Living at the Frat House - A College Romance

We fell into each other like puzzle pieces, it was bound to happen. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. And he hinted about it too. He may have thought he loved me, and something changed.

That almost hurts more than the face that I loved him. The anger and loathing in his eyes, I can’t unsee it. I keep seeing that stare and heat piercing out of the dark and hearing the dark growl telling me to get out. That I’m nothing.

I pull myself up off the floor and follow Bailey’s instructions to borrow pajamas. We’re about the same size and we’ve shared clothes for years. I choose the comfiest things that I can find and finish the glass of water that she gave me.

My face is puffy and hot and tight from crying, and I’m still on the edge. The pain in my chest is a physical thing. Nothing will make it better. Not right now.

One of the best things about Bailey is that she’s a pillow queen. She’s always had an over-abundance of pillows and blankets in her room, so it’s easy for me to create a nest on the floor, leaning against the bed where I can see the TV that she’s set up. I’m not sure that I’m actually going to feel like watching anything, but even crying though a movie feels better than being alone.

This really wasn’t the way that that I had planned to spend my Saturday night. I never saw this coming.

The door opens. “Hey Bailey, can I borrow that lip gloss that I like?” And Taylor freezes when she sees me buried in a pile of blankets and pillows. “Oh, hey Juno.”

I see her take in my appearance, and she doesn’t react at all. It’s pretty obvious that I’m not in a good state. “You okay?”

“Fine, thanks,” is all I say, my voice raw and strained from crying. Now that I know what she really thinks of me, I’m not inclined to confide in her.

“You sure?”

I glare at her. “Maybe use those deductive skills you’re supposed have as a human, Taylor, and figure it out.”

She looks a little startled. “Okay, geeze. I was just asking.”

Bailey appears at that moment, and if I’ve never thanked my best friend for impeccable timing, I certainly will now. “Oh, hey, Taylor,” she says, moving past her into the room with two giant grocery bags. “You need something.”

“Came by to see if I could borrow that lip gloss that looks so good on me.”

Bailey looks her up and down. She’s clearly dressed to go out. Short skirt and skimpy, glittering top. Fuck me heels. She looks the way I looked when they dressed me to go to Granite House.

“Not tonight, Taylor.”

She pouts. “Come on. That shade of peach goes perfectly with this outfit.”

“It’s lip gloss, Taylor. You’re going to let some guy suck it off your lips anyway. So please, get out.”

She takes a step back like she’s been slapped. “Jesus, Bailey. It’s not like I asked for your first-born child. Just a favor. But if that’s so fucking hard for you, I’ll just go.”

Neither of us say anything as she leaves.

“Not going to lie,” Bailey says, “that felt really fucking good.”

“I’m glad.”

She sits down next to me and starts unpacking the bags, which have a truly unfathomable amount of chocolate, ice cream, and soda. As well as face masks, some nail polish, and a DVD. “I thought about it after I left you at dinner, and I’ve kind of been sick of Taylor’s shit for a long time. And now that everything’s out in the open, I’m not going to tolerate it anymore. She knows the brand and the color of that stupid lip gloss, so she can buy her own. But she comes here every weekend asking to borrow it.” Bailey sighs. “A stupid thing to be the last straw, maybe. But it was the last straw.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up in opposition to the pain that’s trying to shred me and it’s a relief. “Holy shit that was great. Bai, have I mentioned that I love you?”

“Not nearly enough. Here.” She passes me a pint of mint chocolate ice cream—my favorite. “Eat.”

“You understand that as a nutrition major, I really should be having a feast that’s entirely sugar?”

She gets up and opens the DVD and puts it in the player. I didn’t even see what it was. “I do realize that. But there’s different kinds of nutrition, and right now you need nutrition for a broken heart. And the recipe for that is ice cream, chocolate, and bad movies.”

“My heart isn’t broken,” I tell her. The words feel automatic, like I’m trying to convince myself as much as tell her.

One loud, boisterous laugh pops out of Bailey. “Bullshit.”

“Bailey…”

“Nope. Shut it, Juno. You don’t cry like that over someone that you don’t love. And I know you’ll try to talk yourself around it by saying you weren’t together very long or something like that, but guess what? Hearts don’t pay attention to timelines. You loved him, whether you want to admit it or not.”