fun of in high school...now she is a freshman in college, and nothing much has changed. Why? Because the little freak won't speak. I don't understand why. Emilie isn't mute, yet she never defends herself when the girls trip her in the campus corridors. It's fucked up. Small footsteps approach me, and I turn around to see Emilie standing behind me with her red hair cocooned in the towel she arrived with while the new one is wrapped around her body. She is so small - probably only 5'0 - that the fabric eats her alive. Does she suffer from dwarfism, too? Or maybe it just feels that way since I'm huge. I'm 6'6—the perfect height for an offensive lineman. And yes, I play football even though my family hates it. "This is where you will sleep," I gesture at the couch, and since I'm sizzling hot and Emilie isn't wearing
Emilie I'm not stupid. I know Brandon giving me a roof over my head was a one-time thing; it doesn't make us friends. Once I've left his house, he will go back to hanging out with the jocks and calling me a nerd. I'm convinced the mere thought of me disgusts him, which is why I'm so confused when I wake up to him hugging me. What is even happening right now? Brandon isn't squeezing me so tight that I can't breathe, but all his limbs are wrapped around me. I'm cocooned by him and so much smaller than his brutish self that I cannot escape. His nose is in my hair, while his muscular arms hold me so gently that one could think we were lovers. I...I don't hate it. I've never had a boyfriend before, and while I know Brandon isn't interested in me, I like the size difference between us. It feels safe being the small spoon with such a large man behind me, and he is fucking gorgeous. No sane girl on campus who isn't a lesbian would say no to spooning with him. But...I should probabl