Page 1 of The Rent Just Went Up

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Erika

Chris wantsto have sex with me tonight. I know he does. He hasn’t said it out loud, but he doesn’t have to. Any girl will tell you that they justknowwhen a guy wants to do it. It’s written all over them. From their words, to their face, to the way they move. And on top of that, Chris asked if he could take me to dinner tonight at my favorite restaurant when it’s not even my birthday or our anniversary or any kind of special occasion whatsoever.

“Just because” was his explanation. I smiled and went along with it, pretending like I didn’t know what he was up to or what his motivation was, but I knew. He held the car door for me, then the restaurant door when we got there, and even pulled out my chair for me at the table like I was some kind of princess or something.

It was allwayover the top, but what was I supposed to say? “Okay, Chris, you can drop the act, I know what you’re up to”?

No, I just let him do his thing and smiled as we sat side by side at the hibachi table and watched the chef wave his metal spatula thingies around, making volcanoes of fried rice and chucking shrimp and pieces of steak to us with crazy precision. I don’t know why he thinks hibachi is like my most favorite thing in the world. I guess because I mentioned to him that I went to hibachi for my sweet-sixteen and had a great time, and that’s all he remembers about me.

At least he remembers something, I guess…

We shared a green tea ice cream, and he picked up the check and then held all the doors for me on the way out.

We’ve been dating now for just about four months. Our relationship started at the end of senior year and continued through graduation. Chris works for his father’s finance company, and I’m still not totally sure just exactly what he does, but he seemed nice enough when we first met. I’d never had a boyfriend before him, and he wasn’t a total asshole, so I guess that’s why I said yes when he asked me to go out with him. But ever since then, things between us have been going steadily downhill—at least in my mind. I’m not sure whether Chris feels the same way, though.

I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is, but I guess I feel more like an object to him than an actual person when I think about my place in our relationship. It’s like Chris would be happier to show me off to his friends and his folks than he would be to ask me about my day and where I want to go in life.

That’s how most of his friends seem to behave when it comes to their girlfriends, too. Justhavinga girlfriend that checks all the right boxes is more important to them than actually getting along with one romantically and sharing an intimate, emotional relationship. And I guess the next box Chris wants to check as far as our relationship goes is the sex box.

I haven’t checked that box at all—not once in my life—and I’m not sure if Chris has either. He claims he hasn’t, but I’m not quite sure I believe him. He could just be saying he’s a virgin too to make me feel more comfortable giving up my v-card to him. Honestly, I feel like that’s the case.

I’m pretty sure he did it with Jaime Peters, the girl with the huge I-can’t-even-jog double-D tits who I had in my trigonometry class. They dated before he and I went out but broke up for some reason that he always says he doesn’t want to get into whenever I bring it up. In fact, he’s still pretty testy about it despite the fact that they broke up over six months ago.

I’ve always been jealous over how big her boobs are. I know it shouldn’t really matter, considering the fact that they’re not even a couple any longer, and the fact that she’s so stacked she can’t even play sports, but she can basically wear any shirt and make it look incredible with that rack. It’s just not fair. How do some girls get blessed and others are flat as a board until the summer of their junior year and end up only sprouting Bs?

Chris tells me they’re great and perky and I should love them because I won’t be all saggy and gross when I’m older, but part of me thinks he’s just saying whatever so he can get into my pants. That’s what eighteen-year-old guys do, right?

“You look gorgeous tonight, my little snugglebutt.” Chris’s voice grabs my attention as he comes into the living room where I’ve been sitting on my phone for the last few minutes. Snugglebutt—the corny nickname he’s had for me for the last two months. I have no idea where it came from, to be honest, but I just sort of go with it at this point.

“Aw, thank you.” I smile. I’m not wearing anything special, and I haven’t done my hair or makeup any differently either. I basically just look like I normally do when Chris and I hang out, which confirms my suspicions that he’s trying to have sex tonight.

He comes over to the couch and puts down some chocolate covered strawberries that look homemade.

I sigh internally. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him I don’t like strawberries, and this just confirms that he hasn’t been listening and has just been looking online for tips on how to impress your girlfriend. Either that or he’s just been asking one of his guy friends.

I really want to get into it with him just to see his reaction, but I know he’s not worth it. None of this is worth it. So instead, I just take one of the strawberries, take the tiniest bite that is mostly chocolate, swallow without tasting, and smile.

“Good?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I knew you’d like them.” He smiles. “Would you like a seltzer?”

“Sure,” I reply, already trying to come up with an excuse on how to get out of here. Maybe tonight is actually a good night to break up with Chris. I think it’s pretty clear now that this just isn’t going to work for me.

He pats me on the knee and stands. “Be right back.”

Again, I nod and watch as he walks off to the kitchen. Once he’s gone, I pull out my phone and open up a text to Sarah, a friend of mine, but before I can even start typing, Chris’s phone vibrates on the coffee table.

Not being one to snoop, I ignore it and go back to what I was doing and send a text to Sarah, letting her know I may need a ride out of here soon. But before I even get a response text back from her, Chris’s phone vibrates again.

Now nobody texts Chris often. He’s in a few group chats with his guy friends, but they just send each other stupid memes and things like that, and he usually mutes them when he’s going to be doing something with me, so whatever’s happening right now, it shouldn’t be one of those.

He and I text frequently, but I’m sitting right here, so it’s clearly not me.

The phone vibratesagain, and a tightness forms in my chest. There’s something going on. I may not like Chris all that much, I may have been thinking about breaking up with him a moment ago, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with him pulling some kind of shenanigans on me in the background of our relationship—if that’s indeed what is going on here.

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