Chapter Twenty-Six

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After all this talk about love and guilt and hacking, etc., you may have forgotten that I was still in college (not your fault, but mine). My reasoning for this, though, is sound: there's not much to say. Crockett was still a blast! (detect the sarcasm?)

I wasn't making any new friends, which was fine for my introverted self who only cared about spending time with Al.

Classes were a joke. The professors lost control of the students half of the time, and showed us random youtube videos that 'we had to see' to educate us about the world. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the old Johnny Carson clips and sometimes enjoyed a distraction from life, but most of the time it was really annoying. I can't say if I'm in the majority or not, but I cared about my education and wanted to learn something.

Communications wasn't too different. But the students were the ones showing youtube videos – we had to give oral presentations that had to include a visual. So naturally, everyone chose youtube as their go-to visual aid. One guy showed us the trailer to the latest Call of Duty game, and gave an enlightening presentation on the positive influences of gaming in our society. While this particular video played, Kara rubbed her hand up my leg again, going further up than before. I couldn't tell if she was doing it to get a rise out of me or her or both. On my end, it worked.

Now you must be saying to yourself right about now, "What about Al? What about breaking it off with Kara?" Let me answer that with a simple statement: I'm not the good guy in this story. Protagonist – yes. Good – not so much. Gasp! Don't sound so surprised. I tried to do the right thing, but it just didn't work out that way. Certain things in life are more powerful than a man's will to do good. One of those is a man's lust for the forbidden. The unknown, uncharted. The desire to be bad. To not care anymore about what the right thing is. Consequences become afterthoughts, situations lies are made for. I won't say, however, that I was that far gone. I didn't forget about those words Al and I exchanged. Words that necessitated a predetermined set of actions, such as not cheating. No, I didn't forget. Guilt plagued me every time I let Kara touch me. Every time I touched her back. Every time she took my hand and led me to her dorm room.

Woah, woah, woah. I need to slow down a second. I can't just skip over that part. I should at least tell you about the first time I went to her dorm. Here's how it went down:

After a handsy Communications class period, she convinced me to skip the rest of my classes for the day. Said that I needed an updated wardrobe. I had no problem with missing more Carson videos, and I didn't have any plans with Al until later that night, so why not? The only fear I had was that Al would see me hand-in-hand with Kara as we walked to her car. I felt bad at first for holding her hand, but I had this urge to keep things open with Kara. To see if holding her hand led to anything else. I wanted to see if she would ever bring her hand all the way up my legs.

Al didn't see us leave campus, thankfully. Kara drove us to Warehouse Row, a boutique mall downtown with upscale clothing stores and restaurants. She made me try on several pairs of blue jeans and khakis that were much tighter-fitting than I was used to, but she insisted that they looked hot. She picked two pairs out and threw in a couple fitting t-shirts. I told her that I couldn't afford them, but she wouldn't hear any of it and convinced me she could put everything on her dad's credit card.

After I tried on clothes, it was her turn. At the lingerie store. She didn't let me see her in any of the outfits she chose, though. She just showed them on their hangers and let me feel the material and left me to my imagination. Said that I might get to see them eventually.

After shopping and lunch, she assured me that nothing would happen if we went back to her room – she could see me when I dithered and stumbled over my words when she first brought up the idea of us going to her dorm.

I Told You, Eli OxleyWhere stories live. Discover now