Kinsley: 312 Steps

Even though I love to work out, running and I don't get along.  I just hate it.  I would much rather spend my time in a spin class or lifting weights, or doing something that's actually fun outside like kayaking, or hiking, or skiing.  I actually want to like running, but I've tried a few times and I just can't get into it.

When I decided, right after our Labor Day camping trip, that I wanted to try again, Damien offered to run with me.  I'd rolled my eyes and basically said "thanks, but no thanks."  Damien was one of those people that loved running, and there was no way I'd keep up with him.  But he prodded me a little, promising to go at my speed and help me come up with a workout plan that didn't suck.  Finally I agreed, and it turns out that when you turn running into a social activity, I like it a lot better.

It had now been a little over a month and I was running two miles without stopping, which was pretty good since if I was running by myself, I'd huff and puff for about 2 minutes and call it good.  He even had me getting up and running on Sunday mornings with him.  He'd go out and run for awhile, then come get me and we'd run together for a little bit.  It's actually pretty disgusting in that "couple that does all the things together" way.

Today when we got back from our run, Damien told me to go ahead and shower first.  I refuse to share the shower, so he was used to that by now.  I took a little longer than I had planned because once I got in the shower I realized I desperately needed to shave.  By the time I got out, Damien was sitting on my bed.  "Sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to take so long.  It's all yours."  Then I turned and saw the serious look on his face and instantly got nervous.  It was the same look he always got when I was freaking out about something stupid. "What?  What's wrong?"

"While you were in the shower, your phone rang.  I didn't answer it, but it was right there, so I saw it was your dad calling.  He called back again as soon as your voicemail picked up.  I thought it might be an emergency, so I answered."  I shifted nervously, wishing he'd get to the point.  "Kinsley, your mom is in the hospital; it sounds like an overdose.  Right now she's not conscious.  Do you want to go to the hospital?"

I stared at him, processing this information in my mind.  I was so surprised by what he said that all I could register is that he asked me if I wanted to go, he didn't assume.  I felt like he finally understood how I felt about my family.  He waited patiently while all this went through my head.  Then the weight of what he said hit me, and I nodded mutely.

"Okay," he said.  "Why don't you put some clothes on, and then we'll go."

"But you didn't take a shower yet," I pointed out.

"I can shower later," he replied calmly.

I stood there in my towel and shook my head stubbornly.  "No, you gave me the shower first, and I took forever.  You should shower."

"Kinsley--" he started, looking confused.

"Would you just take a goddamned shower?!" I snapped.  I had no idea why I was so upset about a fucking shower, but right now it seemed like a reasonable thing to be upset about.  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath so my next statement could come out more calmly.  "Please.  Please just take a shower.  I need a minute to get dressed anyway.  You shouldn't have to not shower because my mom is crazy."  Then I turned away and dug in a drawer for a pair of jeans.  I heard him stand and seconds later, the shower started.

By the time I was dressed, he was out of the shower and drying off.  I wasn't in a hurry, so I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair, and by the time I was ready to go, he was too.  I almost said "I told you so," but what would it have accomplished?  Not a damn thing.  So I kept my mouth shut for once.

"Do you want me to drive?" Damien asked at the bottom of the stairs.  I took my keys out of my purse and handed them to him wordlessly.  He locked the house behind us and opened my car door for me.  I got in, put on my seatbelt, and rested my head against the cool window.  Damien got in and started towards the hospital.  He glanced at me once or twice, but he didn't speak, and I was grateful.  I didn't want to talk.  I don't know what I'd say.

We got lucky and Damien found a really good, recently vacated parking spot.  He led me through the doors, into the elevator, and pressed a button.  I didn't even see which floor he'd hit.  I didn't really care.  I briefly wondered how he knew where to go, then realized he probably got the information from my dad.  I wouldn't have thought to do that, but of course he did, because he functions perfectly when things are going wrong.

Damien led me to a small waiting area and I was pretty sure I couldn't get myself out of here on my own if I tried.  I looked up and saw that my dad and his fiancée, Christina.  I wondered why she was here.  She didn't give a fuck about my mom--obviously, since she didn't mind fucking him while he was still married to her.  Though, to be fair, my dad was here and neither did he.  And my fuck-giving about my mom was questionable on a good day, and here I was.  My dad rushed over to me and hugged me tightly, despite me trying to shy away from it.  I didn't want to be touched.  "What took you so long?" he asked, looking from me to Damien.  "Was traffic bad?"

"Dad, it's Sunday morning," I said, rolling my eyes.

He glared at me.  "You could show a little respect, with your mother in the state she's in."

I almost laughed.  Almost.  I also considered asking my dad why he cared about the state my mother was in, but managed to keep my mouth shut.  That's twice in less than an hour...I hope nothing else super inappropriate pops into my head, because statistically I'm overdue to say something stupid and impulsive.  I didn't know what was wrong with me, but my mood did not match the situation at all.  Instead of any of those things, I gazed passively at my dad and nodded.  Christina smiled sympathetically at me and I picked a seat as far away from her and my dad as I could and sat down heavily.  Damien and my dad spoke quietly for a minute, then my dad glanced my way and went and sat down next to Christina.

"Do you need anything?" Damien asked me, sitting down next me.  "Something to drink?  To eat?"  I shook my head, then leaned against the wall.  He brushed his fingertips lightly over my knee, then withdrew his hand and settled back in his uncomfortable chair.  "Your dad said that they're working on waking her up and someone will come out to talk to us when she's awake."  I nodded again.

Damien didn't try to touch me or talk to me anymore, and I was glad.  I didn't want to talk, and I definitely didn't want to be touched.  I shut my eyes and considered my feelings.  I was pretty sure that I should be scared, anxious, sad, or some manner of "upset" at the very least.  I was none of those things.  I was actually more concerned about not feeling those things than I was for my mom's wellbeing.   My mom had never been a big part of my life (at least as far as actual parenting was concerned) and I'd felt ambivalent about her since before I even knew the word "ambivalent."  I didn't want anything bad to happen to her, of course, so I didn't understand why I didn't feel anything.

I sat in my chair with my head against the wall and my eyes closed. It's weird what kind of memories go through your head when someone might be dying.  I watched them play out across the back of my eyelids like I was having a dissociative episode.

I was...6?  I rode the bus home from school.  I'd get off on the random corner that had been my assigned bus stop with 4 other kids.  Their moms and dads always met them there.  Mine didn't.  The moms usually gave me a worried look.  The dads ushered their precious offspring away from me quickly, as though deadbeat parenting was contagious.  I'd always walked home.  It was three and a half blocks.  I had to cross the busy street once.  I always counted my steps, and it took me 312 tiny 6 year old steps to get there.  Always 312.  I made sure of it.

That day, when I'd gotten home, the door was locked.  I'd panicked for a second until I remembered the key.  The key on the chain around my neck, tucked safely under my shirt.  I'd pulled it out and fit it into the lock.  It had been hard to turn.  I remember that.  I had been near tears from frustration by the time it turned, sliding the lock back easily, like it had been taunting me.

"Mom?" I'd called when I got myself in.  "Mommy?"  No answer.  I'd crept towards her bedroom.  The door had been open a crack, and I'd pushed it open further.  Of course it had creaked as it opened.

"What?" she'd snapped.  It was so dark in her room, I had barely been able to make out her outline, lying beneath the blankets on her bed.

"I'm home," I had said, softly.  

"Yes, I'm aware.  You make a lot of noise," she'd replied.

"Sorry," I had apologized, feeling the tears welling up again.  I had waited by the door, hoping she'd get up.

"What do you want?" she'd asked eventually.  

I had taken a deep, shaky breath.  "I- I'm hungry," I'd told her, regretting the words the second they'd come out of my mouth.

She'd sighed heavily, and I'd sniffled, trying desperately not to cry.  "You're a big girl, make yourself a snack."

"Is daddy coming home tonight?" I'd asked, ignoring her clear dismissal.

"No."  With that, she'd rolled over, presenting her back to me.

As I'd turned, she'd suddenly said, "Kinsley, sweetheart?"

"Yes?" I'd answered, turning quickly back around, hopeful.

"Be a good girl and get mommy her pills.  The little round ones that start with an X."

I had deflated immediately.  "Okay," I'd said dutifully.  

When I'd returned with the pill bottle, she'd rolled over and instantly sighed.  "And how am I supposed to swallow them?" she'd asked coldly.

"Uh...I'll go get you some water," I'd offered.

"No, I'll just take them.  It's fine.  Go."

I'd walked back into the kitchen, silent tears rolling down my face.  I hadn't been sure why I was crying, but I understood now.  I'd found an orange in the fridge and had peeled it carefully.  A couple hours later, my 14 year old brother Kaleb had come home, dropped off by a friend after a sports practice.  "Hey Kinsy-bug," he'd greeted me cheerfully, using the nickname I hadn't let anyone else call me.  "Where's mom?"

"Sleeping," I'd told him.

"Is dad coming home tonight?"  I'd shaken my head silently.  He'd put his bag in his room, made me some mac and cheese, kissed me on the forehead, and left.  Off to go hang out with some friends, I'm sure.  I'm still not sure if he came back at night or not.

Then there was the time when I was 8 and social services knocked on our door because I'd come to school without a lunch or lunch money and wearing the same clothes for over a week.  Kaleb had answered the door and let them in, because dad hadn't been home and mom had been in bed.  Mom came out while the social worker was talking to us, and she'd put on quite a show of being a loving parent.

After the social worker left, she had screamed at us for opening the door and talking to the social worker.  Then she'd promptly taught me how to do laundry.  I've been doing my own laundry ever since.

Not even two years after that, on his 18th birthday, Kaleb had stolen a car.  A teacher's car, right out of the parking lot in the middle of the school day.  He'd been caught later that day after he hit a little kid on a bike, seriously injuring the little boy.  He'd been charged with the theft and vehicular assault.  He'd ended up in prison for 6 years, and I'd never heard from him again after that.

Despite it all, I'd made it.  I'd turned out pretty well actually, I think.  I had always been smart.  I'd always done well in school.  My teachers had always liked me, though looking back, I wonder if it was because they felt sorry for me.  I had never been allowed to just be smart, though.  There was always an "even though" attached.  "Kinsley won the spelling bee, even though her brother just got arrested."  "Kinsley read the most books over the summer, even though her parents wouldn't ever take her to the library."  "Kinsley got a scholarship to DU, even though she was one absence away from having to go to truancy court."  "Kinsley is Salutatorian, even though she showed up to her physics final drunk."

I opened my eyes, not wanting to sit still anymore.  I guessed it had been over an hour, but when I looked at the clock, I saw it had barely been 20 minutes.  I sighed and stood.  Damien looked up at me.  "I need to move," I said softly.  "I'm going to go walk in the hall a little."

"Do you want company?" he asked.  I shook my head, hoping he'd understand.  I felt bad that he was here when I didn't really want anything to do with anyone, but I also didn't want him to leave.  He gave me a reassuring smile and said, "I'm going to go grab something to eat then, okay?  I'm getting hungry."

"Sure," I said, returning his smile with a small one of my own.  He stood and walked with me towards the hallway.  Before he walked to the right, away from where I was going, I grabbed his hand.  He looked back at me, surprised, and I stood on my toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek.  "Thank you," I said softly.

He squeezed my hand, then brushed a wayward piece of hair off my forehead.  His hand rested briefly on the side of my face, then he was gone.  I paced up and down the hallway.  As I walked, I counted my steps.  I'd count up to 312, then start over. I felt restless and I was starting to get nervous.  I was almost relieved that I was feeling an emotion typical of this situation.

When Damien returned, my eyes met his but I continued to pace, so he went back into the waiting area.  I wandered up and down the hallway, trailing my hand along the wall, trying not to think about how many germs I was picking up by doing so. When I was done pacing, I went back and sat down next to Damien again.  There was a sandwich, a bag of chips, a banana, and a bottle of water on my seat.  "For when you get hungry," he said.

"Thank you," I said.  I picked them up and set them down on the small table wedged into the corner.  "Damien..." I started.  He looked up.  "Um, if you have things to do you don't have to stay here," I said.  "I don't know how long we'll be here, and..."  I trailed off.  I wanted him here, but I didn't know how to tell him without making him feel obligated.  Because I didn't want him here if he was only here because he felt obligated.

"I'm okay," he said.  "I think I'll stay."  I tried not to let the relief show on my face.

"Thank you," I said softly.  I was starting to feel like a broken record.  At least I was a broken record with manners.  I reached for the sandwich and unwrapped it.  Ham, cheese, and tomato.  Perfect.  I took a bite and chewed.  It was kind of dry, and a little tasteless.  I opened the water and took a drink.  I managed half the sandwich, then wrapped the rest up and set it back down on the table.  I eyed the banana but I was starting to feel a little bit nauseated so I left it.

I shivered a little.  Why was the hospital so fucking cold?  I had just put on a long sleeved shirt, because it was a perfectly reasonable temperature outside.  Without a word, Damien pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to me.  I started to protest but realized that that would just leave me cold, so I took it gratefully and pulled it over my head.  When I settled back into my seat, I was warmer, but I felt like I was going to randomly just explode with something stupid and impulsive.  I was restless, but more in my head than physically.  I readjusted and rested my forearm against Damien's.  He shifted so our arms ran parallel and were pressed together along the length of the armrest.  I sighed and shut my eyes, feeling grounded by the contact.  It was just enough.

We sat silently for what felt like another hour, but was really just 15 minutes.  I opened my eyes and looked at Damien.  "Will you walk with me?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.  He stood and offered me a hand.  I took it and stood, and we headed out to the hallway.  My dad was on his phone, probably doing work.  Christina was leisurely reading a book.  Seriously?  You go to the hospital and think, "Oh, hold on, let me just grab my book"?  No.  People don't fucking do that.  Then again, I practically forced Damien to take a shower, so who am I to judge?

"I don't think I can sit in there anymore," I said, once we were moving down the hallway.  I let my fingers dangle from his, so our hands were attached but we weren't quite holding hands.  "He's pissing me off, pretending to be concerned.  And I don't know why he dragged his tramp girlfriend along with him.  Or fiancée, or whatever the fuck she is."  I was moving out of "numb" and into "angry", though I wasn't sure exactly what my anger was directed at.

"We don't have to sit in there," Damien replied calmly.

"You must think I'm crazy," I said suddenly, stopping and looking at him.  He cocked his head curiously and gave me a questioning look.  "You're so involved with your family, and I can't even stand to be around mine."  I bit my lip and said, "I'm not even worried about my mom, just mad at everyone.  I don't know why we're here."

He shrugged.  "I stopped trying to understand the way you process your feelings a long time ago.  I won't pretend that I understand your relationship with your family either, but if you're okay with it, then that's enough for me."  Coming from someone else, that might have sounded condescending.  But right now, from Damien, it was honest and validating and exactly what I needed from him.  I sagged against him and he wrapped his arms around me, the only thing keeping me from slumping onto the floor.

"Damien?  I want to go home," I said, after several seconds of standing in the hallway in his arms.

"Okay," he said.  He didn't question me.  He didn't argue.  He just agreed.  He couldn't possibly be more perfect than he was in this moment.  We turned and walked back towards the waiting area so I could grab my purse.  I was sliding the straps onto my shoulder when a doctor walked into the waiting area.  I stood and watched as my dad and Christina both jumped up. Damien looked at me, waiting to see what I wanted to do.  After hesitating, I walked over towards the doctor to find out what was happening.

(Now) Kinsley: My Family is Crazy

"Mmm, that feels good," I said, dropping my head onto Damien's chest.  His thumb was stroking up and down the length of my spine and I relaxed against him.  When it came back up, it pressed into the base of my neck and rubbed the tight muscle there.  After a minute, he slipped out from under me and sat up.  "Where are you going?" I asked, starting to sit up.

"Nowhere," he replied.  He tapped lightly on my shoulder.  "Lay back down."  I did, and he began massaging my back.  I sighed happily, enjoying his touch.

"Keep doing that and you could talk me into just about anything," I said.

"Hmmm, in that case..." Damien said teasingly.  I laughed.  Several seconds later, he said, "Actually, I might need to talk you into something."

I tried to turn my head to look back at him but he gently turned it back and kept working on my tight muscles.  "What?" I asked warily.

"My sister's grad school graduation is next weekend," he explained.  "I know we've been seeing quite a bit of my family lately, but will you go with me?  My mom is throwing this fancy dinner party afterwards."  I was glad he couldn't see the face I made at the mention of his sister.  Adrienne was actually his stepsister, and was the baby of the family.  She was a whiny, spoiled snot.  Everyone else in the family, including Damien, seemed to be completely oblivious to that fact, which made it worse.

"Of course I'll go with you," I responded, even though the idea of an entire day dedicated to his sister made me want to vomit.  We had been seeing a lot of his family lately.  Family was really important to him, which I respected completely, but I could do just fine with a little less family time.  But I really liked his parents, and things were going so well.  I was scared to rock the boat by declining any of his family time invitations, even though he always gave me the option to not join him.

He finished rubbing my back a few minutes later and laid back down next to me.  By this point, I was completely ready to sleep and I rolled onto my side and snuggled against him.  He chuckled.  "It wasn't long ago that you were anti-cuddling and anti-spending the night.  Now look at you, you're like a whole new person."

"I'm a changed woman," I joked.  "Now I have morals and values and shit."

He burst out laughing at that.  "Okay, maybe not a whole new person."

"But you wouldn't have me any other way, right?"

"Definitely not," he agreed.

We settled down and I rolled out of his embrace and fell asleep quickly.  He was right, it was amazing how completely comfortable I was with him now.  I still wasn't a snuggly sleeper; I needed my space for that.  But I loved cuddling right up until I was about to fall asleep.

I woke up early the next morning to his phone ringing.  I could sympathize with Liv--Damien needed to be accessible at all times, pretty much.  His phone didn't interrupt us nearly as often as Brody's did, but when it did, it was always bad news and he was always tied up for days, if not longer.  I felt the mattress move as he rolled to the edge of the bed and answered groggily.  He spoke briefly: one word responses to the person on the other end, then hung up without saying goodbye.  His gruff, short detective persona was something I was glad he didn't bring home with him.

He rolled back over to me and wrapped an arm around me before nestling his head into the crook of my neck.  "I have to go, baby," he said softly.

"I know," I replied, my voice hoarse from sleep.  He kissed my cheek and rolled out of bed.

Once up, he quickly pulled on his clothes while I double checked my alarm to make sure it was going off when I needed it to.  I watched Damien walk into the bathroom.  He came out a few minutes later and sat on the edge of the bed.  I could smell the minty toothpaste on his breath as he kissed me.  "I'll call you."  I nodded sleepily, then listened to him slip down the stairs and out the door.  I rolled over and fell back asleep.

I had dinner with Liv and Lauren that evening and vented about Damien's sister.  It felt good to get it off my chest, because I knew I could never say any of those things to Damien.  It was his sister.

Damien called me late that evening to tell me they would hopefully wrap things up tomorrow afternoon and asked if I wanted to have dinner with him tomorrow evening.  I said yes without hesitation, then marveled at myself.  We'd spent more nights together than apart at this point.  I still had some moments of panic where I struggled to be open, and found myself not telling him things that I should tell him, or wanted to tell him, but it kept getting better.  I'd dated older guys in the past, and they loved to lord their age over me as if they were so wise to the ways of the world, but Damien was patient with me in way that was so far from condescending that I sometimes didn't believe it was real.

On Tuesday, Damien insisted on picking me up for dinner.  I changed into a dress after work, and put on a lacy bra and underwear set, because it had been a few weeks since I'd made an extra effort to look nice for him.  He always appreciated it and never expected it, so it was fun to do it sometimes.  Way more fun than when putting on lingerie was a chore because it was expected or demanded.

I was upstairs touching up my makeup when my doorbell rang.  Damien was always on time (or early, ugh) and I was always late.  I gave up making excuses for it long ago; I just can't get to the places I need to be on time.  People just expect it of me at this point.  Every once in awhile I'm on time, but it seems like those are always the times that other people are late.

"Hi, I'm sorry, I suck," I said hurriedly, finally answering the door after leaving poor Damien standing out there for probably close to two minutes.

He smiled.  "It was worth the wait, you look amazing," he said.  I probably could have let him stand out there for 15 minutes and he wouldn't have batted an eye.  We left and he drove us to the restaurant we'd chosen, which was packed.  But of course, because he thinks about these things, he'd made a reservation and we were fine.  I never would have thought of that.

Over appetizers, he said, "So I was thinking since we've been spending so much time with my family, maybe we should do something with your family soon."

I shrugged noncommittally.  I didn't want to spend time with my family.  My parents got divorced two years ago, and my dad was engaged now--to the woman he was probably cheating on my mom with.  My mom's mental health was already pretty fragile, and after the divorce she had been out driving one night when she shouldn't have been (she wasn't drinking or anything, but she had taken her anxiety meds, and I think she had taken maybe a few too many) and wrecked her car.  Her moods came and went, and I never knew what kind of mood she'd be in.  I'd seen her as much as I could until about a year ago when she lost it and screamed at me, blaming me for the divorce, for her accident, and for all the bad things that had happened to her since.  After that day, we'd both just pretended it hadn't happened, and I spaced out my visits more and more until I was only really seeing her on Christmas and her birthday.  Go ahead and judge me, but I think we're both better off this way.

So I'd taken Damien to my dad and his fiancee's house for dinner once to meet them, and I'd taken him and my mom out for dinner once, and that was enough for me.  I hadn't told him much about them.  He'd asked, but when I gave a little information and changed the subject, he hadn't pried.

"Mother's Day is on Sunday," he continued.  "We could take her out for brunch or something."

"Don't you want to see your mom on Mother's Day?" I asked brightly.

He gave me a funny look.  "We'll see her the day before.  She'll be fine for one Mother's Day without me, if you want to see your mom.  I mean, if you'd rather just do something with just her, that's fine too.  I'll understand.  Just tell me what you want to do."

To my horror, I felt my eyes start to fill with tears.  I looked down at my plate and swallowed hard around the hard lump in my throat and shook my head.

"Kinsley?" he said, and the concern in his voice was enough to push me over the edge.

I stood up from the table abruptly, choked out, "I'll be right back," and booked it to the bathroom.  Once there, I stared at myself in the mirror for a solid half minute before I even realized my mascara was smeared a little under one eye.  I carefully wiped it away and took several deep breaths before I walked back to the table.

Damien looked up, worried, as I sat back down.  "Are you alright?" he asked softly.  I nodded.  Our food had appeared while I was gone, and I picked up my fork, eager to move past this part of the conversation.  "Kinsley," Damien said.  I looked up at him.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" I snapped, much louder than I had planned.  A person at the table next to us looked over in alarm.  "Sorry," I said to her, my cheeks getting hot.  Then I turned back to Damien.  "I'm sorry.  That was...Can we just eat?  And go?  I promise I'll tell you about when we leave."  I regretted that promise instantly, but I needed to get him off my back so I could eat my meal without dripping tears and snot all over it.

"Of course," he replied.  "Do you want to take the food to go?  We can ask them to box it up if you want."

I shook my head.  I wanted to put off real conversation for as long as possible so I could get my shit together.  "I'm fine," I insisted.  I even smiled to prove it.  The look on Damien's face said he saw right through me, but he let it go, as he always did.

I ate slowly, way slower than usual.  I couldn't put it off any longer though, and took my last bite.  I had hoped our server would get lost and not come to bring the bill for awhile, but she appeared as soon as I set my fork down.  "Can I get you anything else?" she asked cheerfully.  I considered asking for dessert, but I didn't think I could eat another bite.  I shook my head and Damien requested the bill.  She produced it immediately.  Why are they never that prepared when you're in a hurry?

Damien allowed me sulk in my silence all the way to the car.  Then, he said, "My house or yours?  Or...what do you want to do?"

"Mine?" I asked.  My house was closer to both our jobs, and it worked better for weekday overnights.  If he still wanted to spend the night with me, that was.  I suddenly felt awfully foolish in my dress and my lacy underwear under it.

When we got to my house, Damien sat down on the couch and watched me as I sat, then stood and fidgeted with something, then sat again.  "Kins, will you tell me what that was all about?" he asked, finally.  His voice was gentle but I could see the frustration in his face.

"I don't want to see my mom on Mother's Day," I blurted out.  I stood again.  Why was it so hard to just tell him things?

"But it's Mother's Day," he responded, clearly confused.  I stared at him.  He was not ever, ever in a million years going to understand this.  Family was everything to him.  My own anxiety and frustration built and I felt myself teetering on the brink of irrationality.

"Not everyone likes their family as much as you do," I managed.

"Well, that's true," he acknowledged calmly.

I decided to sit again, but instead of sitting on the couch, I sat on the floor and leaned against it.  "My family, unlike yours, is crazy.  And I prefer to just...let them be crazy without me."

"That's fair," he said.

"Argh, you're infuriating!" I snapped.  He continued to level the same calm gaze at me.  "I hate how you're so calm all the time!"

"Because...?"

I huffed out a frustrated breath.  "Because you're always calm no matter what.  Always.  And so when I'm not calm, I feel like a crazy person, because you're all 'this is no big deal' and I'm all 'this is the worst thing ever'!"

He stood, and my heart sank.  I was pretty sure I'd pushed too far, and he was leaving.  I was surprised when he came over and sat next to me on the floor.  "I act extra calm--infuriatingly calm, apparently--when I'm not sure what the best response is.  Generally because I'm not sure how to read the person I'm talking to, or I'm worried about upsetting them.  I've had years of training in deescalating people, and talking to them, and asking them questions, and you are one of the hardest people to read and react to that I've ever encountered.  Hold on, don't look at me like that.  That's not a bad thing, necessarily.  It is frustrating sometimes, especially when I know there's more but you're not telling me.  But I'm nervous to push most of the time, because I've worked so hard to earn the trust I do have."

"You think I don't trust you?" I asked, shocked.

He shrugged.  "I don't know, I guess.  It's hard to tell.  Most of the time I think...no, I know that you do.  I mean, hell, you've spent so many nights with me that I lost track a long time ago.  You told me that that was the most vulnerable you could ever be.  But then there are things that you are clearly not telling me, and I wonder a little.  Like tonight.  I wish you'd just tell me why you got so upset at dinner.  I didn't mean to upset you, but I don't even know what I said or did."

"Oh," I said quietly.  "I had no idea you thought that maybe I didn't trust you.  I do.  I just...there are some things that I don't know how to explain, and I worry that you won't understand, and you'll think I'm...." I trailed off.

"Crazy?" he supplied wryly.  I nodded.  "I deal with crazy every day.  If I thought you were even close, we wouldn't be here right now.  There are many things that I think you are.  Crazy is not one of them."

I smiled a little.  "What things do you think I am?"

"Smart," he said immediately.  "Beautiful.  Headstrong.  Willful and stubborn.  Untrusting.  Funny.  Opinionated.  Hard to read.  Caring and compassionate--"

"Okay," I said, laughing.  "Got it."

"You sure?  Because I can keep going."

"No, I'm good.  You're running out of positive things and I don't want to hear the negative ones," I joked.

He smiled and slid an arm around my shoulders.  I leaned against him.  "Tell me about your mom, Kinsley."

So I did.  I told him all the sordid details of my family.  Well, not really.  But I gave him a few of the tamer tidbits and some general information.  He listened silently, squeezing my shoulders occasionally.  "Well," he said when I finished.  "I can see why you have a hard time sharing that with people, and why you don't spend much time with your family.  I don't know if I would either."

I sagged against him, and a few relieved tears escaped my eyes.  He pushed me gently away when he heard me sniffle and looked at me with worry clear on his face.  "I've never seen you cry before, and now I've made you cry twice in the last hour," he said, frowning.

"I'm not crying," I protested.

He raised one eyebrow, then he brushed his thumb over my cheek and held it up.  "Then explain the liquid on my thumb," he prompted, before he wiped it on the tip of my nose with a half smile.

I scrubbed at my cheeks with the heels of my hands.  "I'm just relieved.  It actually feels really good to tell someone, and you didn't walk out or call me crazy.  I've never told anyone that shit."

"I feel so lucky," he said, chuckling.  "I'm not really the walking out type, you know.  I don't like to just leave things up in the air.  I'd rather stay and sort it out--or fight it out, if that's the case--than walk away, even just to take a break, and risk someone not coming back.  That's maybe not a good thing all the time either, but at least you know now."

I nodded and we sat in silence for close to a minute before I yawned.  It wasn't even late, but I had apparently exhausted myself talking about my family.  "Are you spending the night, or going home?" I asked Damien.

"I thought I'd spend the night if that's alright," he replied.

"As long as you don't make me talk about my family anymore," I said with a laugh.

He shook his head, smiling as he stood and pulled me to my feet.  "I'll try to refrain.  And hey, as long as we're being honest, I know you don't like my sister."  I looked at him in horror, but he was still smiling.  "What, do you think you're the first?"

"Well, I mean, I thought maybe it was just me...Everyone else seems to think she's..." I stuttered, trailing off nervously.

"She's a total diva.  I know.  I love her, but I don't expect you to.  We don't have to stay for the whole day on Saturday, if you don't want to."

"Can we play it by ear?" I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He nodded.  "Sounds good.  We can come up with a signal."  He made a weird face and stuck his finger in his ear.  "Like that?"

"You look like a moron," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Oh good, you should have no problem pulling it off then," he replied, then ducked immediately as I chucked a throw pillow at him.    I ran at him and he ducked around the couch.  "Gonna chase me in that short little dress?" he teased  "At least you took those heels off."

"Too bad," I replied, faking to my left and sprinting to my right.  "They make good projectiles."

Damien pretended to run from me then spun around so I ran right into him.  "I don't think you'll be throwing anything else tonight," he said with a laugh as he wrapped his arms around me, pinning me helplessly against his chest.  We were both out of breath from our pathetically short sprint around my living room, and we collapsed onto the couch.

"And I thought I was crazy," I muttered.  "Turns out you're just as bad."

"Then we make a good pair, don't we?" he asked, tugging me closer to him.

"I guess we do," I replied.

(Then) Kinsley: An Ending and a Beginning

"Put some clothes on," Kate instructed me.

"I have clothes on," I replied, rolling my eyes and looking back at the TV.

Kate walked over to the TV and turned it off, then stood in front of it.  "Real clothes.  Going out clothes.  Remember?  You told me you'd go to that party with me."  I didn't move and she sighed.  "Kinsley, it's the end of the year!  We need to celebrate."

"Fine," I grumbled.  I hauled myself off the couch and walked towards my room.  "Come help!" I called over my shoulder at her.  I laid on my bed while Kate picked out something for me to wear, then I dutifully put it on.  "Whose party is this?" I asked, plugging in my hair straightener.

"My friend Kendra's boyfriend's.  He and some friends have a really great house, I guess.  I've never been there."  She shook her head and unplugged my straightener, swapping it for my curling iron.

"You want curls on my head, you're putting them there," I informed her.  She shrugged and started pawing through my makeup.

An hour later, I was dressed, curled, and made up to Kate's specifications, and we were in a cab on the way to Kate's friend Kendra's boyfriend's house.  Wherever that was.  We pulled up in front of a house that was not too far from campus and Kate paid the cab driver. 

There were already a ton of people there, but Kate managed to find Kendra quickly.  She introduced me.  Kendra seemed really nice but I could tell that big parties like this weren't really her scene.  She took us into the kitchen to get some drinks and we were in there for all of 5 minutes before I felt someone walk up behind me.  Before I could turn around, I heard Michael's voice say, "Kate, you look great.  It's good to see you."  I turned and gave him a 'what the fuck?' look.  "Oh, hey Kins.  How's it going?"  Seriously?  My roommate gets a compliment and I get an 'oh, hey Kins'?  I glared at him.  He just smiled back.   I hadn't seen or talked to Michael since the night we had sex in my bed, and this was how he made his re-entrance?

Being the perfectly reasonable, mature 21 year old that I was, I smiled sweetly and scanned the room for a guy to flirt with.  I located two possibilities and managed to catch one of their eyes.  I smiled my best flirty smile and he grinned right back.  A few minutes later, he wandered over.

"Hi," he said, staring at me.  "I'm Eric."

I shifted my eyes down just for a brief second, then raised them back up to his.  "Kinsley."  After a beat, I introduced Kate, Kendra, and Michael.  He nodded at them but was clearly there to talk to me.  I laughed to myself, turning away from Michael to give Eric my full attention.  After a few minutes, I let him lead me away into a different room.

As we walked out of the kitchen, I couldn't help but throw a glance over my shoulder at Michael.  He was watching me walk out, shaking his head.  I smirked at him before turning back to follow Eric. 

Eric and I found a quieter corner to stand and drink and talk.  He was horrifically stupid, but that didn't matter for now.  When he realized my drink was empty, he jumped up right away to go get me a new one.

I was waiting for him to come back when I became aware of someone approaching from behind.  Before I had a chance to turn, assuming it was Eric, whoever it was was pressed against my back.  I started to turn my head, but an arm snaked around my chest, holding me in place.  "Having a good time?" Michael purred in my ear.  I shivered when his lips brushed lightly against my earlobe.

Before I could answer, Eric came back.  "Dude, what the fuck?" he said, looking at us in confusion.  I squirmed a little trying to turn to face Eric.

"Sorry," Michael replied, flashing a smile at Eric and tightening his grip on me.  "Need to keep her on a shorter leash."  I tried again to wiggle free again, furious at his words.

"You should probably let her go," Eric said.  "She doesn't look too happy."  He took a step closer.  Michael laughed.  He had several inches on Eric and was clearly completely unconcerned with his apparent desire to defend me.

"I'm fine, Eric.  I'm sorry, this is awkward."  I smiled weakly at him.  He glared from me to Michael, then turned and walked off.

As soon as he was gone, Michael let go of me.  I spun and stared at him.  "I fucking hate you." I spat.

"I know, I know.  And you'll hate me forever.  And ever.  Do we really have to go through this part, or can we skip it and find somewhere to have sex?"  He looked at me with a completely expressionless face, as if he was perfectly bored by this interaction.

"You hit on my roommate to antagonize me," I accused him.

"And you hit on Eric to antagonize me," he tossed back easily.  He yawned, further solidifying his bored appearance.

"You did it first!" I snapped, my voice starting to get loud.

"Shhh," he hushed me, pressing a finger to my lips.  "People will think you're a damsel in distress."  He moved his fingertip a bit lower, running it across my lower lip. My lips parted automatically and I knew this was happening again.

Without saying a word, I turned away from him and walked up towards the stairs, trusting that he'd follow.  I sensed him close on my heels as I went upstairs.  A door opened as we walked past, and a girl with blonde hair came out, almost walking right into me.  "Watch it," she snarled, as I peeked around her.  The door was to a bathroom, and I walked in.  Michael followed.

I leaned against the counter and watched him close and lock the door.  It wasn't a large bathroom, and he turned and took half a step and was even with me.  "Want to tell me more about how much you hate me?" he asked, running one finger across my exposed collarbone and staring blatantly at my cleavage.  "I know it's your favorite foreplay."

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me, asshole," I replied, grabbing him by the belt and pulling him against me.

He laughed before pressing his lips hard against mine.  He only kissed me for a couple seconds before spinning me around so my back was to him.  Sandwiched between him and the counter, I couldn't do anything but gasp when he grabbed a handful of my hair, close to the scalp, and tilted my head to the side.  My gasp quickly turned to a whimper of pleasure when he kissed my exposed neck.  He slid his lips up to my ear and whispered, "Too hard?" while he loosened his grip on my hair just a little.  I shook my head the tiny bit that I could and I felt his lips curl into a grin against my neck.  He continued moving his lips and tongue up and down the side of my neck, torturing me until I was almost ready to take matters into my own hands.

He seemed to sense the moment I was about to get too frustrated and let go of my hair to unbutton my pants.  He pushed them and my underwear down to my knees and somehow managed to lose his pants too.  He moved one hand in front of me and pressed two fingers against me.  I moaned softly as he pushed his hips against mine, pushing me harder against his fingers.  I cried out as he suddenly thrust into me.  His other hand slapped quickly over my mouth.  "Quiet," he advised softly against my ear.  "Unless you want to be interrupted."  I shook my head frantically, moaning quietly against his hand. 

Thanks to Michael's skillful attention, I came twice in mere minutes before he groaned and leaned forward, shuddering against my back.  I wiggled my arms out from where they were trapped and placed my palms on the counter to steady us both. After about 30 seconds, he straightened and stepped away from me.

We both got ourselves together and left the bathroom.  I walked downstairs to find Kate, but I didn't see her.  I walked into the kitchen to get a drink, and as I was pouring, an unfamiliar voice said, "Lose your boyfriend?"

I turned and saw the blonde girl that had come out of the bathroom before Michael and I went in.  I snorted.  "He's not my boyfriend.  Actually, I can't fucking stand him."  She gave me a look that was somehow simultaneously skeptical and judgmental.  I shrugged.  "The sex just happens to be incredible."

Her look melted into a smile and she chuckled.  "Well in that case, good for you.  I'm Lauren."

"Kinsley," I replied.  "Where are you from?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Wisconsin.  Is it that obvious?  I've lived here for 3 years and I still get people asking me if I'm from Canada."

"Sorry," I apologized.  "It's not super obvious, but I can tell."

She shrugged.  "Oh well.  So, are you here with someone?  Besides that guy that you claim to not be able to stand?"

"My friend Kate.  She's friends with Kendra?  I don't know where she is," I said.

"Funny.  I'm here with Kendra.  Who is currently upstairs banging her boyfriend.  So I guess we both got ditched!"  She laughed.

"To be fair, I ditched Kate first," I responded, laughing with her.  Lauren and I talked for nearly 45 minutes while we waited for Kate and Kendra to reappear.  We had a ton in common and it didn't take long for us to exchange phone numbers and make plans to go shopping.

When Kate finally did make her way into the kitchen, she said she was ready to go.  I said goodbye to my new friend Lauren and we walked out.  We decided to walk back (probably not the best choice, but it happens) and were walking down the front walk to the sidewalk when someone called my name.

I turned and saw Michael.  Kate continued up to the sidewalk as I waited for him to approach me.  He stopped in front of me and just stared at me for several seconds.  Then he kissed me softly, tenderly.  Everything about it felt wrong, and I pulled away.  He smiled sadly at me and said, "If you ever decide you want something more than hate sex from me, call me."  I nodded, but we both knew I'd never call.

(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.

(Then) Kinsley

I was already irritated that I was spending my Saturday afternoon in a study room at the library, working on this stupid group project.  Claire and Maya hadn't stopped giggling, Michael hadn't stopped encouraging them, and the three of them were wearing on my last nerve. 

"Okay," I said, trying to redirect them.  This was like herding cats, and all I wanted to do was go back to my apartment and watch trashy TV in my sweats.  The three of them looked at me in surprise, like they had forgotten I was there until I spoke.  I pitched my idea for how to present our work to the class.  Claire and Maya shrugged and said it sounded fine.

"I have an idea too," Michael piped up.  I glared at him.  He ignored me and continued on with his idea and when he was finished, Maya spoke.

"I just love that idea!" she gushed, and Claire agreed.  I was seething.  In the long run, it didn't fucking matter, but why did this have to be a competition again?  In my head, I was kicking Michael in the balls so hard that he flew all the way back to wherever the fuck it was he had been attending school before he came here to ruin my life. 

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth.  "I don't care."  We divided up some responsibilities for the next week and I threw my stuff in my backpack and stalked out.

I was speed walking across campus when a jogging Michael caught up to me.  "Where's the fire?" he asked, as he slowed to a fast walk to match my pace.

"Fuck off," I snapped.

"It's just a group project, Kins," he said, as he pulled open the door to our building.

I stormed past him and said, "I told you not to call me that." He lived on the first floor and Kate and I lived on the third, so I was surprised and irritated when he began to follow me up the stairs.  "Seriously, Michael, leave me alone."

"I won't," he replied.  I stopped short in the middle of the stairs, causing him to run into me.  I spun around and glared at him.  "This is ridiculous," he continued.  "We're going to be working together all semester, so you need to do whatever you need to do so you can stop being such a raging bitch to me."  I gaped at him for a second before whirling back around and stomping up the rest of the stairs two at a time.

He was still behind me when I got to my apartment.  I shoved my key towards the lock but I was so angry that I was shaking and I missed.  I dropped my entire key chain on the ground.  I swore and kicked the wall as Michael bent to pick it up and unlocked my door for me.  He handed the keys back to me, and then we were kissing.  I don't know if he kissed me or if I kissed him, but it didn't matter.

I was thankful that Kate had gone home to Boulder for the weekend as we stumbled inside and shut the door.  We didn't even make it past the couch, tumbling onto it while we pulled off our backpacks and pants.  There was no foreplay necessary and I groaned as he pushed roughly into me.  "Ohh, fuck," I breathed as he ground his hips against mine.  I dug my fingers into his arms and turned my head to the side as his lips found my neck.

We were a sweaty mass of tangled limbs when we were done.  I was breathing hard, still pissed, and completely blown away and confused by the fabulous sex we'd just had.  "Still hate me?" he asked softly near my ear after he had caught his breath.

"I'll always hate you," I growled back.

"Even when I do this?" he asked.  I gasped as his hand slid between us and stroked between my legs.  I couldn't help but close my eyes and moan softly as his fingers moved against me.

"Even when you do that," I managed.  He started to withdraw his hand but I gripped his wrist.  "Don't stop," I pleaded.

"Tell me you don't hate me, and I'll finish what I started," he baited me, as he let his fingers brush my inner thigh.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth.  "I don't hate you."  I was pissed at this admission (because it was true, at least at this moment), but I needed his fingers against me again.  I sighed in relief when they returned.  I came amazingly quickly--certainly faster than I ever had before.

I let my head drop to the side while I caught my breath, then I squirmed out from under Michael and reached for my pants.  "Can I take you out to dinner?" he asked, surprising me.

I stood and yanked my pants up.  "No," I replied, turning to walk down the hall to the bathroom.  "Go home, Michael."  I didn't look back as I shut the bathroom door behind me.   About a half minute later, I heard the door to my apartment open and shut.

I leaned against the door to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.  What the fuck had I just done?  More importantly, why had it been so good?  And how weird were things going to be between us now?


I needn't have worried about things being weird, because on Monday everything was the same.  Michael continued to taunt me but pretend to be innocent.  I continued to be bitchy to him.  But I did notice that it didn't bother me as much.  I was able to let it all roll off my back.  Apparently I just needed to screw him once to make him tolerable.  Well, it's certainly not the worst that could have happened.

A couple weeks later, I went out with this guy named Andy who had gone to my high school and was in one of my classes.  To be honest, I wasn't completely sure if I was into Andy or just wanted a distraction from thinking about having sex with Michael.  I had been tempted on more than one occasion to knock on his door for another round of mind-blowing sex, but I had managed to restrain myself so far.  So when Andy asked me out, it was a welcome distraction.

He took me out to dinner and it wasn't anything special, but he paid and he was nice and funny and easy to talk to.  At the end of the night he kissed me but didn't try anything else.  We made plans to go out again.   After our second date, he kissed me a little more insistently, and asked to come in.  I really wasn't feeling any chemistry, so I said no.

"Too bad, I heard you're a good lay," he said dismissively.  I stared at him, shocked.

"Heard from whom?" I asked icily.

He smirked, but didn't answer.  He didn't have to, though.  The only person I had slept with this year happens to know Andy quite well.  Once Andy was gone, I stormed down to Michael's apartment.

I slammed my fist against the door 5 times and waited impatiently for him to open it.  I realized that it was a Friday night and it was highly likely he wasn't even here, and I was about to walk away when the door opened.  I was so furious that I wasn't even distracted by his shirtless chest.  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I screeched.

"Ssshhhh," he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside his apartment.  "You don't have to make a scene."

"No, I think I do," I spat.  "What the fuck were you thinking telling Andy about us having sex?  Where is your brain?  You are such a goddamn idiot and I can't believe I let you anywhere near me, much less let you have sex with me!  I guess I'm an idiot too, because I thought that maybe, just maybe, you could keep your mouth shut this one fucking time!"

He stood there, patiently waiting for me to stop ranting.  When I did, he said simply, "Sorry."

"Seriously?!" I shrieked.  "That's it?  Sorry?  You have nothing else to say?"

He paused, looking thoughtful, then said, "You're really fucking hot when you're pissed off."  I closed the distance between us in two steps and raised my hand to slap him.  He caught my wrist with my hand just inches away from his face, and quickly grabbed my other wrist too.  He took a half step closer to me and I glared at him for about two and a half seconds before kissing him.  He backed me up to the wall, still gripping my wrists.

I leaned back against the wall, pulling away from our kiss for just long enough to say, "I fucking hate you."

"I know," he said, his voice low, his lips against my ear.  He dropped my wrists and pushed his hands into my hair, tilting my head slightly to give him better access to my neck.  We had sex right there against the wall, and it was even better than the first time.

After, I immediately got dressed and picked up my keys from where I had dropped them on the floor.  "Wanna spend the night?" Michael asked.  "You can take out a little more of your anger on me, if you want."

I pulled his door open.  I didn't even look back at him as I said, "Fuck you!" and slammed the door behind me. 

(Then) Kinsley

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered to myself as I walked into my Psychology classroom on the first Monday of the quarter.  Sitting there, looking smug as always, was Michael Bronson.  The Michael Bronson.  The one that made everything that much harder in high school.  Why was he here?  He shouldn't be here at DU.  In my two and a half years here, I hadn't seen him once, and I was reasonably certain he really had gone somewhere in Texas.

Of course, at that moment, as I stood there staring at him and processing my thoughts, he turned and saw me.  He grinned broadly.  "Kins," he said, his grin melting into a smirk.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, walking past him.  I made my way to the furthest possible seat away that I could find.  As I got my stuff out, ready for the first day of my last gen ed class, I shut my eyes briefly and thought about how nice it had been to finally be away from Michael for the past two and a half years.

Michael had turned high school into a never-ending competition for me.  We competed for class president during our sophomore, junior, and senior years.  I won sophomore year, he won junior and senior years.  We competed for band solos.  He got more than me.  We competed for the best lunch table (look, it was important at the time, okay?).  We competed to be captain of the co-ed intramural ultimate frisbee team.  He got it, and I ended up quitting.  It wasn't worth his gloating.  He lived right next door until my we moved at the end of my senior year, and we even competed to be my parents' favorite child.  I barely even won that one.

And now he was here.  I had no idea why, but I was pretty sure he was going to ruin my life.

I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I didn't even pay attention.  Whatever, we were just going over the syllabus.  I'm pretty sure I can read that by myself later.  I went out the door closest to me, hoping to avoid Michael, but somehow he was waiting for me just outside the door.

"Not the warmest welcome I've ever gotten," he quipped, falling into step beside me.

"Oh my god!  Hi Michael!" I chirped in a falsely cheerful voice.  "How have you been?  Oh that's right, I forgot...I don't care."  I tried to walk faster, but he easily kept up.

"Wow, so you're not bitter or anything, huh?" he asked.  He was smiling, clearly enjoying this exchange.

I rolled my eyes.  "I'm not bitter, I just can't stand the sight of your face."

He laughed.  The sound made me want to claw my eardrums right out of my head.   "That's too bad, because your face is lovelier than ever, and I'm looking forward to seeing it every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday this semester." 

"That makes one of us," I sighed.  He kept smiling.  I wanted to punch him.

I suddenly realized we were standing outside my on-campus apartment building.  "Well, as nice as it was to catch up," he said, "this is me."

"Are you serious?!" I exclaimed. 

He grinned even wider.  "You too?" he asked, clearly gleeful.  I just glared and stalked ahead of him.

Once I had disappeared into the safety of my apartment, I breathed a sigh of relief.  "Everything okay?" asked my roommate, Kate.

"No, it couldn't possibly be worse," I moaned.  I plopped down on our university-issued couch and told her about Michael.

"Is he cute?" she asked when I finished.

I gasped.  "How can you even ask that?" I demanded.  "No!  Gross."

"I feel like you're being just a little dramatic," Kate said practically.  "It's not like there's much to compete for now, so maybe it will be different."

"I should have known you wouldn't understand," I whined.  "I'll go pout by myself."  Kate shrugged as I walked to my bedroom, making a quick stop in the kitchen for a Diet Coke.  Kate was really great but she was so logical, which wasn't always the best match for my dramatic personality.

I let myself pout for about an hour and then I felt like I was over it.  I came back out of my room, but Kate was gone.  She had left a note that said, "Class until 4, pizza later?"  Ordering pizza had been our Monday night tradition all through the year so far.  It was a great tradition.  I looked in the kitchen to see if we had any wine, and found one more bottle.  Perfect.

On Wednesday, I was running late.  As I slipped in the door two minutes after class started, I saw one of the only empty seats was right behind Michael.  The rest were in the front row, of course, and I wasn't going up there after class had already started.

Michael glanced back and grinned as I slid into the desk.  "Thought you skipped so you wouldn't have to be disgusted by my face," he teased in a whisper.  I glared and him and then looked towards the front of the room.  He turned back around as well.

I zoned out as the professor lectured.  Near the end of class, she announced that we'd be completing a group project over the next couple weeks.  I groaned.  I hated group projects.  She numbered us off.  Seriously?  We can't even pick our groups?  Why do professors do that?

"Find your group members and introduce yourselves.  You'll be working with them on various things throughout the whole semester, so make sure you exchange some contact information, then you may go," she announced, when we were done counting.

I was a 4.  I hadn't been paying attention to the people counting before me, so I looked around in confusion until I heard someone mention being a 4.  I walked over to her and introduced myself.  This numbering off was really confusing in a class this size.  I mean, it wasn't a huge lecture, but 45 people milling around trying to find their other group members was a little ridiculous. 

"Oooh, I hope he's in our group, he's hot," the other girl, whose name I had already forgotten, whispered.  I turned around and saw Michael headed our way.  Come on, give me a break.

"Fours, ladies?" he asked, winking at me.  The other girl giggled and nodded, and I wanted to puke.  Finally, our 4th group member found us.  Another giggly freshman.  Why did I wait so long to take this class? 

We all introduced ourselves, and the other two girls--Claire and Maya--giggled again when he shook their hands.  Ew.  "Okay, well see you next week!" I said cheerfully, turning to go.  Michael easily fell into step next to me, and I couldn't see a way to lose him since we were both headed to the same place.  I needed to shower before my next class, so I couldn't even go to the library or something instead.

When we parted ways, Michael smiled deviously at me and said, "This is going to be the best group project ever."
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I'm glad you guys are loving where Liv's story is going.  Thank you all so much for your comments and feedback.  I, of course, love to read the comments, and it's so awesome that you like things here enough to take the time to tell me so.  But, in addition to my very selfish love of the comments, they also help me continue to write posts that you guys love to read, which is my main goal.  I've added a "Reactions" feature to the end of the posts, so even if you don't want to comment, you can still give me a little feedback so I can keep writing posts that you want to read.  Thank you all so much for stopping by and reading!