Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time (17 page)

“What is? That fat suit you’re wearing? You’re actually a skinny person in fatty’s clothing?” I know I’m being beyond horrible. But all my pent up anger from the last month has decided to spew out on this poor guy.

“He’s not your boyfriend,” he says, ignoring my terrible comments. “You two are not dating.”

“I think I would know if I was dating someone or not,” I say, waving him off. “I’m not dating you. I’m not dating these two boys.” I point next to me. “But I am definitely dating Wyatt. Well, sort of. Which is none of your business and I’m done talking to you.” I wave him away again, like some pesky fly.

“Ask him,” he persists. “When he comes back over here, you ask him. Ask him about how horrible you were to him growing up, how you used him. How he’s pretend dating you to get back at you. And then tell him his friend Steve-O gave it to you straight. He needs to stop all this and wash his hands of you.”

I close my eyes and shake my head. Steve-O is a stupid name and this guy is even stupider. My head continues to throb, so I lean it back onto the wall behind me. My eyes are still closed and it feels so good that I let myself drift into nothingness. Wyatt’s voice floats up in the darkness, “Are you all right? That guy didn’t upset you, did he?”

Chapter Thirty

Junior Year at UCLA, October

It had been a year since I’d drunkenly showed up at James’s dorm and initiated sex and we were now regular booty calls. Tonight we were doing it in the middle of a
Big Brother
marathon. It was muted, but I was still secretly watching it. I wonder if James was too.

When he’d come to my room, his eyes were red and his chest heaved and I knew he was on something. I cared but didn’t care. I was still going to sleep with him.

I let him take me doggy style on the floor. On the
friggin’
floor. He was rough but I kind of liked it. He grabbed my ass with his meaty hand and slammed into me over and over. I was used to rough sex with James.

He lasted longer than last time, partly because he kept going soft, making me feel not so sexy, but he explained he was just nervous. I don’t know why he would feel nervous. My roommate was away, we’d had the same weekly routine for a year, and I was super wet. I wondered if his “nervousness” had anything to do with why his eyes were so red. We didn’t use a condom, but he came on my back instead of in me and helped me wipe it up with my roommate’s towel. Her name was Ava Pearson and she wouldn’t care that we’d used her towel as long as I put it in the dirty clothes and didn’t tell her what was on it. She was easygoing.

After we dressed, we stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not looking at each other. I was going to say something like,
wanna go get some coffee
, even though I knew he’d make an excuse why he couldn’t, when he said, “I have a girlfriend. Megan Mallory. She’s going to be a teacher. I, uh...” he nervously rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “She’s decided to be a virgin till marriage. So, I hope this was okay.”

A girlfriend. That was new. My heart shattered, but I knew if I freaked out, this time with James would be over. Perhaps forever. And even though I felt pathetic and small and kind of like a ho, I kept my freak out in check. I would take James in whatever form I could get him. I loved him. Maybe if I stayed persistent and put in my time, I could have him again in a more permanent sense one day.

Plus, there was no way that James could go out with someone for very long if he’s not getting sex. Despite the pieces of my blown-up heart tearing at my lungs, I forced out a laugh. “Totally okay,” I said. “I’m actually seeing someone myself.” I was surprised by how normal my voice sounded.

James’s face relaxed. “Oh, thank God,” he said. He stood there in the light of my room lamp, sweaty and gorgeous. Like a chiseled statue. I was curled into a ball at his feet like some sex slave. “That’s great. What’s his name?”

It sickened me that he actually sounded sincere. I wanted him to get all jealous and demand for me to break up with him. I spit out the only name I could think of. “Bill. Well, his name’s William, Will. But I call him Bill.” I nodded like that would somehow drive the lie home. “Bill’s kind of a...pet name.”

“Ah,” James says, shifting from one foot to the other. “Gotcha.” He pulled on his clothes in silence and then inched for the door. I still felt like he had the upper hand and I didn’t like that.

“So I’ll see you next Saturday? Super late?”

He smiled finally and my broken heart ached to reach out to him. I saw a shadow of the James I used to know in that smile. “Perfect.” He blushed and my insides exploded.

“See you then,” I said, barely keeping it together. I was dying from the inside out.

Chapter Thirty-One

Now

In the morning, Chloe directs Wyatt to Ava’s house where luckily my Corolla still sits, looking like an abandoned dog at the pound. On any other morning, I would have described the day as beautiful—with the sun shining and warm, but not too hot. Today, though, my head is heavy, like my brain has been turned into wood and the day doesn’t seem as beautiful as it might.

I brought my key down with me—it was in the purse someone found—and stick it into the ignition. The Corolla hums to life and I’m glad a dead battery isn’t something I have to worry about. It also has a half tank of gas, which I hope will get me back to Santa Barbara because I’m officially out of cash and already owe Wyatt and Chloe for the room.

The back of the Corolla is shoved full of bags with clothes spilling out of them, a couple of large boxes, as well as textbooks, a purple-and-black comforter, and an embarrassing amount of shoes. Chloe and Wyatt stand next to me and the driver’s door is open. I turn off the car and sit sideways in the seat, fiddling with the key. “So, where was I going to stay for the summer?” I ask Chloe, gesturing to all the stuff in the back.

“Um...I don’t really think you settled on a plan. Maybe you were still holding out on your parents giving you the money to go to Europe. But I was trying to get you to come home with me.”

It makes sense I’d go down to Santa Barbara for the summer because Chloe and Wyatt were there, but why would I have been so insistent on Europe? Unless Old Liv was just the kind of girl to leave her best friend and boyfriend behind. I wouldn’t put it past her. “Were you going to come to Europe with me?” I ask Wyatt.

“No. I can’t leave my family for that long.”

I nod, remembering his dad’s gout.

There’s no dorm or apartment or anything else to visit and I’m ready to be done with this excursion and go home and rest my head. But there are still two hours of driving to deal with.

“Well, what now?” I ask them. “I don’t know if I’m in any condition to drive. I think the hangover plus the head injury is making me want to pass out again. Should I just leave the car here until the next time we come up?”

“I feel okay,” Chloe says, putting her hand out for the key. “I’ll take it down if you want.”

“Thanks,” I say, handing it over. I wonder if she’s volunteered to drive because she feels bad about lying to me about the boy or not telling me I wasn’t a virgin. Either way, I’m grateful to her so I offer a small smile.

On the drive home, I want to look out the window at all the people in suits walking to work in the bright-yellow morning sunshine and the skyscrapers and the traffic, but my head hurts and I feel unbalanced and sleepy. Mostly sleepy, but also like part of me has been heavily weighed down.

I can’t pinpoint what’s making me feel like this, but I know it has to do with Wyatt. Every time I look at him, embarrassment and anger float to the top of all other emotions. The almost-sex thing. The I’m-not-really-a-virgin thing. The I-had-sex-at-fifteen thing. Plus, there’s this other, separate feeling that I’ve forgotten something.

Maybe something happened last night that I don’t remember. There is a chunk of time missing. I remember dancing with Chloe...and then nothing. I woke up fully clothed, next to Wyatt in bed, but Chloe—in the bathroom with the shower on so Wyatt couldn’t hear us—told me that I walked out of the club on my own and insisted I sleep in Wyatt’s bed. “To punish him,” I apparently said.

Punish him for what, I don’t know. For hurting my feelings when he rejected me? For lying to me? Probably. And apparently I thought sleeping next to him drunk and fully clothed would be punishment to him.

I have the entire other side of the truck to myself on the way home, so there is no awkward accidental touching. I’m trying to stay awake for solidarity while Wyatt drives, but it’s difficult. Even though my mood is set to simmering, it’s because of me we went up to L.A. in the first place. My eyelids are heavy and the dregs of last night’s alcohol are kicking my ass. I keep closing my eyes and jolting awake seconds later.

“Why don’t you just go to sleep?” Wyatt asks. “You were on a bender last night. I’m sure you don’t feel very well.”

I don’t know why he’s pretending that last night didn’t happen. There was a lot of shitty stuff that went down, like the huge lie he told me. I should call him on it, but I know he will get all weird and shut down on me. What I would like is for everything between us to work well, like a well-oiled and intelligent robot or something, but everything about being with Wyatt is so hard. Push...Pull...

If we manage to stay together, it’ll be hard every single day. Even though I could lay my head on the door, I lean on Wyatt’s shoulder. I’ll let myself enjoy at least half of this trip in soft silence before I confront him about the lie, about James. I don’t have the energy for an argument of that magnitude right now. I feel like I’ve been thrown from the tallest skyscraper in L.A, so I let his warmth lull me into a halfway sleep.

Wyatt pulls me to him, not exactly hugging, but close. I want to wrap my arms around him and bury my face into his neck, but I don’t want him to pull away and disappear like he does. So I let him do the most of the cuddling.

He cares about me, I know this. He was there at the hospital. He’s been there while I healed. He’s trying to help me remember who I am. He even gets me water when I have a headache, like he did last night.

Wait. When did he go get me water? That was after I was dancing with Chloe. I had a headache, he sat me down next to those dudes who were making out, and left me. Someone came up to me. Told me everything I knew about Wyatt was a lie or something. No, that our relationship was a lie.

I try to focus on this muddled memory, but instead my brain lets go and I feel myself falling asleep.

* * *

When my eyes next open, I’m in bed at Cora’s and barely remember getting there. I’d woken up only for a moment to walk from Wyatt’s truck and stumble into bed to go back to sleep. Note to self: head injuries do not do well after a night of partying.

I sit up, banging a hand against my temple, wishing it would help to clear up what happened last night. Steve-O said something about him giving it to me straight. That I was horrible to Wyatt growing up. That we were never really together.

What. The. Fuck.

I pull myself to the edge of the bed, thinking. What do I do? Call Wyatt to ask if he knows a Steve-O and why he would comment on our relationship? Do I call Chloe and ask her opinion? My head starts to spin, and I doubt it has everything to do with all my confusion. Ignoring it, I pace the room. Pull my lip. Suspicion claws at my brain.

Chloe was also acting weird at the bar. She lied about how I ended up in the street. Lies, dreams about other guys, suspicious comments about me not being a virgin...nothing fits. I mean, I know I have this weird amnesia, but shouldn’t my life start to fit like a comfortable old pair of jeans instead of brand new ones that are a size too small?

My head spins again. What I need is to lie down some more, sleep today off and start fresh in the morning. Maybe everything will make more sense then. While I lay down, I can read Wyatt’s note, to double check if there’s anything in them that contradicts what Steve-O said—or helps confirm it.

When I grab the note from under the lamp, the receipt I found in my jeans after my first shower comes with them and falls into my lap. I peer down to it, trying to read deeper into its meaning. $500 would be a lot for me to spend, being in school with a family business going down the drain. It had to be for something important.
SANTA BARBARA FAMILY PL...

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Google would help me uncover this bit of information in a second. All I would have to do is type that in and the search engine would prefill in the rest. But I don’t have a computer here—I don’t know if I left one at school or not—and I am certainly not going to Wyatt’s any time soon.

But there are a couple of leftover phone books in the garage. Despite my needing rest, I stand up, the movement my head making me dizzy. Curiosity has won over.

I tiptoe through the house, hoping Cora and Dion are in the office working. I don’t want either one of them asking questions about what I need in the garage. I don’t know if it’s a secret, but I’m not going to narc on Old Liv.

The phone books are stacked on a shelf next to a wall of tools. They still have plastic bags on them, so when I take a book off the shelf, I unbag it and flip through it. It takes me several minutes and a few times of saying the alphabet to myself, but I find the
Fa
—for-
Family
page. In between
Fabric Shops
and
Farm Equip
I read
Family Counselors
and
Family Planning Information Centers.
Could the
PL
word on the receipt mean family planning?

Under that heading:
See Birth Control
&
Family Planning Ctrs;
Pregnancy Counseling
&
Info.

It suddenly feels like I’ve swallowed a boulder as I turn to
Birth Control
&
Family Planning Ctrs.
I’m hoping I just had some birth control put in.

Three businesses are listed. I say the now familiar one aloud, “Santa Barbara Family Planning Center.” There’s a number and address.

I rip out the page of the book and pocket it a second before Cora bursts through the garage door. It makes me start so hard, I drop the phone book on my foot.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, her face flushed. “What are you doing in here?”

I pick up the phone book and show it to her. “Looking up a number.”

There’s this moment where I know she’s going to ask what number or ask if I’d ripped out a page and put it into my pocket, but she doesn’t. She’s fuming, I can see now, and she has bigger things on her mind.

“Do you have any idea how Christakos Creatives got a website?”

I bite my lip. Uh-oh. “How did you know about it?”

She steps into the garage, crossing her arms. “A customer called today, praising my website. After what must have been an entire minute of arguing, he tells me to look it up myself. Since I can’t, I called a friend. That friend said it’s true—that it’s definitely
our
Christakos Creatives—and, get this. The bottom of the website says
Designed by Rosen.
”

I swallow but say nothing.

“The only Rosen I know is Wyatt. But I figured, it couldn’t be him. Why would he design a website for us without our knowledge? It only took me a second to figure out that it had to be you. Olivia, did you rope him into creating this website for us?”

My grimace is as good as any confession.

“Why would do you do this to us? You remember—well, maybe you don’t remember. It was important to your grandpa that we keep his business small and family-oriented, only working within the community. He didn’t want it coming into the modern age and focused on making money. I am trying—have been trying—to honor this wish. We don’t even own a computer to keep up with the website. I—”

“We’ll help you,” I interrupt. “Wyatt and me. We’ll do all the website work. You guys won’t have to do a thing. I wanted to help out, to do you a favor. This is so much better than phone books and meet-and-greets and flyers. You’ll get calls from all over Santa Barbara and maybe even in the towns over.”

“That’s not what my dad wanted!” Her hands are flying around and her face turns red.

“I didn’t know about that. I’m sorry. But wouldn’t he want you to change things? If he knew you were struggling?”

“This is a family business, Olivia. Meaning only the family works here. It’s what he wanted. I won’t change things now.”

“You should reconsider some other options, for the good of the family. I bet if he was here, seeing you struggle, he would want you to modernize it. A bit, anyway.”

She’s standing there, strong and straight as a statue and staring me down. I hold my ground, don’t cower. “Besides,” I add. “You obviously changed the business’ name already. It wouldn’t be
Christakos Creatives
if it was in your dad’s name.”

She pulls in a sharp breath and tucks her bottom lip into her mouth, like she wants to say something but stops herself. After she lets her breath out, she says, “I want you to stop meddling,” turning away from me and letting herself back into the house.