When I Lied

by Michelle Kemper Brownlow

  “Well, there’s no one but me in my bed right now.”

  “Who was the last person to join you there?” His sleepy voice perked up.

  “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”

  “You’re not comfortable telling me? After all I’ve told you, you should know by now I have no room to judge.”

  He was right.

  “Charlie.”

  “So, is Charlie your boyfriend, Lexi?”

  I wasn’t sure what to do with his line of questioning. I had planned to have fun being Lexi. I wanted her to be someone I lived vicariously through, but before too long I found myself wanting Oliver to know me, the things I stood for, the things that were important to me. He gave me all of him in everything he shared with me. But, Lexi stood in the way of Oliver knowing who Kate was.

  “No. He wasn’t…he isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Wild night?” He chuckled a little, which made me angry. When I spoke to Oliver, in my mind it was Kate talking. But when Oliver responded like with comments like Wild night? to Lexi, I took offense. My plan wasn’t working now that Oliver was invested in our relationship and the focus had turned to me. I was offended by an imaginary reputation I built.

  “Not exactly.” Unshed tears stung my eyes as my emotions clawed at my chest. I’d never told a soul about that night. And I certainly wasn’t telling Oliver, but not because I didn’t trust him. I just didn’t know what I would do if I heard myself say the words out loud.

  “I’m sorry, Lexi.”

  “What makes you think it was something negative?”

  “Darlin’, I soak up the emotions of everyone around me. It was the way you said ‘not exactly’ that gave you away. There was sorrow in your voice.”

  “You misread me.” I didn’t want to have this conversation. I’d created a girl who didn’t matter—at least I never intended for her to matter to anyone. But Lexi mattered to Oliver.

  “I doubt it.” The protective tone was again woven within his words.

  “Oliver, I asked you a question and you preferred to leave it unanswered. Can you grant me the same respect, please?”

  I was an awful person. I used Oliver’s sensitive side against him to dodge his line of questioning. Nothing about the situation was good. But at the same time our relationship was what he needed. It was the best thing for Oliver. Not the lies—the lies were bad. But him allowing his soul to open up and connect with someone that wanted nothing from him, a true friend, was paramount. However, a friend is trustworthy, and in no way was I worthy of Oliver’s trust. And for that, I was suffocated by guilt.

  “Tell me something about your hotel room.” If I turned the attention back to him, I would have to lie less. And hopefully it was a banal enough topic to distract him from whatever was bothering him. And maybe it would make me feel better. It was selfish but served its purpose.

  “It’s small. Dank. And a little creepy.”

  “Creepy, how?” I tried to picture what a Swedish hotel would look like in my mind. I had never been out of the United States so I had little to no reference point.

  “It’s supposedly haunted. Max did some research and requested we stay here. He thought it would be fun.”

  “Of course he did.” Max was their bass player and a complete whacko.

  Oliver laughed a quiet, breathy chuckle, which warmed my heart. He had the greatest laugh. He was always messing around with the people at his shows and doing goofball things to get a rise out of the crowd, and then sometimes he’d just stand there and laugh at the aftermath. He always seemed happy on stage while he performed the more upbeat songs. He seemed so big and full of life. But when the tempo slowed and silence fell over the crowd, a sadness enveloped him that he could no longer hide and you could almost watch him break. And now his world had opened up so wide it was swallowing him whole, which was what terrified him.

  “What else do you want to know? Ask away.”

  I really did want to picture where he was and what he was doing. I wanted him to be right next to me. But not in the fangirl freak mode. I just wanted to be able to comfort him, physically. I got the feeling he was touched often but in a very hollow way and there were a few lyrics in his songs that made me think maybe touch hadn’t been a positive thing in his past either. But even without knowing lyrics, it was like I could almost read where his mind was when I watched him perform.

  This particular evening Oliver sounded more relaxed. I took this as an invitation to dig a little deeper with him.

  “Why do you turn to meaningless sex when you’re hurting? The groupie sex, I mean.” I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw so tight it hurt my head.

  “Wow. Lexi. I don’t know if I should take you there.” He took a slow, deep breath. He sounded so close to me, right in my ear. I slid down under the covers so I could pretend he was lying in the dark with me. We were two friends just staring at the ceiling and talking about the depth of our existence and our translation of the world around us. And that’s all I was doing, asking about his reality and relishing the honesty we did have.

  “Take me there, Oliver. I just want to know what you experience in this circus of a life you’ve made for yourself.” Somehow, my own honesty in that statement made my question seem less intrusive in my mind.

  “All right, groupie sex. Well, she’s got to be hot.” He laughed and I was immediately sorry I asked the question. I was pretty but I didn’t see myself as “hot,” which only reminded me that he said that because he was picturing his own version of Lexi while he was talking to me. “And it’s more for the emotional release than it is the sex, ya know?”

  I was silent. I had nothing to say and I was seething with jealousy. I’d always dreamed of sex as being intimate and something that’s supposed to be shared by two hearts beating for one another. I guess, if I was finally honest with myself, I wanted Oliver’s heart to beat for me…Kate, not Lexi. So, to think of Oliver having that kind of intimacy with other girls made me want to vomit. I liked being there for him but I saw how our relationship could become increasingly difficult on my heart. How was I supposed to protect him from having his heart torn apart if I couldn’t protect him from those girls? They didn’t want the Oliver I knew; they just wanted his body and shallow bragging rights.

  “Lexi, it’s a sad sort of sex. It’s nothing like what I imagine I will share one day with someone I love. It’s literally just for the release, ya know?”

  “Yeah.” But I didn’t know. I was having trouble making sense of where he was going with his description.

  “You don’t get it.”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay, look at it this way: My music is my sex. So, after a show, we’re all amped up on the vibe. Then you add to that equation all the alcohol we’ve consumed and it just takes it up another notch. Then we take the stage for the final encore. That’s like the rise to the climax…but there’s no release. No actual climax. That intense buzz needs to have an end or you’ll go mad. So, it’s like I crave that sexual release as a hollow substitute. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed my forehead and yawned, trying to rid my mind of a very graphic vision of Oliver naked with some slutty groupie.

  “But, it’s not the kind of sex you want to fall asleep replaying in your head. I immediately feel guilty for using someone for that reason and then I go to bed with regret. It’s not making love, Lexi. There’s no love in it. None. It’s empty and simply serves one purpose. So, Charlie was your first time, Lexi?”

  I actually choked on my own spit at his request. “That’s not a topic for tonight, Oliver.”

  “Sorry.” His voice was sad.

  “Don’t be sorry. You had every right to ask me a personal question; I want us to be open with each other. But, that’s just not something I’m going to be open about.” My heart raced and I threw the covers off of myself as beads of sweat rose to the surface of my skin.

  “Yet.”

  “Ever.” Why was he pushing t
his? Of all people, he should be cognizant of the need for privacy. “So, what made you stay in tonight?” I needed to change the subject before I lost it.

  “My social anxiety has been off the fucking charts these last couple shows. Usually I can handle bigger audiences because I’m above them in my own space. But recently it’s like the crowd is playing with my mind. I feel them get closer than they should be able to. I know they’re not really any closer than usual but that doesn’t stop the panic. I don’t know how to get a handle on it except to stay back in the quiet after and debrief and let the guys have at it among the hordes of people waiting for us after the show.” He sucked in a deep breath, held it and then let it hiss its way back out through what sounded like clenched teeth.

  “Dope helps, too, huh?” I laughed a little when I said it.

  “Yeah. Dope and a little Cole Porter. My anxiety’s secret lovers.” I heard him take another hit.

  “Just be careful, Oliver. You know what they say.” I smiled at my gentle way of letting him know I wanted him to be careful.

  “No, tell me. What do they say, Lexi?” And that quickly, his tone changed.

  “Pot is the gateway to the harder stuff. And you can’t be a junkie and be productive in this industry.” I snuggled down under the covers and nuzzled a small divot in my pillow with the back of my head. It would be nice to fall asleep to Oliver’s voice. But, I needed to stay awake. He’d asked me to be there for him.

  “If I had a mum, I bet she’d say something like that, too.” He took another quick hit. “Be my friend, Lexi, not my mum.” His voice was foreboding. Irritation with a twist of hurt.

  He didn’t have a mom?

  “I’m gonna head out. Meet the guys.” He’d just shut down and put the wall up.

  Dammit.

  “Oliver, I—”

  “Thanks for chatting, darlin’.”

  And the line went dead.

  Three

  I sat in my Psych 201 class in a complete daze. I tested out of Psych 101 so I was a freshman in a class of sophomores. I should have been paying extra attention to make sure I didn’t miss a thing, but instead I was distracted. I hated how Oliver ended our conversation two nights ago. He’d since been completely absent online and hadn’t answered any of my texts. I didn’t want to hound him if he didn’t want to talk to me anymore, but I was worried about him. He was in a bad place and he made it clear I was the only one he could talk to.

  Professor Woods rambled on about the semester project we would be working on. I tried to focus but it was hard. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of responsibility for Oliver’s well-being because he’d sort of dropped that job in my lap. I’d never felt that for anyone and I wasn’t completely comfortable being in that role for the first time with someone so needy and broken. I’d never turn my back on, or walk away from, the relationship I had with Oliver, but I certainly wasn’t expecting any sort of commitment when I had my brilliant idea for “Lexi.”

  I pulled my phone from my bag and held it in my lap. I tapped the Twitter icon then quickly glanced up and tuned into what Professor Woods read from the textbook.

  “Psychology is the study of the human mind and its functions.” He turned toward his desk and reached for something. I quickly hashtagged Oliver’s screenname and glanced back up to make sure I wasn’t being obvious in my distraction. I immediately caught Professor Woods’s gaze. My heart stopped. Did he realize I was on my phone?

  He nodded then spoke. “Kate, right?”

  “Um,” I cleared my throat. “Yes, Kate Green.”

  “Miss Green, I’d like you to choose your partner for this semester’s research project.” That was easy; one of the girls from my Calculus class was sitting right in front of me.

  “I can work with Madison.” I cleared my throat and slid my phone between my legs so I could comfortably put my hands up on my desk. I really wasn’t the “try and get away with it” kind of student, so I was terrified of being humiliated if he called me out for being on my phone.

  “Wow, you really were zoning out.”

  Shit.

  I looked at him like he was speaking another language. “I’m sorry?”

  “Well…” he chuckled. “If you promise not to make this a habit, I think I can let it slide this time. What I’d been explaining to those paying attention was that I’ve divided the class in half. Twenty-one of you will be choosing the names of the other twenty-one so your partnership is randomly chosen. You will be choosing out of this hat.”

  He walked over to me and thrust a well-worn Penn State baseball cap toward me. I reached in and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I opened it and revealed the name of the last person on earth I’d want to spend any time with, let alone the amount of time we’d have to work together for a project so significant. Professor Woods took the slip of paper from me.

  “Gretchen Adler.” He jotted something in his grade book and walked to the next student. I looked over at Gretchen in the next row and she flashed me her fakest smile then punctuated it with her signature eye roll. Gretchen lived in my hall, and quite frankly she was a bitch. She was a chameleon, changing her personality depending on the company she kept. In class, she was the star student; in the dining hall, I watched her morph into the status quo of anyone she sat with. At the Sig Chi house, she was the ditzy drunk girl that had all the brothers falling over themselves to be the one to get her another beer. Beautiful, bitchy and brilliant…a deadly concoction.

  “This Psych project will be on the topic of fame. I’m not going to give you as much of an outline as I did for your first project. You can be as creative as you like with these. However, your project must highlight at least three psychological disorders that can be connected to fame in some way.”

  “Oh, I think this will be fun! Don’t you?” Gretchen slid into Madison’s chair after Madison headed across the room to meet with her partner. Gretchen flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and helped herself to a piece of paper from my binder. “Let’s make a list of disorders that could be connected to fame, shall we?” I knew enough of Gretchen to see right through the pretentiousness.

  Gretchen’s long, straight hair that was so shiny you could almost see your reflection in it. She blinked her crystal blue eyes and tapped the eraser of her pencil on her puckered lips while she thought.

  I pulled my phone out and Googled “mental illness and fame” and jotted down the first couple things I found.

  “Ooo, what’d you find?” Gretchen spun my binder around so she could read what I’d written. “Oh, these are good. This is going to be fascinating, don’t you think, Kate?” She seemed sincere, but having seen her in action, I wasn’t sure how I would ever know how to take her. Not a sincere bone in her body, but sociopaths can make you believe they’re as loyal as a dove.

  I heard Gretchen went to great lengths to carve out her own little clique at the beginning of her freshman year. She and her new cronies rushed Delta Gamma and when Gretchen was the only one who didn’t get a bid she was beyond livid. She worked tirelessly to construct an elaborate scheme riddled with vicious rumors, blackmail and a fistful of lies that eventually got Delta Gamma put on suspension for breaking code and hazing their pledges.

  If someone sensed the quiet mutterings in my mind about Gretchen and juxtaposed them with Gretchen’s apparent sweet nature, I’d be the one who looked like a bitch. But I had a knack for reading people. And Gretchen Adler wasn’t inherently sweet. Give her a reason to hate you and she could be downright diabolical.

  After looking through numerous articles and professional journals on our phones, we made a long list of possible mental illnesses that could either be a result of fame or be what drew someone into that profession.

  “Okay, so Kate, how are we going to handle this?” She batted her eyes. It seemed fake, like a learned response of how nice girls got someone to do something for them.

  “I think we should decide which industry we want to focus on and then have all of our findings be ba
sed on that one facet of fame.” I tried very hard to just focus on the task at hand and not be annoyed by her. I wasn’t about to let Gretchen Adler negatively affect my grade. Especially since I was hoping to apply for a scholarship to study abroad at some point and an A in Psych would get my GPA where it needed to be.

  My phone buzzed with a text. I looked at the screen and saw it was just my mom reminding me to call her later. I responded simply with an “OK” and set it down but not before silencing it. I didn’t need any more trouble with Professor Woods. I looked up at Gretchen to answer her question.

  “What if we looked at—?”

  Gretchen gasped, threw her hand over her mouth, jabbed her finger in the air toward my phone and then started desperately fanning herself.

  What the hell?

  I looked at my screen and for a second I panicked but then remembered she had no idea who was really texting me.

  Walter: Phobia5 is doing a surprise appearance at the Billabong Festival. I want to meet you there.

  The Billabong Festival was started by the Beta Sigma Beta fraternity a long time ago. The festival was held every October in honor of one of their former brothers who died from cancer while he was a student at U of M. The festival’s sole purpose was to raise money and awareness for cancer among college students. It was huge and known for its surprise appearances by bands that no one would expect to come to College Park.

  Holy hell. Oliver would be in College Park in three days.

  “I LOVE PHOBIA5! Oh my HOT! Do you love them as much as I do?” Gretchen was practically hyperventilating.

  Enter ditzy, fangirl mode.

  “They’re okay, I guess.” I didn’t even try to hide my eye roll.

  “You guess? Are you crazy? Have you SEEN Oliver Walt?” Her eyes rolled but in a different way than mine had, which made me a little more than slightly uncomfortable.

  “Yeah. He’s—”

  “Wait! Who’s Walter? Does he know them?” She hit a new level of crazed fan.