Page 5 of Breakaway

She snatches the blanket off my head. I grab it back and use it to cover my boobs. Why did I have to get myself totally naked for this? The murderous expression should make me want to flee, but it bursts open the floodgates instead; I double over in laughter that feels dangerously close to tears. I feel her pull my hair, but I just snort.

“Igor,” I say in between wheezes. “He went flying.”

“And now I’m traumatized for life.” I peek at Mia; she’s wiping at her face again. I don’t blame her. I might not have gotten off, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t feeling it. I’ve held back her hair while she threw up in the gutter, but that doesn’t mean she wants my... stuff... all over her face.

“You should probably go back into the shower.”

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you right here.” She smirks, but then her expression softens. “You couldn’t do it? Still?”

“No. And now I can’t stop thinking about... him. Ugh.” I press the heels of my hands over my eyes as my amusement fades. “Fuck this. I’m so tired of being stuck.”

Mia sits on the edge of my bed, her hazel eyes big as she looks at me. She rubs her hand over my shin. “He’s just a memory.”

I take a deep breath and nod. She’s right. I haven’t seen Preston in years, and even if it means never setting foot in Arizona again, I never will. But this isn’t even about him. This is about me. I might be good with my fantasies and stories most of the time, but they can only get a girl so far. While everyone around me has been having the college experiences of their dreams, I’ve been stuck in neutral, unable to make my desires my reality. When getting off used to be easy, I could pretend I didn’t care, but now?

Now I think I’m going to scream if I don’t orgasm. Fuck Preston Biller. Fuck the love I thought we shared. I draw my legs up, hugging them to my chest through the blanket. “I hate being broken. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t say that.” Mia takes my hand. Our manicures match. We went to the fancy nail salon at the Moorbridge mall yesterday. Hers are bright green with black tips and little ghost stickers, and mine are white with orange tips and pumpkin stickers. Perfect for October, which starts in a few days. She squeezes reassuringly. “Maybe you just need to spice it up a little.”

“I’ve expanded my hot fantasy creature roster to include orcs,” I say helpfully.

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Maybe it’s time.”

A pit opens in my stomach and my heart jumps straight through. “I don’t know.”

“You’re at a huge university. Surely there’s someone here on campus who you’d like to hook up with.”

She’s not wrong; technically speaking, there are potential hookups everywhere. We go to McKee University, which has thousands of undergraduate students alone, and it’s not like guys haven’t tried to hook up with me. Usually, it’s some gross flirting that involves asking if my carpet matches the drapes, since I’m a ginger, but still. College guys don’t need a lot of encouragement with hookups; throw a wink their way and they’ll chase you all evening.

“You know it’s not about that.”

“I know,” she says gently. “But you can’t go on like this.”

She looks through my nightstand, pulling out my journal and waving it around.

“Hey,” I say, snatching it away from her. I hug the bright pink cover to my chest. “Treat her gently.”

When I first started going to Dr. Faber, she wanted me to keep a journal, and while I have three years of notebooks now, I always start it with the same list. It’s a list of everything I wish I could do with someone else in bed; everything I want—desperately—but haven’t had. Preston took away my biggest first and ruined it, so I wanted to reclaim whatever I could, to make it mine to control. Since I first wrote it, I’ve refined it, taken away some things and added others. When I started college last year, I updated The List and decided I was going to make it happen. I’d find a fuck buddy, or maybe a couple of guys, and go through The List item by item. But every time I got close, I just couldn’t pull the trigger. I retreated into my books and fantasies, no matter how hot the guy was or how nice he was acting. How could I trust a stranger? He might have been nice then, but who knows what he’d really be like, alone and in control of me.

Now, I’m well into the first semester of sophomore year, and I still have done nothing with The List. I look down at it now, running my finger over the page, full of items like oral sex, orgasm denial, and bondage. The last item on the list, vaginal sex, has always remained the same. If I do this, that’ll be the biggest hurdle. The biggest show of trust.

I glance at Mia. “What if things get fucked up all over again?”

Mia raises an eyebrow. “If you keep waiting, you’ll just make excuses.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.”

“Well, you must be okay, if you’re quoting When Harry Met Sally.”

We smile at each other. Mia would rather watch almost anything than a romcom, but she indulges me from time to time. Even she can’t deny Nora Ephron’s talent.

“And if you didn’t actually want to do it, I wouldn’t push.” She gets up, tightening the towel underneath her arms, and picks up her razor. “But I know you do, Pen. You deserve to have sex. Or a relationship. Or both. But it won’t happen if you keep hiding in your room with Igor. Use The List.”

“I guess I should give up thinking I’m going to get a Bella Swan situation, huh?” I try to joke.

Mia’s face stays stone-cold serious. She’s been my best friend ever since the school assigned us to be roommates last year. Dad was nervous about me being in the dorms, but I had a good feeling about it, and it has paid off in spades. Mia’s more of a friend than the people I knew in high school ever were, even before everything went down with Preston. While sometimes I resent her honesty, usually I admire it. She says what she’s thinking, regardless of who she’s talking to or where she is. If we switched places, she’d go to a party, find a guy, and cross number one off The List within an hour.

“You deserve this,” she says. “Don’t let him keep ruining your life. He’s not worth it.”

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