by Celia Crown
In the end, we were dead on our feet and too exhausted by the time Moira’s dad came to pick us up.
I never heard from Derek.
The sixth afternoon, Moira’s mother offered to teach me how to make her beautiful French braid.
Every step is explained through her gentle and motherly voice, patient and instructive as she guides me through each loop. My clumsy hands were not the best when it came to sophisticated things, but she showed me new techniques that internet videos don’t mention.
We had fun, trying on new styles on my red hair while deciding which would look better on the dress I brought. It was a simple white body-hugging dress with nude heels to accentuate the length of my legs.
Moira and her fashion expertise were a handful when she narrowed down our choices. She chose a dress that made her creamy bronze skin pop, and it was the brightest magenta in the color wheel; her stiletto heels are also the same color.
Sometimes I question her, but then it did look gorgeous on her as she had the body to flaunt her curves to all the men she wanted to seduce. However, she also wanted to be respectful, so she wouldn’t be the aggressor and let the people get attracted to her willingly.
A late evening thunderstorm raged through the night, crackling thunder and flashes of lightning created shadows in Moira’s room while we were immersed in the newest horror movie.
We made a defense of blankets and pillows on the edge of the bed, warding off the ghosts and fresh memories of the movie through childhood methods by curling ourselves into the heavy blanket with the air conditioning on.
Legs tucked above the end of the blanket and nose stuck out for air, I slept without a dream.
No calls came.
The seventh day, the day before our graduation, was hectic.
Moira and I had to put down payments for the apartment we found, and it was in the heart of the city. Miami is where I applied for a job, got a call for an online interview while Moira also got a job near the apartment.
It worked out perfectly. I got the job instantly, and it was a miracle that the interview questions were not hard or brain-wrecking. They were nice, respectful, and polite so the process went by quickly without any glitches in my brain.
I thought I was going to have a breakdown if the interviewer had asked questions that did not actually pertain to the job description, but I was fine. I did better than I expected, and Moira took me out for a celebration.
We knew that we had to get up extra early tomorrow to get ready for our ceremony, but it didn’t stop us from going to a bar. She hooked up with a guy in the bathroom, and I just had to judge her so hard when she came back out with a smug smile on her face.
During her scandalous trip to the bathroom, I was introduced to a man not much younger than Derek. That got me excited because I thought he was Derek, but he wasn’t, and the man I met was named Peter.
Peter had the same vibe as Derek when I first met him, but he was different. Peter brought me a drink, introduced himself as an engineer with a large corporate company, and kept me entertained until Moira came back.
He didn’t pressure me to give my number. He gave his to me and asked me to call him if I was interested in meeting up for coffee.
Moira made me spill every detail when we left the bar to go bar hopping at another establishment. She made a point about older men being attracted to my red hair, something about fertility and the will to live.
She clearly had too much to drink.
Toward midnight, we headed back to her parents’ home. Moira’s mother is a miracle worker because the amount of alcohol I drank would make one hell of a hangover tomorrow, and she predicted we would be drunk slobs.
She made this disgusting, green substance in a glass and forced us to drink it. I couldn’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears or the dizziness of my vision. I also couldn’t remember when I had fallen asleep or where I slept.
Moira and I woke up on the floor, no hangover and no soul-sucking death hanging over us. Whatever juice we drank, it was worth the bitterness that stayed in our throats.
On graduation day, there were no missed calls on my phone.
While I still have to fight off the last bit of alcohol, I called Derek—unaware that it would be the last time I would have the balls to do it.
“Um, I don’t know what to say. I miss you and I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Please tell me… and— it’s okay if you don’t want to come.”
I busied myself with dressing and putting on my makeup, letting Moira point out some tips to make my lashes longer and fuller, and where to put the blush on my cheeks.
It took over two hours for everything to be done; we showered and made sure that not a single stray hair avoided the hot wax on our legs. That was poor planning on our part; we should have done that a couple of days ago to let our legs heel a bit, but we managed.
Moira’s mother had her camera out, snapping pictures of us in our dresses and pretty heels while having another set of pictures taken with the cap and gown on. Moira’s father was beside his wife, holding back his tears with a napkin crumbled in his hand.
My cheeks had ached from laughter and warmth in my chest. I really do love Moira and her family.
There was nothing from Derek yet.
I tried not to think about the reasons as to why he was avoiding me. I wondered if he regretted our night together or had I scared him off with my embarrassing inexperience. Then I laughed at myself. Derek can’t be frightened off; he was the man who does the scaring to other people.
He told me that he may be gentle with me and treat me as if I was glass, but he treated everyone else with indifference. They were all bugs to be squashed under his boots, broken in his hands, and traumatized with meetings.
It is when I’m sitting in the chair, surrounded by students in the arena, and hearing the dean’s voice with final congratulations that it hits me.
My body was the final payment.
That’s why he’s not here.
Derek got what he wanted, and he didn’t look back when he walked away.
Love does blind people, and I stupidly fell for his wooing of smooth words and fancy dates. I wonder if it’s my inexperience with romance and men in general that made me an easy target, or is it that cruel of him to use me and toss me aside.
A roar of cheers rumbles across the arena, everyone darting left and right to meet with their friends and family members. I stand in the midst of chaos and havoc of laughing students and sharp whistles.
“Becca!” Arms are thrown around me as I get the impact of Moira’s thin body smacking into mine.
I laugh over her shoulder, squeezing her waist as we giddily listen to the music playing through the speakers.
“I can't believe we graduated!” I squeal, bouncing on my heels as I giggle into her shoulder.
“I take anything to get out of that African-American History class; he’s the worst professor in the history of universities,” she grumbles, groaning while taking me by the shoulders to look me into the eyes.
I beat her to the punch, “You obviously haven’t met Professor Gomez.”
We laugh at our silliness, hugging one more time linking our arms. She steers me towards the direction of the seating where her family is waiting for us. I instinctively glance around to search for the head of peppered hair and steely grey eyes.
He shouldn’t be hard to lay eyes on; his colossal height and powerful stance are enough for people to part like the Red Sea for Moses.
I don’t see anyone even resembling him.
Disappointed? Yes.
Unexpected? No.
A part of me still believes in him and the possibility of us, but time is passing quickly and I am the most foolish girl.
I talked to Moira about the situation. she has more experience than I do when it comes to romance.
It’s a calculated and despicable plan to use me for his personal time, stringing me along and feeding me lies to bring me to his bed. Moira’s words are
harsh, and in a way, they make sense. No man had desired me before, so I was so blinded by the attention I got and soaked it up with laughable desperation.
It’s so embarrassing.
I was tricked into a ploy and carried out his plan to humiliate me. I think Moira is exaggerating. He doesn’t have reasons to do this to me because I have never seen him before until that one day.
He could have asked for his money back, and I would have scraped every penny up to give him as good faith that I would pay him back if I had more time.
“Don’t cry yet; we still have pictures to take,” Moira’s mother pats a tissue on my cheek, dabbing the stray tear that rolled over my flushed skin.
I sniff back my runny nose, and Moira made a repelled face. I scowl at her for being so inconsiderate while I’m a bottle of emotions ready to pop open.
“I’m going to miss this place,” I said.
She rolls her eyes, “I’m not.”
“How can you say that? We have many memories here,” I pout, accepting the tissue with my hand.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you smelt the microwaved steam egg last year,” she comments with a shudder as she rubs her arms.
I cover my grinning mouth. I still remember her telling me how she thought there was a decomposing body in the dorm while I was in class. Everyone had to open their windows before they evacuated the dorm as the smell was just too pungent.
“Alright, beautiful girls,” Moira’s mother said, clapping her hand and taking her husband’s phone.
“We need pictures,” she grins while holding up the phone.
We nod and get into a pose while staring into the camera. Her level of professionalism in photography is amazing as one pose requires five different angles, so we can pick which is the best at home.
Pose after pose in different settings, it was time to leave as the announcement blares over our head. People begin to filter out and walk towards their cars in the parking lot while we watch them leave with their head held up high.
My heart swells with pride, as I clench Moira’s hand and we walk away with dignity. I look around one last time, hoping to see Derek standing there and waiting for me to run into his arms.
He isn’t here.
This chapter of my life closes with more than a diploma and a bunch of funny memories, but it also closed the pathetic love story that lasted while it still stood a chance.
It closed with ‘us’ going back to just Mr. Debt Collector and Rebecca.
Chapter Eight
Derek
Fear is a foreign concept to me.
I have had bullets aimed at my head, knives attending to hurt me, and fists from despairing people. I have accepted the risks; my work is dangerous, and it requires the compassionate side of me to disappear when I’m working.
I can’t afford to let my guard down for one second or I would be dead a long time ago. I have come close on several occasions when the person who borrowed money from me is somehow connected to other illegal organizations. We fight over the territorial right to who can have the first crack.
Factors that determined that vary, and sometimes, I would win, and sometimes, they would get the first shot. Stepping on toes is not pleasant when all I want is my money. I vividly recall the tension between the Irish gangster and I when we met up.
I hate fighting, but it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it. I just prefer to avoid it as much as possible; there are more things on my list than to have a standoff with an idiot.
I would confidently say that I don’t fear many things, but that was before Rebecca came in the picture.
Fear is what I feel when I returned on United States’ soil.
I haven’t had contact with her for a whole month and it’s driving me crazy. I had to immediately go overseas for business, but it took longer than I anticipated because it involved too many players to simply find a solution.
I should have warned her that I would not be able to make any contact with her for however long it needed to fix this exigent circumstance. She is too pure to be involved with this shitstorm that happened, so I kept it to myself and hoped that it wouldn’t take longer than a couple of days.
I kept my phone in my home in a safe to prevent it from being hacked or taken; the people I had to deal with on this trip will use underhanded methods to get an advantage. Rebecca must not be harmed, but I ended up doing the exact thing I promised myself I would never do.
The moment I got home, I went straight to the safe and yanked out my phone. I hadn’t showered or had a proper night of rest, but nothing can compare to the stress scorching on my panicked heart.
Four missed calls and three voicemails.
All from Rebecca and all unanswered!
“Sir!” A voice shouts from behind my office door.
I slam the safe shut, stalking up to the door and swimming it open with so much force that it startled the guard on the other side.
“What?” I bark, irritation curling on my forehead.
“W-we found Rebecca Shaw,” he swallows, “She’s been hiding in a crack-house for the last two years, but we found her, and she doesn’t have money to pay you back!”
The last thing I need to hear is this bastard calling my Rebecca a crackhead, but then it comes to me with waves of information that I should have seen the moment I met her.
The Shaw that borrowed money from me was a woman trying to survive with her baby while the Rebecca I love is a diligent college student. They may have similar features and the same name, but they are two completely different people.
I should have known.
All this time, Rebecca thought that getting her to spend time with me is her way of working off the debt she never borrowed from me. Then I ghosted her; it’s a mistake that had tremendous consequences.
God knows what she thought when I went off the face of the earth after our night of passionate lovemaking. Rebecca lacks the confidence to see the beauty that I see; she doesn’t like her body that much and I tell her that I can love it for her every time I see her on the dates. Little by little, she is starting to accept being a little more curvaceous than other girls.
More for me to love.
It took a while to get her out of her shell and accept that I want her for who she is, but I doubt that is what she thinks now.
She must think I don’t want her anymore.
“I want my money back and get the fuck out of my face!” I snap, throwing the door close to go back to the middle of the room.
Going through the messages, I put my phone to my ear and sigh heavily. My heart is thumping in anticipation as I listen to the automated voice about me having messages.
The first message comes with a curious voice, a bit of concern that warms my heart.
“I-I… is something wrong? Call me back, please.”
She’s so precious, automatically thinking that I’m not in a good place to call her or have the decency to give her a heads-up about me disappearing for a whole month. Rebecca didn’t think of me as scum for playing into the stereotype of frat boys who ‘fuck and leave’ in a blink of an eye.
“My graduation is on Saturday at ten in the morning, and I want you to come… please.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I clench my hand around the phone, pinching my nose bridge to calm the rolling headache throbbing against my head.
Knowing about her graduation ceremony is one thing, but making the time and effort to be there is another. I wanted to surprise her and take her out on a nice dinner to celebrate. That plan got derailed with this mess of a situation that just got evolved overseas.
I’m a month too late.
A month is a lot of time to let Rebecca stew in her insecurities and the doubts that I worked hard to make her stop believing, and by now, it probably solidified her reluctance to admit to being desirable.
“Um, I don’t know what to say. I miss you and I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Please tell me… and— it’s okay if you don’t want to come
.”
There was a pause of a shaky breath before she said the last words. She sounds defeated and tired as if she had tried her best. When I replay her messages, it was clear by the tone of her voice that she doesn’t want to bother me.
At a loss for what to do, I gather that Rebecca never called again after the last, and it was on the date of her graduation.
I call her, letting it ring for several seconds until the annoying voicemail operator offers me a space for my message. Calling her again, I walk back and forth in my office while agitation rips a growl from my throat.
“Pick up, pick up,” I chant manically, “Pick up the damn phone, Rebecca.”
As if she could hear me, the line opens with her sweet voice.
“Hello?”
It’s hesitant, doubtful, and quiet.
“Rebecca,” I said, glad to hear her voice. “I want to see you.”
There’s scuffling on the other end. She doesn’t articulate an answer for moments while I wait for her to gather her thoughts. I don’t want to rush her and potentially let this beautiful girl tragically crumble before my eyes.
“Can’t,” she mumbles.
It’d be endearing to see the image in my head come to life right before my eyes.
“Busy,” she explains shortly, and my eyebrows curl in detection of reluctance and a lie in her tone.
She’s never been good at deception.
“Have a good day,” she said.
I fucked up on a grander scale than I expected, and it is never her fault for pondering the worst.
I was the one who gave her a reason and time to overanalyze.
Pulling up an app that I had secretly installed on her phone to keep track of where she is, I pinpoint her location to the heart of Miami and right down to the feet where she is immobile. It could be the phone is in her new home since she doesn’t live in the dorm anymore.
Asking her to move in with me was my plan, but that got fucked over with other stuff.
I make my way out of the house and into my car, the same car that I have driven from the private airstrip. The car’s tires peel out of the driveway and out of the gates without slowing down. My car has a sensor function where it will put the brakes on the moment it feels anything remotely closer than the recommended distance for cars and pedestrians.
