Ice To Meet You

What's Gucci?

I have never blackmailed anyone in my life before. Except my younger brother, Daniel, for his share of chocolates and the TV remote. I also often extorted candies and sodas from him in exchange for not twisting his arm.

Which means I have all the prerequisites to make me an A grade tormentor. I can bully William Kent into submission by leveraging what I have on him. Right?

"Mia, ADA is throwing a rager tonight, and we should go. This is the perfect opportunity to use our trump card."

I hate using this expression now. It's tainted.

"I really have to work first," I tell Hannah, and she does not argue with me any further.

I still don't understand how knowing he took the fall for his frat is anything I can use against him? He can buy the excuse of a college newspaper we have with the snap of his fingers.

I wonder what kind of fingers he has.

Mia, get your mind out of the gutter, you don't even have the excuse of being drunk right now! I reprimand myself.

I have to finish my final project that is due at 12 tonight. I get back to my work unenthusiastically. However fascinating Mr. Kent is, thoughts of him will not get me my degree. I have always prioritized my education and my professional goals over personal satisfaction. Sleep can wait if an exam is important; partying and turning up can be postponed if I have homework to do.

That is how it should be, and I don't regret my choices, but if I had to do the past four years of my life in college all over again, I would do things differently. I would care about assignments a little less and rank having fun a little higher on my to-do list.

Is this what the rest of my life is going to be? Will I spend all of my time looking back on my college days and wish I had partied harder, joined more clubs, played more sports ( read: play any sports)?

Would I always want to go back and tweak a few things? Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one in this world who wishes I could relive a few moments. Put myself out there without the fear of rejection holding me back.

Enough of this procrastination, I really should get back to my project.

There is a loud bang on our dorm room door. Hannah looks at me like a lazy cat looks at you when she wants something. Even though she is closer to the door, I know I will have to move.

I groan and stretch my legs. Why do people have to come over in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday? Just email me if you need something from me. Not that whoever is at the door wants to hang out with me.

I have like three friends.

There is another bang on the door, this time louder and I get up.

I open the door and there, in front of me was an entire Gucci catalog, or as he is better known, Mathew Jackson.

He is wearing a red and green Gucci tracksuit, Gucci shoes, and a Gucci watch. I am pretty sure his socks are Gucci too. He gives me a tight hug, and even though I saw him yesterday at the library, the embrace makes me realize how much I have missed this crazy kid. I have attachment issues with him.

"What's good?" He asks, and from his voice, I can tell, something is up with him. Mathew is always on the lookout for the one, and every month he falls madly in love with a woman and plays house with her.

The house, unfortunately, is made out of cards and then the inevitable happens.

The women he dates, almost dates and continuously DMs, all have one thing in common; they are red flags.

As luck would have it, either the girls he chases turn out to be emotionally unavailable train wrecks or stage 5 clingers.

He greets Hannah, and I wait for their banter to finish so I can sip some tea. It is my favorite catch phrase lately that I picked up from YouTube. I am a makeup tutorial junkie and sipping some tea means getting scandalous gossip handed on a platter. Of course, Hannah loves Mathew too; they are mostly the same person.

"I have to tell you both something, and although I made a pact not to talk about my love life, I can't keep it in anymore," Mathew says, and I want to pull his cheeks. He had made this pact when we met at the library yesterday, 20 hours ago.

"So, this girl Chelsea..."

"How'd you meet her?" Hannah chimes in, interrupting him.

"I was Tinder-ing last night" he replies. Nothing good has ever come out of that, for anyone.

"She is hot, obviously or I wouldn't have swiped right... But she just wants to Netflix and Chill." Which, for most guys would be an ideal situation, but not Mathew. As I said, he is always on the lookout for the next Mrs. Jackson.

"What the fuck is your problem man? You are leaving this place in a fucking week, go get some pussy while you still can!" Hannah forcefully gives him a reality check.

He is my Notebook watching and poetry writing kind of guy. I can't even think of anything else that is romantic to add to that line, how sad is that? Is romance really dead or is it just me?

"No man! I just want to take a girl out on a date and get to know her." Mathew replies.

Ouch, it is just me. 

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