The Problem with Emerson

01 | The Problem with Girls

THE PROBLEM WITH GIRLS (or perhaps it was just the problem with this girl; the one taking up half of Brianna Reinhardt's bed) was that they knew how to get what they wanted in ways that guys just didn't.

Brie had had a couple boyfriends over the years, and never before had she been tempted to fall into bed with one of them after they'd broken up.  But there was something about the pout of Savannah's admittedly overdrawn Cupid's bow that made her shed her clothes and have sex she knew that she'd regret when it was over.

Boy, did that turn around and bite her in the ass.

"Brie, I think I have chlamydia."

When Brie was eight years old, a kid in her class got head lice. As per school policy, a note had been sent home to parents and guardians, warning them of the infestation potential. Brie hadn't been friends with the kid, and her desk had been on the opposite side of the room, but she had still been convinced that the little bugs had invaded her personal space. When her mother had picked her up at the end of the day, Brie, fingers furiously scratching her scalp, had begged her to go to the pharmacy and pick up the treatment.

As it turned out, Brie hadn't had lice. Her mother had combed through her hair for a good hour, but she had come up empty. Her mother Isla had only been slightly annoyed that they had wasted money they hadn't had on the treatment.  But while they hadn't found any lice, they had discovered that Brie was a bit of a hypochondriac.

For years after that, without fail, Brie was plagued with one malady after another. At least she thought so, until her mother or a doctor debunked her "symptoms."

And at nineteen, Brie thought she was over it for good. Really, she did. But the moment Savannah decided to utter the word chlamydia, it was game over.

Logic — and the knowledge she had managed to retain from her first year of her nursing degree — dictated that if she was going to be infected, it was already too late. If she was destined to contract the STI, her very recent tumble in the sheets would have been the perfect opportunity.  The damage had, unfortunately, already been done.

Still, that didn't stop Brie from shoving Savannah's shoulder so hard, she rolled out of her bed and landed on the floor. Anything to get Savannah the hell away from her.

As far as STIs went, chlamydia was definitely one of the better ones to have.  The treatment was fairly simple, and there weren't any lasting effects (provided the infected sought medical attention right away).  But Brie would be lying if she said that she hadn't hoped to remain free of all sexually transmitted infections.

"What the fuck, Brie?" Savannah grumbled.

She had landed on her ass — hard — but Brie felt no sympathy for her whatsoever. She knew that she was possibly infected, but she waited until after they had slept together to give her a heads up. Well, screw her.

"What the fuck?" Brie repeated. "What the fuck? You're the one that just gave me a stupid STI. What the hell, Sav? Why would you sleep with me without getting tested?"

She shrugged. She was still sitting on Brie's bedroom floor, naked, and fuck, she wanted her out of her house. "I mean, it's not like it's hard to treat. A round of antibiotics and you're good to go."

Brie got out of bed, holding her sheets around her own naked body. She wouldn't give Savannah the satisfaction of seeing that again. She bent down and grabbed her shirt. Balling the fabric together, she chucked it at Savannah's head, followed by her jeans and one of her shoes.

"That's not the point!"

Savannah stood, and she began grabbing her clothing as Brie aggressively chucked it at her. "Holy shit, Brie. Calm down."