(Then) Kinsley

I survived the rest of the semester with Michael...barely.  We had sex three more times, too.  Two were anger-fueled like the first two, and the third was just a random booty call.  Guess what?  The random booty call wasn't as awesome as the angry sex.

Then I started dating Troy.  Our relationship was really fun in the beginning.  We had a lot in common and pretty good chemistry.  The sex wasn't mind-blowing, but it was good, and frequent.  And then it wasn't.  I mean, it was still frequent.  But it wasn't as good.  And it was really the only thing we did.  We stopped going out.  And I didn't feel very connected to him.

I ended up breaking up with him just shy of the day that would have marked 4 months together.  School was almost over for the year anyway.  He took it well, which pissed me off a little.  I don't know why, but when I break up with someone, I feel better if they're at least a little upset.  But, with the way things had been going, his reaction made sense.

I ran into Michael as I was coming into our apartment building, just after breaking up with Troy.  "Hey, Kins," he said with a smirk.  I just glared at him.  I was tired of telling him not to call me that.  He seemed surprised when I didn't snap back and asked, almost sincerely, "You okay?"

"Fine, thanks for your concern," I said sarcastically.  I turned and headed for the stairs.  "What are you, a lost puppy?" I snapped, seeing him follow me.

"Nah, you're clearly all pissed off, so I thought I'd offer my services as punching bag.  Literally, this time, seeing as you have that boyfriend ruining my fun now."

And that was where I made my first mistake.  "Actually, there's no boyfriend anymore."

"Sorry to hear that," he said, and this time he did sound sincere.  "Recent?"

Mistake #2:  "Yeah, if 15 minutes ago counts as recent."  Now I really had his attention.

He continued to follow me up the stairs.  "Well, then I guess you can use me however you want."  I didn't even bother to reply, but I also didn't try to stop him from following me.  In our bizarre relationship, that was the easiest it's ever been for him to get into my apartment.

Once we were in the apartment, though, I didn't really feel like doing anything but flopping onto my couch.  And that's exactly what I did.  "Kate at work?" Michael asked, looking around.  I nodded.  He sat on the other end of the couch and surprised me by asking if I wanted to talk about it.

I gave him a weird look.  "Not to you," I replied.

"Believe it or not, I'm actually a pretty good listener," he said back with a shrug.  "You're just too busy hating me to find out."

"There's really not even anything to talk about," I insisted.  "We were fine, and then we weren't.  The sex sucked.  There was no connection.  I'm not even that upset about it, it's just been a shitty week."

"Do you ever have a connection with anyone?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

I sat up.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I snapped.

"Exactly what it sounds like it means.  Who's your best friend here?"

"Kate," I answered automatically.

"And is it because you like her that much, or because you live with her?"

Now I was getting pissed.  "How dare you come into my apartment and criticize my relationships!"

"It's not your fault," he continued.  "I mean, hell, look at your family.  Your mom was pretty depressed, don't you think?  I bet you never really felt super connected to her.  And your dad worked so much.  It's no wonder you have a hard time with it now."

He was so matter-of-fact, and even though I was seething, he had a point.  My mom had been depressed for most of my childhood and we didn't have a very good relationship.  She had never been nurturing or into doing things with me. My dad spent so much time at work to avoid dealing with her, and I was the collateral damage.  Most of my childhood friendships were fleeting and I was so used to playing by myself that I didn't really care.  My longest relationship so far has lasted 7 months, and that was probably in part because it was long distance.  That works out well for me.  So, what he was saying actually made a lot of sense. 

I was going to let him know that, though.  "You take one semester of gen psych and what?  You're fucking Freud?  Fuck off."  

"You should really work on some more creative ways to tell me off.  Also, ladies shouldn't say 'fuck' so much," he replied, shifting his weight to settle more comfortably against the back of the couch.  Now I was reasonably certain he was trying to provoke me.  I resisted.

"I hope you fall on a cactus," I said calmly.

"It's a step in the right direction," he said.  He picked up the remote and turned the TV on.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked, reaching for the remote.

He shrugged and held the remote out of my reach. "Might as well make myself comfortable."

"I'd prefer if you didn't," I said through gritted teeth.

"I know," he said simply.

I stood up and walked over to him, making a grab for the remote.  I got my hand on it, but he didn't let go.  Instead, he pulled it hard towards his body, and I couldn't stop myself from tipping forward and landing in his lap.  I had kept my grip on the remote though, and my other hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt.  "Give me the fucking remote," I growled.  He let go, and I chucked it across the room.  It landed with a thud and the battery door flew off.

He quickly wrapped his arms around my waist, anchoring me against him.  "You're lucky I didn't throw it at your head," I told him.  Then I kissed him.  He picked me up, and my legs automatically wrapped around his waist.  "Where are we going?" I asked breathlessly, pulling my face away from his.

"Your bed, for once," he replied.

I immediately squirmed in his arms.  "No," I said.  "You're not my boyfriend, we're not fucking in my bed."  The downfall of on campus housing is that by this point we were already in my room.  How he knew which room was mine, I'll never know.

He set me down on my bed.  He didn't join me.  He didn't kiss me.  He just stood there, silently challenging me.  I stared at him hard for several seconds before grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him down next to me. 
 
I didn't immediately kick him out after we were finished, and he made no move to go.  We laid side by side in my bed, not touching, not talking.  After gathering my courage for several minutes, I spoke.  "So, Dr. Freud, am I fucked up forever?"  I tried to sound nonchalant, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.

"What?  Kinsley is showing vulnerability?" Michael asked in mock surprise.  I sighed and rolled over to face the wall.

"You can go now," I said.

"Wait," he replied.  He put a hand on my arm and gently rolled me back towards him.  "I don't think you're fucked up at all.  I just think you need to let yourself be vulnerable sometimes."  Then he stood up, dressed quickly, and let himself out.

I considered his words for several minutes, but ultimately decided that if being vulnerable was what it was going to take, I'd go ahead and skip that whole connection thing.