Beautiful Failure (3 page)

“I just need to know that you’re completely mine.”

I look at him in utter confusion.

“It’s nothing, Emerald...You’re just really
beautiful
, and you don’t seem like the type that would be content with
one
guy’s attention.”

“You’re two for two. Is that a
compliment
?”

He smiles and kisses my lips again. “It is.”

“Okay...” I force myself to return the kiss. “I’m all yours. I’ll call you later.”

I sprint across campus and head to the observatory where the other students of my Art Design class are already grabbing their brushes and canvasses.

I grab mine and follow them up to the roof, where for the next hour and a half, the professor lets us paint our pieces in silence.

This is the only thing that makes college somewhat bearable—the ability to create something beautiful in my mess of a life.

––––––––

L
ater, I hand the professor my work and head back to my dorm, hoping to sleep the rest of the day away. That’s how I deal with life when it bothers me—no crying, no whining, just sleep.

“Hey.” I drop my bag at the door and nod at my roommate, Amy. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Are you still coming with me to the party tonight? You
promised
!”

I sigh. I haven’t gone to one party since I’ve started college. They’re not the same without Leah dolling me up and making me look like the woman on my fake ID.

“Come on, Emerald! You owe me this!” She gives me her best sympathy look. “I’m your
friend
!”

Amy Houston is
not
my friend. She is my roommate and a
potential
sponsor. Her parents are chief advisors to the state governor and they give her anything she wants—including the brand new bedding set that’s currently draped across my bed. She had it designed just for me since she wanted our shared room to look “cohesive.”

I honestly don’t trust this girl—I don’t trust
anyone
, but she’s the closest person I have.

She tells me about her life, laughs at my jokes, and always encourages me to go out and meet more students. There was even this one time that she held my hand after I found something in my suitcase that reminded me of Leah. She didn’t ask me what was wrong and she didn’t try to pry. She just consoled me until I calmed down.

I groan. “Okay, I’ll go. But only for one hour.”

“Yes!” She jumps up and hugs me. “Do you have a fake? I’ll need to make sure it’s good enough before we leave.”

Nodding, I pull out my wallet and hand over my fake driver’s license. It reads “Autumn Mills” and the woman on it has long black hair and big green eyes like mine.

“Wow!” She hands it back to me. “You’ll totally get in with that! Where did you get that done? That’s professional grade! It has all the watermarks and embedded lines!”

I almost tell her how Leah had one of her regulars get it for me when I was sixteen, but I hold back. “One of my friends in Jersey did it for me.”

She nods and turns on her radio. “I can’t get dressed without music. Hurry up and get ready, makeup and all!” She pulls a bottle of vodka from under her desk and pours six shots—three each. “It’s party time, bitch!”

The next two hours blur by in a haze of shots, laughs, and skimpy dress comparisons. By the time I’m buzzed, I find myself inside of a smoke-filled club off campus.

Most of the attendees are upperclassmen and Greeks, so I don’t recognize most of them.

I’m wearing a hot pink dress that leaves little to the imagination and my hair is pulled into a neat and sophisticated bun with a few tendrils falling over my eyes. As I make my way to the bar, I spot Parker talking to some of his fraternity brothers.

I walk over and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey babe.” He turns around and slips an arm around my waist. “I thought you said you didn’t do parties.”

“I don’t. Amy made me come.”

“Where is she?”

I shrug. She left me as soon as the bouncers let us inside and I haven’t seen her since. 

“Do you want to leave with me then?” He bends down and whispers into my ear, “I can think of something
far
more interesting for us to do tonight.”

“Tempting...I can’t leave her here alone though. That’d be messed up.”

“Okay, stay here. I’ll find her.” He kisses me before disappearing into the crowd.

I look at the packed dance floor in front of me and raise my eyebrow because none of the people are dancing. They’re laughing and pointing at something that I can’t see.

I’m sure it’s another one of those flash-mob videos that have become popular lately, so I turn around and wave for the bartender’s attention.

“What can I get for you?” he asks.

“Rum and Coke please.”

“You got ID?”

I flash him the “of age” wristband on my hand and he starts to make the drink.

“Okay...” He sets the glass onto the counter. “That’ll cost you—” His eyes meet mine and he looks past me for a split second. “Holy shit. You know what? It’s on the house...”

“Thanks.” I smile, knowing that my slight bite of the lip is working.

I toss back the sour drink and slide the empty cup to him when I’m finished. I look over my shoulder—noticing that everyone on the dance floor is still transfixed by whatever is happening on stage.

Annoyed, I ask the bartender for another drink, and he once again offers it to me at no charge. As the crowd begins to collectively “Ohhhh,” and “Whoaaa,” I roll my eyes.

I know that Parker is probably watching whatever it is instead of searching for Amy, so I head into the crowd and start looking for her myself—taking short sips of my drink every few feet.

I hear numerous groans as I weave my way through all the sweaty and drunk bodies, promising myself that I’ll curse Amy out for leaving me alone.

“What a
slut
!” “Who is that?” “It’s that freshman girl...” “Her social life is
over
!”

I bump into a sweaty guy who’s had way too much to drink and he staggers backwards, pointing at me, shouting, “Can I be next, sweetheart? I promise I’ll be better than both of them! I’ll make you feel
really good
!”

I raise my eyebrow, wondering what the hell he’s talking about, and then I look up at the screen that has everyone’s attention.

My glass slips out of my hand and shatters onto the floor.

The images in front of me are so humiliating, so real and undisputable, that I pinch myself to make sure I’m not in the middle of a nightmare.

It’s
me
.

Me having sex with Parker.

Me having sex with one of his fraternity brothers weeks before I met him.

The video is split into two frames: One sex scene on each side and it’s
undeniably me
. I’m in my dorm room and I’m making the same rehearsed faces I made when I lost my virginity two years ago—saying the exact same things.

I stand frozen still.

Confused.

Mortified.

I look around for Parker, hoping he’s stepped outside in his search for Amy, and make a run for the door.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I stop once I hear my voice over the speakers. I look over my shoulder and stare at the screen again, watching a clip of me taking a shot with Amy.

“Why are you sleeping with Parker Dalton if you don’t consider him to be your boyfriend?” she asks.

“Maybe I keep hoping that the sex will get better one day. He
is
the president of Omega Chi and a future politician. I’m just using him.”

“Is the sex that bad?”

“
Yes
.”

“And you don’t like him at all?”

“No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“
No
. He’s just my meal ticket to a better life. Could you pour me another shot? More alcohol, less talking.”

I don’t remember that conversation, but I know I must have been drunk out of my mind if I
ever
talked about something personal with Amy. With
anyone
.

I head for the door again and see Parker standing in the corner. He’s shaking his head and looking utterly devastated. Crushed.

I make my way over to him—planning to tell him that the sex with his frat brother happened way before we met, but his eyes suddenly meet mine. He gives me a death stare, and without moving his lips he says, “We’re fucking done.”

I feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes and head towards him anyway. I want to ask him to take me back to his room tonight so we can talk about this, so I can
explain
, but he disappears.

The “ooohs” and “ahhs” from the crowd become louder and louder and I tell myself to keep going, to forget about whatever is playing behind me and go back to my room, but I can’t help it. 

I see myself emptying a small bottle of alcohol into the pink thermos I carry around every day. Then the video cuts to me rolling a small blunt of weed at my desk.

My blood is running cold and I can’t stop my heart from pounding a mile a minute. I’m embarrassed, but I’m also infuriated.
Beyond
infuriated.

I catch Amy standing near the back of the room, behind a tall stack of crates.

She’s laughing along with everyone else, and mid-laugh I see her raising a remote and pressing a button, stopping tonight’s masterpiece from going any further.

The crowd is clapping, yelling “Slutty freshman bitch!” “It’s okay, Parker!” and “Bros before Hos!” The noise is deafening and the girls in the crowd—the ones who recognize me as the star of the show, are smirking and pointing, snapping pictures on their cell phones.

“Alright! Alright! Back to the fucking party!” The DJ’s voice comes over the speakers and the music blasts again, but I can’t hear anything but the taunts.

I narrow my eyes at Amy and take several deep breaths before I react. I keep my eyes locked on her as I think about what Leah would do in this situation. Settling on an answer, I walk across the dance floor, watching Amy’s eyes widen as I approach.

One of the girls standing nearby crosses her arms and steps in front of her. I roll my eyes and push her out of the way.

“
This
is why you invited me out tonight?” I’m in Amy’s face, ten seconds away from punching her. “What exactly was the point you were trying to make?”

“I told you I wanted Parker on move in day. That was one of the first things I said.”

“And I told you he wasn’t attracted to you. He
said
that. He was very clear.”

“You just hadddd to bat your big green eyes at him didn’t you? I told you that he and I grew up together, that he and I were
best friends
, and you just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, bitch?”

She opens her mouth to say something else, but I turn away and walk off.

If I was in New Jersey, I would be beating her into the ground right now, but this is
college
. And since her friends outnumber mine (six plus to zero), I have to be more strategic...

––––––––

I
run the full five miles back to campus, letting an unfamiliar wetness fall down my cheeks. My chest is burning and my body is begging me to stop, to slow down because it hurts to drive on the empty fumes of alcohol.

But I don’t stop.

I run faster and faster, until I make it to my room.

I strip out of my clothes, cover myself in a robe, and rush into the communal shower down the hall.

There’s no one else in any of the other stalls—I double check, so I step inside the one at the end and turn the water on the hottest bearable setting. 

I hold my face underneath the scalding streams and tell myself to suck everything up, that crying never solves a goddamn thing, but I can’t help it. The tears are falling as fast as the water, and my chest is heaving uncontrollably—shaking my body so violently that it’s hard to stand up straight.

I’m confused as to how Amy could betray me like that, how she could lure me out to a party just to humiliate me—days after she’d invited me to go with her and her family to their country club in the suburbs.

It doesn’t make any sense...

Besides the fact that what she’s done is beyond cruel, the fact that I had sex with Parker’s friend was nothing more than a mistake. A thoughtless, drunken mistake.

He’d followed me to my dorm after freshman orientation and I could’ve sworn I told Amy not to leave us in the room alone, but she’d been drunk too (I thought) and she’d left anyway.

I was horny and desperately lonely, so I allowed myself to kiss him back—wondering if sex with him would actually be pleasurable, but it wasn’t. Only his kisses were good.

It wasn’t until the morning after that I realized what I’d done, but I didn’t allow myself to feel bad about it. I chalked it up to being a simple mistake and put it behind me.

A few weeks later, I met Parker—the frat boy with a soft side, and made him believe that I really liked him.

Although the sex with him never made me feel anything and I’d never been a fan of his desire to cuddle, he always treated me nicely. He even seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, but I never let him get close.

Maybe I should’ve...

Confused, I look down and notice that my skin is starting to redden underneath the steamy water. Taking several deep breaths, I manage to slow my sobs until they eventually fade into nothing more than staggered breaths.

When they’re finally gone and the only noise is the splattering of water against the tile, I start to think.

I need to come up with a way to deal with this, a way that’s more than sleep and alcohol. I know I can’t show my face on campus for a few days, but I can’t act like that video hurts me. I can’t let people think that I’m weak or easily intimidated, and I need to get rid of Amy.
First
.

I turn off the shower and look up and down the hallway before slipping back into our room.

I look around our shared space—shaking my head at all the high priced furniture and art her filthy-rich parents have shipped. There’s a Picasso—a fucking
Picasso
!—framed high above our full length mirror.