Page 48 of Cinderella Screwed Me Over
Beauty and the BeastCase Study: Boone/The Beast
My Age: 19
I started college with the feeling that no matter who I met, he’d never be as good as Gil. In a lot of ways, this was true. Still, there comes a point when you’ve got to try to move on.
Boone was in one of my study groups sophomore year. The first time I met him, I wouldn’t have used the wordscute,hot, or any other flattering word to describe him. He had a big nose and out-of-control, dark hair that stuck in all directions. But there was something about him—the whole tortured-artist thing—that drew me in.
We started flirting and he seemed better-looking every time I saw him. He took me to his place and showed me his paintings. His artwork had this deep, disturbing quality. The nightmare images displayed pain, anger, and suffering. Simply looking at them made me feel a mix of emotions, and I thought that was powerful.
After dropping a few hints that I was into him, I still couldn’t tell how he felt about me. So one night when we were studying, I finally got the courage to say something. “Boone, if I told you I was interested in being more than friends, how would you take that?”
He stared at me like I’d asked him to travel to the moon with me.
My cheeks blazed. “Forget it.” I started gathering my books, desperate to get away from the humiliation.
Boone put his hand on my wrist. “Why wouldyoulikeme? You’re really pretty. And smart. And I’m just…not those things.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I think you’re funny, I like hanging out with you, and your artwork is amazing.”
He slowly leaned in and we shared an awkward, all-open-mouth first kiss. It got better over time. Before long, we went everywhere together. But the more time I spent with him, the more I saw him lose his temper. When his painting wasn’t going well, he’d throw paintbrushes and yell; he had several arguments with his roommates; his road rage was bad enough I started driving everywhere we went. Then he’d always calm down and go back to the guy I knew.
He began calling all the time to “check in.” Being somewhere he didn’t think I should be started an argument. If I ever talked to another guy at a party, on campus, or in class, he’d go off about it. He started throwing punches at other guys on a regular basis. Eventually, the fight would be broken up. Afterward, we’d go back to his or my place and I’d ice his bruises, soak his cuts, and he’d tell me that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing me. I felt like if I just stuck by his side, he’d see that I cared about him, and he’d stop fighting everyone else.
Instead of getting better, it got worse.
“Did you drink all of the juice?” Boone asked one day while we were at his apartment.
I looked up from my book. “No. I haven’t touched the juice. Didn’t you finish it off yesterday?”
“I think I would’ve remembered that. You think I’m stupid?”
I stood and hugged my book to my chest. “I’m not going to sit here and let you yell at me. I don’t deserve to be treated like that.”
“There you go, overreacting like you always do. I swear, you make every little thing into a big deal.”
“I think you yelling at me over juiceisa big deal.” Every time I said anything, he acted like I was completely crazy. Like I was some psycho chick who was irrational. The guy who yelled at me over juice insistedIwas irrational. “I’m going home. Call me when you decide to stop being a jerk.”
I opened the door, but he slammed it closed from behind me and put his foot in the way, so I couldn’t pull it open again. I twisted to face him. “Come on, Boone. Move so I can go.”
“You leave, you leave for good.”
I stared at him, my heart racing. “I guess this is good-bye forever, then.”
He punched the door and I flinched, thinking I was next. He let out a stream of profanities, then stormed back to his room.
The next weekend I was at a party with Stephanie, talking to Carlos, who lived in our same building. I saw Boone walk in and immediately panicked. He met my gaze from across the room and started toward us. My pulse sped up with each step that brought him closer.
“Who’s this?” he asked, glaring at Carlos.
“He’s just a friend,” I said.
Boone stepped closer to Carlos, getting in his face. “Why are you all over my girlfriend?”
“Calm down, dude,” Carlos said. “Darby and I are just talking.”
“That’s the problem. You need to stop.”
I tried to sound as firm as I could. “Youneed to stop, Boone. I’m not your girlfriend anymore, and if you’re going to be like this, you need to leave.”
