1.
Cameron
“Cam, come on! Would it kill you to join me for two seconds?”
Penny speaks loudly over the music at this stupid frat party, hoping I can hear her. She looks perfect tonight, as she always does. Her platinum blonde hair lies softly in naturally straight pieces that fall just above her shoulders, her green eyes inviting even through the smoke and dim, flashing lights.
Would it kill me? No, not exactly.
Though I want to go with her and grab a drink, I figure it’s probably best for me to stay with Riley. After all, it’s his fraternity. And I’m his girlfriend. And the designated driver. Running off with Penny would definitely earn me an earful, especially because he despises her.
I think it’s because she doesn’t take him very seriously. Riley desperately wants to be taken seriously. With his scholarship, his frat, and his brooding frame, he could certainly demand a bit of respect if he wasn’t so... I don’t know.
I love him. I do. He’s on time, he takes me out, and he likes to show me off. I mean, even now, he’s got his arm snaked around my waist, his thumb roughly rubbing circles onto the smooth fabric at my hip. All the girls at this party, and he’s keeping me close? I suppose I’m lucky.
Tucking a dark curl behind my ear and shrugging sheepishly, I attempt to appease Penny with my answer.
“I’m driving home, I can’t. Maybe I’ll join you for a dance later!”
It’s all about being willing to compromise. It always is. Compromise and stay quiet. Stay perfect, stay presentable and enviable, and obedient and classy. And pretty, but not so pretty that I’m begging for attention. And smart, but not so smart that I intimidate the blockheads that swarm around my boyfriend.
My raised volume catches Riley’s attention, and he turns away from whatever group of khaki-colored friends he’s been speaking to for hours with a brow quirked.
“The music here sucks, babe. Dancing wouldn’t be any fun, stay with me. We’re all happy you’re around. Right guys?”
Each of his fraternity brothers nods and chuckles, their teeth white and wide like dinner plates. They could all be slightly deviant clones in different colored shirts. Barely indistinguishable from one another. Penny and I call them The ‘Aydens’— Hayden, Brayden, Cayden, Tayden, etc.
The one I’ve come to call Brayden speaks up. “Ri, you got yourself a pretty good girl. She even helped me ace that test for Morgan’s class.”
At Riley’s request, I help some of his friends study from time to time. Mostly for math.
Ah, math class... Just the very thought of it is enticing. I could float out of this stuffy, loud frat house in my pink babydoll dress like a cartoon vagabond smelling a pie on a windowsill.
See, I might be some frat guy’s girlfriend and best friends with a sorority princess, but school is kinda where I feel the most powerful. The best at what I do. Numbers and assignments are black and white. Deadlines are always exactly what they say they are.
Nothing to make me wonder. Nothing to keep me confused. Nothing to scare me.
By the time I look up and refocus my attention on trying to talk to Penny, she’s gone. I’m actually glad, though. She doesn’t need to suffer through the stupid and seemingly endless conversation with The ‘-Aydens’. Something about Flipcup? Some girl with only a bra on pouring shots?
Riley’s got his hand wrapped around a beer bottle, taking puffs off of someone’s pen as he periodically checks to make sure I’m still nearby. Yup. Not like I can do anything interesting. Might as well stay.
Some Tory Lanez song bumps so loud through the speakers that I can feel it vibrating up my bones. It feels like summer, except it’s freezing cold outside these walls. And instead of a perfect, picturesque long evening, I get a long and borderline torturous night.
As the party winds down, I load a now absolutely cross-faded-off-his-ass Riley into the passenger seat of his own car and swipe the keys from his pocket. He’s whiny and grabby, a version of him that often appears as his respectable persona sheds due to alcohol and whatever else he decided to try.
I try to send Penny a wave and signal that I’m heading out, but she’s twirling a strand of her icy-blonde hair through her fingers and giggling with some people I’ve never met. They look eccentric and fun. Nothing like the wet cardboard boxes I had the misfortune of being stuck around all night.
A lanky, tall guy I’ve never seen around laughs with her as he pushes up his glasses. Next to him, another garden-variety jock adorned in tattoos with a trophy girlfriend. Except she’s impossible to ignore, a honey-blonde vision in a cheerleading uniform. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she yawns, and I nod to myself.
Yup. Me, too.
Before I can even press the button to start the car, he’s pawing at my legs—his hand nudging my knees open. As if there’s a chance in hell I’d be turned on. Let alone turned on enough to let him clumsily run his sweaty hand along my underwear... let it slip under the edge, prodding me while I drive.
“Riley, buckle up. Let’s just get back to the dorms first. Yeah?”
He pouts, scoffing as he yanks the seatbelt from the door and clicks it into place.
“You should let me, Cam. I saw a video like that once. Made that girl scream. It was like,” He gestures wildly with his index and middle finger as if attempting to scratch a record on a turntable. “Fucking hot.”
Sadly, that’s an accurate portrayal of his skill, even when he’s not drunk.
The drive back to the campus parking lot is dull. Riley mumbles a recap of the night, as though I weren’t right beside him and painfully sober the entire time. His eyes flutter closed and then shoot back open, his breath bitter from stale beer and smoke while a light sheen of sweat settles on his forehead.
Right. Nothing more attractive than a big, sweaty man-baby fighting off sleep in his own passenger seat.
I have to practically drag him back to my dorm room with his arm over my shoulder. He flops onto my bed with his shoes on, my fluffy blankets and lush pillows squished under his dead weight.
I’m tugged on top of him, and it dawns on me as he’s slipping his hands under the hem of my pink dress: He’s not who I remember loving.
Riley used to be punctual. Now he can’t function without me reminding him where and when he’s needed.
Riley used to take me out for fun. Now I’m just some pretty accomplishment that earns him a stray high-five or nod from other guys.
Riley used to be respectful and communicative. And now he’s wordlessly trying to pull my dress up off over my head, his eyes half-lidded as though I’m some quick fix. Something that’s really only good to satisfy a quick itch before he drifts off to sleep in my bed.Under my covers.
Some nights (most nights), I only feel about as respected as one of those women in the porn he watches. Fingered roughy and tossed around, a few dry plunges from some ridiculous monster cock and the girl’s already crying out and claiming she’s close.
You know, in retrospect, it seems like an easy way to just get everything over with on their part.
Lord knows, if I swatted away his hands and furrowed my brow, he’d cause more trouble than a night of shabby sex is worth. So I assist him and undo the button closure behind my neck, allowing the taffeta to be lifted off in a swift motion.
His hands harshly grab my already-exposed breasts, oddly fondling them both way too hard and awkwardly half-hearted. Grunting as he sits up with me on his lap, Riley wraps his lips around my nipple and bites it. I hide a wince with a deep sigh, and that seems to encourage him.
Momentarily shoving me off to tug his pants and boxers off, he slips back onto the bed and doesn’t even bother helping me take my panties off. He hasn’t seemed to notice my lack of enthusiasm throughout this exchange, clearly only excited that I’ve given him the green light.
Before I know it, I’m starring in my own Riley-approved shitty porno as his dick thrusts in and out of me while I bounce on his lap. He holds the crotch of my panties to the side, only lasting a few minutes before he cums in me with a groan and nudges me off again.
There weren’t any words said between us. No sounds of pleasure, no soft touches that set skin on fire. No passion.
My feet pad against the cool laminate of my dorm room as I waddle to the bathroom to clean up. And when I get back to my bed, Riley has pulled the covers up over himself. He pats the small amount of twin bed left beside him, and I slip under the blanket.
“Goodnight.”
It’s all I can manage to say to him after that trainwreck. As I let my mind wander to better, more fortunate places, I feel his warm, dry hand snaking up my thigh.
Another exasperated sigh convinces him that I’m into what he’s doing. It isn’t worth the harsh words or bad attitude as we attempt to rest, so I let him lazily run his fingers against the tender flesh of my core.
Perhaps he gets close to something resembling accuracy and pleasure a few times, but after what seems like ages of him rubbing my right lip, I fake a few moans and shivers. That seems to do the trick for him, and Riley rolls over to face the wall with a grumbled “Goodnight”.
While he’s doing what he’d consider pretty good work, I’m pathetically thinking of math class. A place where I have the answers, where I feel respected when asked for my opinion. I’d sooner get off to the theory of Pure Mathematics than I would my own boyfriend.
I haven’t ever let myself dwell on how depressing it is before, and just as I’m about to, the sound of Penny’s keys jingling assures me that she’s home safe.
She kicks off her shoes and tries to remain quiet in case we’re both asleep, but her gaze meets mine as I stare from the side of my bed. I stick my bottom lip out to comically pout and roll my eyes. It makes her snicker softly, patting my shoulder as she climbs into her own bed with a shrill creak of the metal frame.
Penny has always been a little clumsy, but as she pulls off her top and slips down her skirt to get ready for sleep, I can’t help noticing the stark pallid nature of her skin and the blackberry-purple bruising that lines her spine.
Even in the darkness of our room, it is visible. It must be obvious that I’m wearing a mask of concern, as she waves it away with a smile and sinks into the comfort of her duvet.
All I want to do now is scream. Perhaps cry. Throw things, make a mess of my already messy life. Find the Cam that I remember. The one that laughed and skipped curfew and used her fake I.D. to barhop with her best friend.
And I want to throw this Cam— this ‘Stepford Wife’ girlfriend who barely talks to anyone that makes her happy— out of the dorm room window.
But for now, all I can do is drift off to the thoughts of math class. Stable, reliable math class.
