Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Fifty-Nine × She's a Bitch

I am the most awkward person in the world. I know a lot of people might say that in some exaggerated way, like, oh my god I accidently called my teacher mom or something minor like that. Something small and laughable that's happened to more people than a frat boy could count.

My awkwardness is not funny - or cute, or quirky. It doesn't make me more loveable or relatable or social; it makes people want to stay away from me or not know whether I'm on the spectrum or just really fucking weird. Like, why doesn't she make eye contact; and when she does make eye contact, why does she stare for so long?

Why does she look so nervous? Why does she talk in such a weird way? Why doesn't she laugh more? Why isn't she normal?

Maybe I'm getting a little dramatic here and looking for people to RSVP to my pity party; and in a true pitying state, I would tell you that there would be nobody to RSVP, because I have no friends. Other than Erik, who would be kind of forced to attend - seeing as we share a bed. And maybe the spider in the living room of the apartment - the one that's only still alive because I don't have a broom to go ham with.

Anyway.

Like Dora, I'm gonna make you participate in a cringingly obvious exercise that makes you question both why you're reading this and how stupid I am. Or if I passed the third grade, which I did. I also accidently stepped on my teacher's foot in the third grade - not in an immediate I'm sorry way; but rather an, she was standing beside me and somehow my foot was on top of hers?

Yeah. I'm still not sure how that happened. What I am sure of, is that I didn't get to go to the computer lab that day.

Back to the exercise, which could possibly be constituted as community service - depending on how good your relationship with your teacher is and how convincing you are. Just, don't suck their dick. Sorry, I felt like I had to preface with that; or maybe should preface with that because I think the prefacing is supposed to be before, not after.

1. Not waving back at someone that was waving at me

When Erik and I go inside this expensive restaurant/steakhouse/whatever the rich people that are renting it, need it to be, we're greeted by someone doing coat check. Because apparently rich people are poor enough to seat themselves.

While he's getting the ticket for both of our coats and probably tipping the person because rich people like to throw their money around, a blonde girl with the nicest tan I've ever seen, waves.

I, being the awkward fuck that I am, assume she's waving at someone else - given there are a couple of people behind us, sucking face. Then, her face kind of drops and I realize she's been making direct eye contact with me; and I am now anointed the bitch that wouldn't even wave back at someone that was being friendly to her.

And I don't even know her name so it's not like I can even more awkwardly send her an email or casually stalk her cubicle until she's there. Also, she doesn't work for the Pirates (or does she, wink wink - no, just kidding, professional athletes don't need to buy prostitutes or fake girlfriends).

Or maybe they do and they're what all those fake relationship stories are based off of.

2. Standing in the corner instead of making conversation

When we finally get inside - the restaurant, not my vagina; Erik has to go to the bathroom. In reality, I think he's trying to fix his erection in a socially acceptable way, or maybe he does actually have to go to the bathroom. Or maybe he's going to meet with some random blonde in there and have her blow him, or maybe participate in some under-the-counter drug deal.

The possibilities are endless; my imagination, is not.

Or is it?

Anyway, instead of going up to a group of people, introducing myself, and making lifelong friends that I could star in a Lifetime show with, I stand in the corner of the place and stare at the ancient wall art there that nobody ever cares about - or actually reads.

I do that weird thing I did when I was a teenager and went to a Halloween party and didn't know anyone, and clutch my forearm with my other hand - which likely makes me look even more uncomfortable. I avoid eye contact with people passing by because there's no way that I would know them, or that's how I justify it to myself, and wait anxiously until Erik returns.

3. Clinging to my boyfriend's side all night

Because of my aforementioned nerves and anxiety - and not knowing anybody, I cling to Erik like he's a magnet and I am another magnet. Or maybe that's a bad metaphor? Like he's a volunteer leader and I am in need of having my forty hours of community service, signed for.

I think I'm doing okay - definitely a passable C-. I make conversation with people in the circle and ask them questions about themselves that aren't too intrusive but show I care and am listening. Then, Erik goes to get us drinks and I overhear two girls talking about me.

Of course, I'm sitting in a corner somewhere, hiding behind a fake plant and room divider; so, their conversation isn't necessarily for my ears. But as far as I'm concerned, anything I can hear is far game.

"She's literally been clinging to him all night. It's so rude." A bitchy voice (though, I could be bias) says, accompanied by the obnoxious click of overly high heels.

Another equally snarky but clearly the follower voice agrees. "Right? Like, she hasn't even said hi to the girls." She pauses, clearly trying to find whatever brain cell she was grasping onto but has accidently let go of. "There's no way they're gonna last. He's so nice and she's a bitch."

The irony - although not lost upon me, is not comical enough to stop me from texting Erik that I'm having stomach issues and am gonna be in the bathroom for a while. I don't care that I've just told the only man that's ever had sex with me that I'm basically having diarrhea and likely doing what could be the inspiration for that scene from Not Another Teen Movie, because I'm too busy trying to make sure I stay quiet while sobbing in the bathroom stall.

Thankfully, it's not one of those single ones where people will eventually get impatient and knock on the door, asking when I'm done having a fuck. To which I will respond there is nobody to fuck me in here.

No, I get a cramped stall with a seat liner all to myself - of which I don't end up using because I can't figure out how to perforate it. 

If this were a movie - or Netflix produced TV show with half-decent ratings, maybe someone would wander in, hear my crying - which, although muffled, is definitely audible at times, knock on the stall door and we would become best friends. But I also remember one time in the ninth grade when I saw a girl had been crying in the bathroom and when I didn't ask any more than are you okay (to which she obviously responded, yes); and that this is probably karma working it's way around.

Or maybe life just reminding me that it is not a Lifetime movie.

Whatever the case, I stay in the bathroom for a while - throwing a fiesta of solitude for myself. Erik texts me at some point, asking if I'm okay - and much like that girl in the ninth grade, I assure him that I am. I even go one further and lie about hanging out with some of the girls.

Which - although I usually have no problem lying to people, lying to Erik has never been something I enjoyed to do. But I tell myself it's for the best and I'm doing him a favor. He should get to hang out with his friends without an annoying toddler hanging onto his leg and asking when it's gonna be time to go home.

I ask myself that question and my phone tells me it's only 8:30; and although that would normally be approaching my bedtime. Tonight, it's gonna be a long wait until midnight.