The Culture of Hooking Up

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

I never thought I would contemplate the weight of a lotus flower, but it just so happens to be draped across my abdomen. Correction: it's halfheartedly draped across my stomach, so casually, as if that's where it would be if I wasn't laying there.

In the dark, I was waiting for the black tattoo ink to drip down and imprint itself on my skin or smear into the black sheets until it disappears.

Now, as the faint white light leaks in through the blinds, it remains static on Jack's arm, and I have to slowly peel it off my body without waking him up. Even though I'm reluctant to peel it off because that means also peeling off all the warmth I've been enveloped in since last night.

It's like pressing rewind without all the kissing pit stops. It helps that I usually try my best to keep a mental note of the trajectory of things thrown. My shirt went East. My bra went West. My pants went South. Sometimes I'm even tempted to pick up the other person's clothes because leaving them there is like leaving a half-assed bread crumb trail that lead to something last night but leads to nothing now that the sun is up.

I button my jeans but refrain from the loud noise of a zipper as my eyes continue to ping pong between the door and the human sized lump in the bed. His hair almost blends in with his sheets. The only reason I know he's still in there is because the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders are poking out of the grey plaid comforter.

I swipe my necklace off the white dresser at the front of the room before tip toeing my way off the fuzzy white rug and on to the dark hardwood floor. I mentally thank Jack for being more conscious of my jewelry than I am as I clasp my necklace back around my neck and reach for my rings off of one of the floating shelves beside the television. There are two shelves on each side of the screen as it hovers a few feet above the floor. The one with my rings has a little potted cactus sitting on it, but my steps falter when I pass another one with a picture frame.

It captures one of Jack's famous smiles, but this one is big, and I have yet to see it in person. I can't help but think it has to do with the girl standing beside him. Her caramel skin tone is glowing in the sunny day reflected in the sunglasses on top of her head. Her dark brown hair is long and looks blown out, with only the slightest wave to it. Her floral kimono cardigan billows in the wind. Her right arm is thrown in the air, while her left arm is draped around Jack's shoulders. Her smile is just as wide and gum commercial bright.

I feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water on me and then threw the bucket at my head.

****

No matter how many showers I take, how many times I brush my teeth, and how much celery juice I chug, I still don't feel clean. My skin feels coated in a fine, thin layer of grim that taints and sticks to everything I touch. I even do a load of laundry and wash my sheets, and yet every time I close my eyes all I see is her.

"Never have a I ever had a threesome." The guy swayed as he raised up his red plastic solo cup over the makeshift beer pong table. I think his name is Chad because Chad's always seem to have permanent smirks carved into their faces. I didn't have to take a sip, but my fingers still always itched to slap him as a few people lifted their cups up and gulped down the lukewarm beer. From the way some people turned their heads and rolled their eyes, I knew I wasn't the only one, and yet none of us try to move away from the table. It usually takes a few more silly questions for that to occur.

Never have I ever played beer pong, but I did spend most of my first semester sophomore year standing near one, drinking way more than I did schoolwork. This was back when Tayrne was still pre-med and had no time to dance with me in nightclubs. I've always been easily swept up in people by people for the sake of just being around people because people are more fascinating and distracting than the lonely white walls of my dorm room.