there’s no escape.
Like Dave makes me feel sometimes.
The past two weeks have been disappointing. Dave and I just aren’t connecting the way I thought we would by now. We don’t have that much in common and his sense of humor is lacking. Not like Tobey, who always makes me laugh. And Dave totally goes along with what Matt and Alex do. It’s not like I suddenly hate Dave or anything. . . . I still feel like I want to be his girlfriend. But I can’t help thinking about Tobey, too. . . .
Dave’s lying on his stomach on my bed, reading his history book. History is his favorite subject. Stuff that happened a million years ago to dead white men. Thrilling. How can he actually like that stuff? How can I like someone who actually likes that stuff?
“Sara, take it easy.” Dave gets up and kneels next to my chair. “You’re brilliant. What could you possibly not get?” He rubs my arm.
I try to focus on the problem. But sitting at my rickety pseudo-desk makes it impossible. “I’m . . .” Mom’s idea of a desk was to put a board over some cinder blocks. The cinder blocks are covered with burlap. I am not kidding. So here I sit, just like every night, churning out an endless deluge of homework. It’s only October, but I’m already over it.
Dave is still kneeling next to me. He keeps rubbing my arm. “I think you need a break.” He takes his hand away from my arm and gently runs it down my leg. “When’s your mom coming home?”
Mom works late on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it’s Tuesday. We have at least another two hours alone. Not that it matters anyway. Every time Dave comes over, we end up making out, even with my mom in the next room. And my door doesn’t even lock. And I know she knows what we’re doing. But it happens anyway because she doesn’t care.
“Later,” I say. “Why?”
“I thought we could . . . you know.”
I’m like, “What?” Even though I know what. It’s the same thing he brings up every time we make out.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just this.” He starts kissing me.
It’s weird how one minute I’m all tense and the next minute all my stress disappears. Dave is gorgeous. Dave is kissing me. Dave can make me feel better. I kind of get why some relationships are only based on physical attraction.
He pulls me over to my bed and we sit down. He kisses me harder. I’m having a hard time remembering why I was upset before.
But then he reaches down to the floor and unzips his bag. And takes out a condom. And puts the condom on the bed.
How tacky is that?
Dave says, “You know you want to.” Then he smiles at me like he’s the most irresistible thing ever.
How condescending is that?
“Um . . . actually?” I say. “I’m not ready for that.”
His smile dissolves. “Why not?”
“I’m just not.”
“Maybe you need some convincing,” he says. He starts kissing me again. The bedsprings creak.
Nothing about this feels right anymore.
I push him away.
“What is it with you?” he says.
“What?”
“You always do this.”
“Always? Like it’s been that many times?”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I say. “It’s only been five weeks.”
“Exactly. It’s been five weeks.”
“No, it’s only been five weeks. That’s nothing.”
“How long do you need?”
“I don’t know. Longer than this.”
Dave stares at me. “You’re never gonna have sex with me, are you?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do you always say ‘nothing’?”
“Because nothing’s wrong.”
“Look,” Dave says. “I know something’s wrong. So what is it?”
I miss being able to put on my pajamas and chill in front of the TV and actually get all of my homework done before midnight. I mean, making out with my boyfriend would be preferable if it felt right. I might even want to sleep with him. But something’s still missing. “It’s just . . . I need to get my homework done.”
“But we always do
Like Dave makes me feel sometimes.
The past two weeks have been disappointing. Dave and I just aren’t connecting the way I thought we would by now. We don’t have that much in common and his sense of humor is lacking. Not like Tobey, who always makes me laugh. And Dave totally goes along with what Matt and Alex do. It’s not like I suddenly hate Dave or anything. . . . I still feel like I want to be his girlfriend. But I can’t help thinking about Tobey, too. . . .
Dave’s lying on his stomach on my bed, reading his history book. History is his favorite subject. Stuff that happened a million years ago to dead white men. Thrilling. How can he actually like that stuff? How can I like someone who actually likes that stuff?
“Sara, take it easy.” Dave gets up and kneels next to my chair. “You’re brilliant. What could you possibly not get?” He rubs my arm.
I try to focus on the problem. But sitting at my rickety pseudo-desk makes it impossible. “I’m . . .” Mom’s idea of a desk was to put a board over some cinder blocks. The cinder blocks are covered with burlap. I am not kidding. So here I sit, just like every night, churning out an endless deluge of homework. It’s only October, but I’m already over it.
Dave is still kneeling next to me. He keeps rubbing my arm. “I think you need a break.” He takes his hand away from my arm and gently runs it down my leg. “When’s your mom coming home?”
Mom works late on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it’s Tuesday. We have at least another two hours alone. Not that it matters anyway. Every time Dave comes over, we end up making out, even with my mom in the next room. And my door doesn’t even lock. And I know she knows what we’re doing. But it happens anyway because she doesn’t care.
“Later,” I say. “Why?”
“I thought we could . . . you know.”
I’m like, “What?” Even though I know what. It’s the same thing he brings up every time we make out.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just this.” He starts kissing me.
It’s weird how one minute I’m all tense and the next minute all my stress disappears. Dave is gorgeous. Dave is kissing me. Dave can make me feel better. I kind of get why some relationships are only based on physical attraction.
He pulls me over to my bed and we sit down. He kisses me harder. I’m having a hard time remembering why I was upset before.
But then he reaches down to the floor and unzips his bag. And takes out a condom. And puts the condom on the bed.
How tacky is that?
Dave says, “You know you want to.” Then he smiles at me like he’s the most irresistible thing ever.
How condescending is that?
“Um . . . actually?” I say. “I’m not ready for that.”
His smile dissolves. “Why not?”
“I’m just not.”
“Maybe you need some convincing,” he says. He starts kissing me again. The bedsprings creak.
Nothing about this feels right anymore.
I push him away.
“What is it with you?” he says.
“What?”
“You always do this.”
“Always? Like it’s been that many times?”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I say. “It’s only been five weeks.”
“Exactly. It’s been five weeks.”
“No, it’s only been five weeks. That’s nothing.”
“How long do you need?”
“I don’t know. Longer than this.”
Dave stares at me. “You’re never gonna have sex with me, are you?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do you always say ‘nothing’?”
“Because nothing’s wrong.”
“Look,” Dave says. “I know something’s wrong. So what is it?”
I miss being able to put on my pajamas and chill in front of the TV and actually get all of my homework done before midnight. I mean, making out with my boyfriend would be preferable if it felt right. I might even want to sleep with him. But something’s still missing. “It’s just . . . I need to get my homework done.”
“But we always do
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