Page 109 of The Dare

“Just level with me, Taylor.” This is exhausting and I don’t know how else to get through to her, to break through this barrier she’s erected between us. Even the first night we met I never felt this distant from her. As if she’s looking past me. Invisible. Irrelevant. “You owe me that much. Just tell me the truth.”

“I don’t wantyouas a boyfriend, okay? Are you happy now?”

The gun was loaded that time. Bullet goes right through my chest.

“Like, seriously, Conor, you’re a great guy and you’re good looking, but what else do you have going on? You have no idea what you want to do with the rest of your life. You have no ambition. No plan or prospects. And that’s fine for you. You can live in your parents’ house and hang out on the beach for the rest of your life. Well, I want more for myself. It was fun, but next year we’ll be seniors and I’m ready to grow up. You’re not.”

At that, she grabs Sasha’s hand and pushes past me.

This time I let her go.

Because finally she hit the nail on the head, what I’ve always known and hoped she’d ignore—that we’re on two different paths. Taylor is bright and motivated. She’ll accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. I’m…a fuckup. A perennial drifter carried on the current with no aim or drive of my own.

Sasha’s car pulls out down the driveway and disappears around the corner.

A pang of loss stabs me square in the gut. A deep, buried memory of pain breaks the surface. A child’s memory of being in a darkened room, crying, alone and unconsoled. It was the first time I realized I had no father, when I was truly old enough to understand that it was something other kids had, but not me. Not because he died, but because we weren’t good enough.Iwasn’t good enough. Abandoned. Disposable. Garbage.

It was bound to happen. That moment Taylor woke up and realized she was out of my league. That she’d been tooquick to forgive me for running out on her over Kai. I’d kept her hanging and waited too long to figure out my feelings for her. I waited too long to make my intentions clear and define our relationship. I was selfish to think she needed me, wanted me, enough to be patient. I took her for granted because no one had ever made me feel as comfortable and accepted as she did. No one had ever given me that sense of self-worth before she did.

And now the best thing that’s ever happened to me just drove away.

40

TAYLOR

IONLY WATCH SHOWS WITHBRITISH ACCENTS NOW. IT’S LIKEgoing on vacation without having to put on pants. On Friday I skipped class—it was just a review anyway—turned off my phone, and dove into my to-be-watched list that has languished for months. When that failed to adequately distract me, I signed up for about a dozen streaming free trials.

My takeaway thus far is that serial killers are rampant in quaint country villages. Also, dating shows are better with accents, too. Although one thing I’ve noticed is the severe lack of excessive drinking on their reality programming—I mean, how are people supposed to start throwing chairs and breaking shit if they’re sober all the time? They do love their lip fillers and hair extensions, though.

“I like the one who says ‘fit’ a lot,” I tell Sasha over speaker-phone while I watch a show that’s essentially Tinder, except they all live together. “And they call girlsbirds. I feel like it’s still the fifties in just Cuba and England.”

“Uh-huh,” Sasha says with boredom in her voice. “Have you showered today?”

Clearly she doesn’t appreciate sophisticated television.

“It’s Saturday,” I tell her.

“Do we not shower on Saturdays now?” Always so judgey.

“Water doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

After Sasha drove me home from the Kappa house Thursday night, I got in my sweats, went to the couch, and watched British Cottage Murder Detective Priest while eating an entire box of Cheerios before falling asleep in the same position, waking up this morning, getting more cereal delivered, and resuming my viewing schedule. This will be my life now. With Instacart and online classes, who needs to leave the house?

“It’s the end of the semester,” I add. “Isn’t this what college students are supposed to do? Lie around in a nest of our own molting skin, watching TV and gorging on processed foods.”

“Not since millennials all got startups, Taylor.”

“Well, I’m an old soul.”

“You’re hiding,” she says sharply.

“So.” So what. Aren’t I allowed? I was dragged out in the middle of the student union, stripped, and ogled by the entire campus. That’s how it feels, anyway. So fucking sue me if all I want to do is lock myself inside and escape into other people’s lives for a while.

“So you were violated,” she starts, her tone softening.

“I’m aware.” Thanks.

“Don’t you want to do something about it? We can get the video taken down. We can go to the police. I’ll help you. You shouldn’t have to just accept that this happened and suffer for it.”

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