Page 52 of Doesn't Count

I nod, “I get it.

“Good.” She huffs.

“Can we just get along now? I kind of miss my roommate.” I lean my head back against the window behind me.

“Fine, but no funny business. I’m still annoyed with you.”

I give her a scout's honor with my fingers crossed behind my back. She laughs, shoving me playfully and I feel like I can breathe again. As much fun as it’s been riling her up, it’s alsobeen painful. Like a knot you keep tugging tighter instead of unthreading.

“Can I ask you something?” I take another sip of my beer.

“Shoot.” She says, wrapping her arms around her knees, her face just a little closer now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

She tugs at the skin on her bottom lip wondering if she should confide in me.

“In the spirit of starting over?” I persuade.

“Fine.” She concedes, her fingers wringing together anxiously. “I got a lot of shit about being a virgin in high school, even more in college. I’ve just always hated talking about it. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but everyone always made it one. Like I'm a loser or that something must be wrong with me to still be a virgin at twenty-three.”

“Were you saving yourself for marriage?”

She drops her head back onto the armrest, staring at the ceiling of the bus. “No.”

“Then why go through all the trouble?”

“Are you saying I should’ve just had sex with one of the many assholes that wanted it from me just to make my life easier?” She argues, her eyes darkening.

“Well, no.” I say. “I'm just trying to understand the why?”

She pinches her lips to the side in thought. “It’s complicated.”

"So is life.” I counter.

Her eyes meet mine and she searches for a reason to tell me. She’s hesitant, untrusting, and wishing so badly to finally say these things out loud. I can see the words begging for an escape, for someone to eat them up for her, to take away all her pain.

“God, where do I start?” She laughs.

Ashton

10 Years Ago

I barrel past the front door, slamming it shut behind me. My heart races faster than my legs just moments ago as I sprinted home. It gallops painfully inside of my chest, so rapidly that I think I’m having a heart attack. I catch myself on the wall in the hallway, my hand falling against the eggshell painted drywall, trying to regulate my breathing. My lungs seize, like a vacuum sealed bag, void of any air.

Weak, my legs buckle, and I fall to the hardwood floors as I focus on trying to survive this moment. I can hear my mom in the kitchen, finishing up dinner, completely unaware that her daughter is suffering from a pending meltdown.

As the room starts to right itself again and my body remembers how to function, I fall back against the wall with my knees to my chest. My fingertips slowly inch up towards my lips as if they would somehow feel different.

Oliver kissed me.

My best friend since first grade laid his lips upon mine before professing his true feelings for me.

Oliver! The boy who used to chase me around with deadcicadas, the boy who used to tell me that girls are gross and that I was no exception, the boy who forced me to listen to death metal because he liked the way it made his bones vibrate.

But he’s also the boy that willingly absorbed all my frustration every time I had a fight with my parents, the boy who let me sob into his shoulder while my dad buried our dog, the boy who sat on my bed and watched me for weeks while I obsess over everything but him.

I’m a tidal wave of mixed emotions. I drop my head back against the wall with a thud, the noise loud enough to alert my mom.

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