The Taunting (College Life #1)

Teddy- uh Teddy- it's not ringing a bell

Elizabeth's P.O.V-

I sit criss-cross on Bridget's pink-cherry duvet as I do my philosophy homework. Our professor gives us questions, and we have to answer them the best way we can. The question of the week is: What is the difference between euthanasia and assisted suicide?

Before I have the option to answer it, the door flies open to the room. It's Bridget. She twirls around the room dramatically, tossing a Paisley silk scarf that's on her head, over her shoulder. The scarf is paired with mauve Chanel Rectangle sunglasses, sparkly studs are on the side. 

Dramatically, she slings herself on the bed, crinkling my homework. "Bridge, you're messing up my papers." I try to tug the papers from under her. "Get your fat ass up."

She gasped, scrambling from the bed and heading over to the vanity mirror on the side wall. She squishes her face up, trying to see how much face meat she has. "Oh god, I am fat. I've been walking around looking like a blowfish! The horror." I roll my eyes while closing my homework and putting it in my crossbody.

There's no way I can get work done with Bridget acting like this. "I was joking, Bridget."

"Lies!" She points a manicured finger at me.

"Ugh, what's wrong with you? And why are you dressed like Audrey Hepburn from Charade?" Trust me, I've never watched the movie. It would always pop up on TV late at night. I always skipped over it.

"Something bad has happened, I can't change it." She paces the room, her sandals clanking against the ground. 

"What."

"It's horrible." 

"What is it?"

"Oh! Someone just get a knife and kill me!" She screams to the heavens.

"DAMN IT BRIDGET! Just tell me what happened so I can get on with my homework." Her eyes widen at my loud voice. She clutches her invisible pearls. 

"My problems are way more important than your little homework, you're only a freshman, it's the easiest year of your life." 

"You're telling me your life is more important than my passing college," I say the words slowly so she can digest them.

"Exactly. You get it!" She plops back on the bed, taking off her sunglasses and putting them on her dresser. "Eliza, I did something. . .horrible."

"And I ask again, what did you do," I swear, if she doesn't tell me, I'm going to wrap that scarf around her dainty neck, squeezing it until she turns purple. 

She tells me her story, "At the party on Greek row a couple's night ago, I hooked up with someone. It was amazing, don't get me wrong, this guy is an animal in bed, but as soon as it was over, I regretted it." 

I give her a dumbfounded look. That's it? She slept with a random person; I don't see the big deal. College kids sleep with random people all the time, it is literally what college is for, one-night stands and threesomes. I don't participate in it, but I would never shut someone down if they wanted to do it.

"That middle part was a little too much," I confess. "But Bridget, so you had a one-night stand, your life isn't over," I assure her. 

She moves her hand from mines, fiddling with the hem of her satin dress. "It wasn't a one-night stand, we've slept together before, many, many times." She confesses.

"Who was it?" I asked. I hope it wasn't some weirdo, or hell, someone I know. It better not be Andreas. 

"Teddy." Her voice comes out small, but I understood what she said.