Page 4 of Aftershock

Currently playing – Love In Los Angeles by Lexi Harlow

It seemed fitting since I was going to California. As I unwrapped my sandwich, I slowly let the music carry me away. It would be my first time in California, but it wasn’t for the vacation of a lifetime; it was for a funeral. Most people associated California with dreams coming true or finding love, but this trip was definitely not about fulfilling my long-lost dream or finding my soul mate. Hell, I mean, at this point in time, I didn’t even believe that love existed at all. That's not to say that I hadn't believed in romance in the past, though. Over the last few years, I had my fair share of relationships.

First, there was Adam. He was the cliche guy that most girls don't expect to fall for. You know how the story goes. You start off as friends, then you turn into best friends, and from there, things keep going. Adam was the person I’d talk to on the phone at night about stupid shit like the latest celebrity gossip or gossip or whether a tomato was a fruit or vegetable. Then, slowly, after overlooking the person who was right in front of me, the time came when I finally opened my eyes and realized that I was crushing on Adam. It wasn’t until a year into our friendship that I ever thought about him in that way, but as soon as I thought about it, I couldn’t stop. No, he wasn't the most obviously attractive, but when you fall for someone, they immediately become a ten out of ten. It all started when we met in 9th grade. Adam was the new kid, and some of the jocks were bullying him. One of the popular boys called Adam “gay,” and soon a lot of others followed suit. I vividly remember bolting up from my chair and yelling for everyone to shut the fuck up, or else I’d start rumors about them all having small dicks. Adam laughed, and surprisingly, so did the jocks, even though you could tell they were still trying to process what I had just said. After class, Adam thanked me, and our relationship grew from there. Eventually, we started dating, but then something in our relationship started to change. Adam started doing track, and his circle of friends grew, causing him to become popular. Despite our differences in social standing, we continued to force our relationship to work. One night, we sat on the bench outside his house and talked for hours. His parents were at a dinner party, so he ran inside and grabbed a bottle of their vodka. We sat on the porch until midnight, drinking and just talking to each other. That's when he confessed that he thought he was gay, or at least bisexual. I couldn’t say that I didn't suspect anything, but it still felt like I was being smacked in the face and stabbed in the chest when I heard those words escape his lips. That’s when I realized it wouldn’t be fair to stay with someone who still needed to figure out who they were…so we broke up. He deserved to find love no matter who it was with. I never stopped supporting him, but as time went on, so did what remained of our friendship. I truly believe he was my first love, though.

Then there was Daniel. He was the complete opposite of Adam. We met in college during a time when I just wanted to have fun and date a “bad boy.” He was the rebel that every girl thought they could somehow change. He was the one who egged the professors on and always had to get the last word in. Daniel even had a motorcycle—a fucking motorcycle. In your freshman year of college, that’s enough to make any girl drop her panties. There may have also been a slight chance that Daniel sold “special snacks” to students, and I may or may not have been one of those students. Later in the school year, I stopped by his house to buy a “special snack,” and we ended up sitting on the couch talking about his motorcycle. I was so infatuated with Daniel in a way that I had never been with anyone else before. As we were talking, Daniel surprised me by pulling me close and eagerly pressing his lips against mine. With Adam, our kisses were tender and light, but with Daniel, there was passion and desire. The thing about Daniel, though, is that he wasn't just a bad boy; he was actually a bad person. He was a spitting image of my own father, and he only cared about his image. He even tried to gaslight me into thinking I was the reason for all of his mistakes and shortcomings. Daniel flunked his math final? He’d claim it was my fault for hanging around all the time and distracting him from his studies. Daniel wanted to have sex, and I didn’t? He’d call me a prude. Daniel didn't have enough money to buy his dream car? He’d blame me for wanting to go out on expensive dates. In Daniel's world, he was the star of the show, and no one else mattered. Four months into dating, he made the biggest mistake of all. Daniel tried one of his many attempts to get me into bed with him, and I wasn't having it. After my third “No.” he lost it and said that if I didn't satisfy his “needs,” he was going to go find someone else who would. That was the last straw. I told him that I would agree to sleep with him if he could name one part of the female anatomy besides the vagina, ass, or boobs. He failed miserably after asking, “Isn't that all there is?” That’s when I realized that there was no way he would make me orgasm so having sex with him would’ve been pointless on my side. I told him he could sleep with whoever he wanted to because we were done. Daniel became red in the face and threw a temper tantrum like a three-year-old as he shouted, “Fine! I’ll find someone better than you to come over within the hour!” To which I replied, “Just because we’ve never had sex doesn't mean I haven’t seen your dick.” I looked him up and down, then continued, “With your size and your knowledge of female anatomy, you will fail miserably at pleasing a woman, so do yourself a favor—save us all the embarrassment and go jerk off into a sock.”

I never slept with him despite his persistence, and I didn’t regret that choice for a second. I guess that story wasn't one of true love; it was one of pain and loneliness. Maybe there was no happy ending in my future.

But hey, on the bright side I had enough one-liners to burn anyone who crossed me to the ground.

Tremors Of Terror

As I was taking a sip of my, oh, so amazing, Smart Water, the ground shook slightly, causing me to abruptly sit up straight and spill a few drops of liquid on my sweater.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath while pulling out my AirPods.

Was that shaking caused by the thunder, or should I start running and screaming like those people I had seen earlier?

No, I was just overreacting, right? For all I knew, it was just some large guy a few feet away who fallen over while trying to do a handstand. Yeah, that was definitely it. Shrugging off the thought, I started to put my headphones back in when I heard the sound of someone shouting. In the distance, I saw someone wearing a black hoodie with their back facing me. The person was flailing their arms while yelling at two large men.

“I can go to the fucking bathroom by myself!” A feminine voice boomed rather loudly.

“You go, girl, don't let the man keep you down,” I whispered as I chuckled slightly while putting my headphones back inside their case.

No point in listening to music when the world clearly had other plans.

Glancing back over toward the woman, the two men now appeared to be shushing her. Considering what she did next, that did not seem like a good idea on their part. I watched as she pushed them to the side and forced her way into the bathroom.

“Don’t come in here!”

As if I were hit by a wave of pure deja vu, I remembered I needed to pee…a lot. No thanks to the Smart Water, there was no time to wait, as I quickly grabbed my bag and made a mad dash toward the bathroom. I reached my arm out to open the door, but the two men who were arguing with that woman earlier held steadfast, still blocking the door.

I laughed dryly. “Oh, don't tell me you're going to try and keep me from going to the bathroom like you did to that other girl?”

What's with men thinking they can control women?

“Sorry, ma'am, we can't let you in,” the taller man stated.

“Okay, fine, you wanna play? I can call security, and have you removed, or if that's not scary enough for two big white men, I can pop a squat and take a shit right here!” I screamed as a roar of thunder could be heard in the background.

Great timing, if I do say so myself.

And no, I did not actually need to poop, but they didn't need to know that.

I saw a group of several girls walk around the corner as I opened my mouth to speak again. Before I could, the two men hurriedly began shushing me. They looked at each other with a worried expression on their faces before stepping aside to let me in the bathroom.

“That’s what I thought,” I said as I pushed past them.

I all but burst the door down, trying to get into the stall as I ran inside. That other girl must've thought I drank five gallons of water with the amount of pee I had inside of me. I didn't think it was possible for my bladder to hold that much liquid. I flushed the toilet, which, for some reason, scared me because how loud it was. Why were public bathrooms always so daunting? Especially the ones with the automatic toilets. I slowly opened the stall and walked up to the sink. From the corner of my eye, I could see the other girl standing there, washing her hands. I wanted to ask if she was okay after what happened with those men earlier, but my social anxiety got the better of me. That was the one thing I never quite understood about myself—I was outspoken when it came to advocating for my rights, but when it came to simple conversations, I sucked.

I sighed and looked at myself in the mirror's reflection. The bags under my eyes were heavily present at this point as I took note of my tired appearance. The naturally brown tint to my skin had somewhat faded as the color now resembled somewhat of a pale, lifeless version of what it once was. Even my hair, which was usually full of voluminous curls, now fell loosely in string-like tendrils and looked way too greasy for me to believe I had just washed it yesterday. I glanced over my choice of clothing as I shifted uncomfortably while fidgeting with the hems of my sleeves. I wore a baggy black knit sweater that was slightly oversized, along with high-waisted acid-wash blue jeans and my favorite pair of black Converse. Maybe not the best choice for a flight.

Too late now.

I clutched the sides of the sink and shut my eyes tightly as I took a deep breath. I could feel the girl next to me staring as I turned on the faucet and began washing my hands to resemble some sense of normalcy, even though I was aware that I reeked of “midlife crisis in your twenties” energy.

Looking in her direction to grab a paper towel, I noticed her head immediately spin the opposite way as she walked toward the door.

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