The lion’s share of my trust issues stem from my freshman year of college. Even then, I was painfully shy. I shared a dorm room with a girl named Wendi. She was never there, always staying off campus with her boyfriend instead. In our room, well my room, I could avoid all of the social aspects of college.
I went to class and the dining hall, not that I ever ate there. Otherwise, I was in my room. It might sound lonely but I was content. That didn’t mean I wasn’t curious about the people around me. I noticed them; had crushes on some of the boys in my classes. I hoped one day, one of them would notice me and ask me out.
Our school had a website for students. It was like Facebook and Myspace but on a much lower tech scale. One day I had a private post in my personal mailbox from a guy who said he thought I was cute. I was so excited. I didn’t know him personally, but he went to my school and from the picture attached to his account, I thought he was good looking.
That should have been my first clue. I should have known that the way I looked, I could never have been his type. I was naïve though and wanted a cute boy to like me. I never pressed him on how he knew me or my name. I was too busy, wrapped up in my fantasy romance.
He pursued me online for weeks with notes back and forth. The only thing keeping me from meeting him in person, were my nerves. He was patient though, never seemingly annoyed by my shyness. We were nearing Spring Break when I finally agreed to meet him. Marc, tall with light blond hair and broad shoulders, was just as handsome in real life.
The first time we met at a park on campus and watched people play Frisbee. He held my hand as in my head I named the three children we would have after we got married. Our next meeting he took me out for ice cream. Being a bigger girl with anxiety over my weight, he was so sweet as he encouraged me to get whatever I wanted. He told me how much he loved girls with meat on their bones.
When he walked me back to my dorm, he kissed me, hard, with tongue. It had been my first kiss. I floated to my dorm room. Our next date was to the movies. We shared popcorn and spent more of the movie kissing than watching. His hands roaming as his kiss turned me to mush.
I fancied myself in love. Our next date was to his apartment. I happily, trusting him, gave him my virginity. He wasn’t as affectionate as he had been before. I was tense and nervous, but I wanted to please him. He wanted to leave the lights on but finally turned them off for me. I remember worrying that I had done it wrong when he didn’t kiss me afterward. He didn’t kiss me when he dropped me back at my dorm either.
I wouldn’t find out why until the next morning. There was an email in my mailbox, the sender name listed as ‘a friend’. When I opened it, I could see it went to the entire freshman class. The file name was Popping Cherries. I stupidly wondered if it had something to do with spring. There was an audio file attached. Twenty seconds in, I knew what it was.
In horror, I listened to people laughing hysterically with Marc moaning my name and my own cringe worthy whimpers and moans in response. How? It was me; it was us. I couldn’t understand how someone was able to record us. At the end of the audio clip, there was a group of people, their voices all blurring together as they laughed and congratulated Marc for popping my cherry.
Some of them mooed between their laughs. Below the audio file was a blinking banner, my senior picture at the center of it with instructions for everyone to congratulate me on finally finding someone willing to sleep with me.
The letters on my keyboard blurred through my tears as I went to message Marc. Shocked, I learned his account was deactivated. Like a fool, I realized I didn’t even have his number. As I dressed in a haze, I went back and forth between defending his innocence in this to being certain of his guilt. I didn’t have his number, but I did know where he lived.
No matter how painful, I had to find out if he ever even cared about me. I made my way from my dorm, across campus to where his apartment was. I ducked my head as I passed people. Every laugh I heard, I was certain was directed at me. I’m not sure if my mind was playing tricks on me, but I swore I heard moos as well. None of this would matter if Marc cared about me, if he wasn’t embarrassed by me.
When I got to his apartment, I almost turned around. What would be worse, knowing he cared nothing for me, or never knowing and deluding myself? My knock was hesitant. After a minute, I knocked again, this time with more force.
Marc opened the door, his face falling as his eyes landed on me.
I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t invite me in.
My voice thick, I spoke first. “An audio clip of us together and a message went out to the whole freshman class.”
“Honey, who is it?” a voice called out from behind him.
My eyes widened, my mouth dropping as two manicured hands coiled around his waist and Missy Pollard’s face came in to view.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Are you here to thank me?” she asked.
I was unable to do anything more than gape at her. She continued, “I’ve always heard it’s good to help the less fortunate. Did Hank here show you a good time? We had a bet going to see if you were going to moo like a cow or grunt like a pig.” After a moment of silence, she asked, “Well, are you going to say thank you or not?”
“Thank you?” I asked.
“Yes, you ungrateful, fat cow. How else would you ever get someone to willingly sleep with you?”
My eyes had flown up to Marc’s or was it Hank? He looked away. Gulping, I turned; Missy’s laughter and a long moo followed me.
I want to say I tried to stay in school.
That I tried to hold my head up high even as my classmates started mooing at me as I made my way to my classes. That when boys began grabbing my breasts and my butt in the cafeteria, I stood up for myself. The girls on campus weren’t any better. They’d laugh, moo, or cough, and say slut whenever I was around.
I had no one, not one friendly or sympathetic shoulder to lean on. Late at night, in the safety of my own dorm room, they still wouldn’t leave me alone.
They would pound on my door, so hard the door would shake. Sometimes they would slide notes and crude pictures of what they wanted to do to me under the door. Other times they would moan and mimic the sounds I had made in the audio clip as they panted my name.
I tried to get help. My dorm advisor told me none of this would have happened to me if I weren’t such a slut. I made it one month before I considered suicide. I hated everyone and myself most of all. The only thing that kept me from doing it was my parents.
After a long, tear filled call home I decided to withdraw from school. My mother wanted me to come home, but I couldn’t. I could barely handle my own company, let alone anyone else’s.
Will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? I’m going home in ten days. Now is not the time to freak Lindsay out. She isn’t like other girls. If there was ever a person who deserved a handle with care label, it is her. Knowing that, what do I do? I act like a bull in a freaking china shop. Glancing around my room the pressure of these four walls is closing in on me.
Leaving my phone, I head for the gym. Working out has always been a way for me to clear my mind and focus on what is important. Lindsay is important. Pressuring her from the other side of the country isn’t going to do anything to help me.
The gym is empty. Without someone around to spot me, I conservatively add weight to the bar before lying back on the bench press. Down, bar to my chest, puff of breath out and I push up, and repeat. Like magic, my mind clears. I’ve already been here twenty days and will be home in no time.
I’ll text her when I get back to my room and apologize, again. For the rest of my time here on the ranch, I will focus on the job I was hired to do. My attention has been divided. Whether she believes it or not, she’s holding a piece of me. It isn’t fair to the contestants here.
I’m lucky it’s Frankie’s show and all I need to do is support him. Any chance they’d tap me to be a new full time trainer has to have evaporated. That’s a good thing, but I h
ate the idea I haven’t done my best. From the bench press, I move to a heavy punching bag. My hands aren’t taped so I don’t go full on.
I was able to burn off most of my frustration at the bench press. This is an excuse to get my blood going and blow off any lingering steam. Leaving the gym, the weight on my shoulders lighter I hope I’ll sleep well tonight.
The contestants are not allowed to have access to things outside the ranch but the rest of us are. The episode from our first getting to the ranch is airing tonight and someone thought it would be a great idea for us to watch it together.
To say Gigi is a bundle of nerves would be putting it lightly. She was already waiting in our living room when I walked in.
“What if they edited me to make me seem like a bitch?” she asks.
“We’re the good guys. I doubt they would do that,” I reply, hoping I’m right.
“Or an airhead. What if they make me seem like an airhead?”
I shrug; she sort of is an airhead so it’s safer not to say anything at all.
One of the producers comes in next and sits down next to her, as in right next to her, even though there’s plenty of room on the couch. Interesting. The full time, star trainers come in next, Jarrett following them.
It’s weird knowing Lindsay and my family are going to be watching me. That keeps me quiet as we all watch. In fact, we all seem to be quiet. Gigi and Jarrett are clearly contemplating their star power. The veteran trainers are as attentive. Could they be wondering if any of us have upstaged them?
It’s strange watching myself on the screen. Thankfully, I don’t do or say anything embarrassing. When the show is over, as we’re disbursing, the producer approaches me.
“You did good kid. The camera loves you.”
“Thank you.”
Once I’m back in my room, I see missed calls from my mom and my sisters, and texts from Lindsay, Clay and the owner of my gym.
Facing potential disinheritance, I call my mom first, having to hold the phone away from my ear when she answers it screaming.
“Mom.” I laugh. “I can’t understand you.”
Sasha and Natalia are there. I can hear them hollering in the background. My family is straight up crazy, but I love them. Once my mom calms down enough so we can talk, she lets me know how proud of me she is. After her, the phone is passed to Natalia, who lets me know she recorded the show so my nephews can watch it. After her, I talk to Sasha,
“How’s Loki?”
“Spoiled rotten. You should get him a puppy treadmill.”
“Please. He’d kill me in my sleep if I did something like that.”
She laughs. “You’re probably right.”
In four short days, she’ll be picking me up from the airport. After hanging up with her I read and reply to Lindsay’s text.
I’m happy to hear you watched and that I didn’t suck.
You were so amazing, Luke. It was crazy seeing you on TV like that.
You see me on TV all the time.
It’s different and you know that.
I miss you.
We haven’t talked on the phone or Face Timed since the last time. This is me trying to give her space.
Are you coming Saturday, for our walk?
I’ll be there.
I wish she wanted me to come see her right away. I get back Wednesday, sucks she’s cool with waiting until Saturday to see me.
I’ve been stalking the message boards of the show. Everyone loved you.
Really?
Don’t act surprised. You’ll probably have a fan club before the night is over.
You’re joking.
Serious. Go check out the message boards. I just saw a petition for you to become a male model.
That’s insane.
There will be women from everywhere throwing themselves at you.
Shit.
There’s only one woman I’m interested in.
When she doesn’t reply, I text her again.
In case you were wondering, it’s you.
As I wait for her to reply, I start scrolling through my other texts. Clay watched the show with Courtney and Maggie. They all thought I did awesome and he had good news about my car. I left it with him since I knew I’d be gone for a month. He offered to fix the driver’s side door and give it a paint job while I was gone. I’ve been working on Sally forever. Lindsay texts back while I’m sending Clay a text begging him to send me pics.
Are you upset?
Why would you think that?
You always call when I stop texting.
Do you want me to call you?
I don’t know.
Freaking girls.
I call her, relieved when she answers right away.
“Hey.”
“I wasn’t lying, Lindsay. I like you, only you.”
“I don’t understand why.”
I flop back onto my bed. How do I get this woman to trust me?
“Here’s why; you’re beautiful, smart. I enjoy talking to you. You’re interesting. I’m attracted to you, and I want to make you happy. What do I have to do to earn your trust?”
“There’s no easy answer to that question. I already trust you more than any other person I know.”
I pause, her admitting that must have been hard. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’m not going to do anything to ruin that. I hope though, in time, I will continue to earn more of your trust.”
The second episode with Luke’s time on the ranch aired tonight. He took off his shirt. The internet exploded. It is stupid of me to believe he has feelings for me. He could have anyone. There is no way, logically, with all of the options available to him that he would pick me.
He’s flying home today. If I knew his flight number, I’d probably be tracking his plane real time. That’s not normal. He deserves someone as amazing as he is. When a kidnapped person begins to sympathize with his or her captor, it’s called Stockholm syndrome. Is there an equivalent disorder for sympathizing with someone you pity? If there is, I’m officially diagnosing him.
Or, if what he says is true, and he genuinely does like me, will he continue to after the attention this show will give him? I’ve witnessed people change over much less. I followed a blogger before I ever started my blog. When I rapidly started to gain followers on my blog, I reached out to her for advice.
In the beginning, she was so sweet and supportive. That all changed the moment I had more followers than her. Even though my behavior never changed, suddenly she said I was acting as if I thought she was beneath me. It was sad but a lesson that stayed with me when dealing with people online.
Focusing on my blog recently has been the only thing keeping me from full on obsessing over Luke.
For the first time ever, I didn’t want to edit myself smaller today.
I have been working out and religiously following my new diet for six months now. I’m nowhere near the size two I make myself but I’m proud of the way my body has changed.
So proud that it makes me sick to my stomach to erase parts of my body. That girl on the screen deserves to be seen, to celebrate all her hard work. My fear of losing followers is what keeps me from doing it. I’m not sure I could handle the negative comments that would be made. There is an entire culture of fat shaming online. To a certain extent, I already have to deal with slut shaming.
I’ve learned if I post a pic with any hint of thigh or cleavage, I’ll receive rude comments. Thankfully, they’re a small percentage. I delete them and block the poster. That doesn’t stop them from creating a new profile to post again. Luckily, only the truly committed jerks go that far. I’m not sure I could ignore comments about my weight as easily as I do vulgar comments about my figure.
It has to be the fact the pics currently getting rude comments aren’t me. They are, but they aren’t. If it was an unedited pic, it would be all me. I’m not ready to be that vulnerable ever again.
So, with a lump in my throat, I erase pieces of
myself until the image I see is what society deems beautiful.
Luke will be here any minute. I’ve tried to relax and watch something I recorded on my DVR but it’s no use. Manically, I keep standing and walking over to look out my front window.
He had said when he got back he was going to take me out on a date. I have no way of knowing if he meant today or not. The two times I’ve asked him, he wouldn’t tell.
I’m playing it safe by wearing leggings with a tunic length, long sleeved t-shirt. The t-shirt is dressy enough to wear out, but not too dressy to workout in if we end up jogging. I have two jackets waiting by the door. The first one is a lightweight fleece, perfect for working out, the other, a short denim jacket, which will dress up what I’m already wearing.
Same thing goes for my shoes. I have both workout and going out options on hand.
My constant movement annoys Coco. She comes to stand at the doorway of my bedroom to stare at me. If I could only sit still, she would probably let me pet her.
Studies I’ve read online say pets are good stress relievers. I need some of that right now. I move toward her, intent to pick her up and love on her. As is my usual luck, she isn’t interested and hightails it under my bed. Thanks for nothing, Coco.
Before I have a chance to sit back down, there’s a knock at my door. I scurry over to my window to sneak a peek at what he’s wearing. After a month of not seeing Luke in person, my heart races looking at him standing on my front step. He’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans. Is this our date? I try not to panic as I step into my short boots and pull on my jean jacket.
An unexpected impulse hits me as I open the door. I have to stop myself from wrapping my arms around him. He doesn’t move; it’s as if he can read my mind and wants to make this hard for me. Pulling the door behind me, we are now standing almost chest to chest, since he’s one-step down.
Yesterday's Half Truths Page 17
