Seriously Messed Up: A Laugh Out Loud Romantic Comedy

by Luke Young

  “Quiz?” she asked, flipping the pages as her eyes widened.

  “It’s mostly multiple choice, but there are a few short-answer questions,” James said, paging along with her. He flipped to the back page, and she continued to review the document while breaking into a sweat. James added, “The last page is focused mostly on religion. We’ve never really discussed—”

  “No, we haven’t,” Jillian interrupted before leaping up from the sofa. “I really need to go to the bathroom again. Be right back.”

  Rushing to the hallway, she continued into the kitchen and quietly opened the freezer. There, she pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables and grabbed the milk carton, along with a large plastic cup. Carrying her items, she slipped quietly into the bathroom and closed the door. She placed the cup on the counter and rushed to open the frozen vegetables. The bag ripped, and vegetables shot all over the sink. She cursed, scooped up some vegetables to fill the cup halfway, and then added milk. She opened the bathroom door slightly, lifted the toilet seat, and poured one-third of the contents from about two feet above the bowl. For the next ten seconds, the frozen soupy mixture splashed loudly into the toilet, and Jillian added a groan before repeating the process twice more.

  “Jillian?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a pained voice.

  “Would you bring in a couple of pencils?” he yelled out loudly.

  She frowned. After scooping the rest of vegetables into the cup, she added milk and opened the door a little more, repeating the process a fourth time. This time, she held the cup about four feet above the bowl and provided a louder groan, which she directed out the door. Then she rushed to the door, inching out into the hallway just enough so she could see if her theatrics were getting a reaction.

  When she left him, James had been slumped back against the sofa, leafing through his relationship material. Now, he was sitting straight up, looking horrified, and staring straight ahead with his eyes bugging out.

  Satisfied, Jillian returned to the bathroom, flushed twice, and ran the water while she collected the few vegetables that remained scattered over the sink. She splashed some water on her face, turned off the faucet, and returned to the great room, holding her stomach. James wore an odd expression.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

  His eyes darted back and forth, as he said, “No, I, uh, well—”

  “Wow. That was… Sorry. I had to open the door. I was dying,” she said while waving her hand in front of her face. “There’s no window in there.”

  Standing, he shoved his books into his briefcase. “Uh, maybe we should do this another time.”

  “I’m so sorry about this,” Jillian said. “Why don’t you leave the quiz with me, and I’ll e-mail it back to you?”

  “Uh, okay.” He handed her the papers then rushed to the front door.

  Stepping out onto the porch, she watched with a guilty grin as he hurried to his car, never looking back. Then she closed the door, walked into the kitchen, grabbed the phone, and sat at the island. Reviewing the quiz and shaking her head, a big smile appeared on her face as she dialed Victoria’s number.

  7

  Brian sat with Natalie on her bed. They were making out once again. On this visit, there was no removal of Natalie’s shirt and bra, or anything else intimate. Brian still enjoyed being with her and wanted to give her some time. There was a knock at the door. Natalie got out of bed, walked over, and opened it just enough to see who was there. From his angle, he couldn’t tell who it was. She whispered something through the tiny opening as he looked on curiously. She closed the door, told him she’d be back in a few minutes, and said he should read something while she was gone. Before he could say a word, she slipped out the door.

  After forty minutes, she still had not yet returned. Brian kept himself occupied by reading a few magazines and looking at her books. He checked the clock again. When he put his hands back to lean against the wall, he noticed an opened book face down on the bed. Picking it up, he scanned the page. Once he realized it was her diary, he quickly put it back down. He placed it back where he found it and glanced over at it a few times. He considered the phrase that had caught his eye; it was something about being in love with him or thinking she was in love with him. He stared at the book, desperate to know, but hesitant to invade her privacy. He also thought about her leaving him in that room for so long with the diary right out in the open. Remembering she told him to read something, he was convinced that she intended for him to read it. Maybe it held the secret to why she could not get close to him, and this was her way of telling him. After glancing once more at the clock, he grabbed the diary. He read the important entry, which was:

  I think I’m falling in love with him, but I just can’t give myself to him yet because of you know. There’s too much pressure. I need some space now, but I hope he will wait for me because I know I will get there soon.

  He read the entry a couple of times with a smile on his face, assuming that he was the “him” being referenced. Brian went to return the book exactly as he’d found it, but stopped when a realization hit him—from what he’d read, there was no real evidence that he was actually the “him” in question. Reading the book again, he got what he needed from the first entry on the previous page:

  Brian is coming over tonight… can’t wait to see him.

  He quickly flipped through the diary and so far, there was writing only on the first four pages. Quickly skimming the entries, he found no mention of any previous life-altering event. Maybe the new diary meant she was starting fresh—fresh with him. He smiled, replaced the book exactly where he had found it, and quickly picked up a magazine.

  Minutes later, Natalie entered, looking a little flustered. Brian smiled and barely looked at her as he climbed off the bed and set the magazine down.

  She said, “I’m so sorry, but I, uh, had to—”

  “I just realized that I’ve got to go.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got this paper due and I’m really behind.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder then kissed her. “Call me some time, but no pressure… I mean, you know or I’ll call you.”

  “Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “Sure.”

  “Cool.” Beaming, he walked out the door.

  8

  Brian played on the intramural tennis league on campus, and he’d asked Natalie a few times to watch him play a match, but she never went to one. He hadn’t seen her in a week—not since the diary incident. He didn’t tell her about this particular match as he was trying to give her space, and he was playing horribly, probably because he was so preoccupied with thoughts about her.

  He lost the first set, and during the second, he noticed someone in the empty stands. When he looked over, he realized it was Natalie, watching him with a bright, encouraging smile on her face. She waved, and his face lit up. He was down three games to one and facing break point on his serve. If he lost the game, he would be down a devastating four games to one, with little chance to come back and win the match.

  From that moment on, Brian was in the zone—blasting aces and hitting blistering passing shots. He won that set six games to four, and his excellent play continued into the third set, until he looked to the stands and saw that she was gone. He scanned the surrounding area and spotted Natalie walking quickly away with some guy next to her.

  Devastated, Brian couldn’t regain his focus and lost the final set. Walking back to his dorm, he found Natalie, sitting alone on a bench near the center of campus. She looked depressed. He walked over and sat down next to her.

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  “I don’t know how he found me, but my high school boyfriend showed up at your match and said he wanted to talk,” Natalie admitted.

  “What high school boyfriend?”

  “His name is Soros.”

  “Are you still dating?” he asked
.

  “Sort of.”

  Brian stared straight ahead, pausing for a moment. The sting of losing the match, combined with this news, sent his head spinning. He turned to her. “But what about what I read in your diary?”

  “You read my diary?”

  “I, uh, did.”

  “You read my diary! Why?”

  “Um, well,” he stammered then his confused look was replaced with a sneer. “Oh you wanted me to read it. You left me in your room for forty-five minutes, telling me you’d be right back, and you told me to read something. It was right on the bed next to me.”

  “I most certainly did not want you to read it. It’s private.”

  “What I read was about me, wasn’t it? It said you thought you were falling in love with him, but you just couldn’t get close to him yet, and you hoped he would wait.”

  Speechless, Natalie just looked back at him.

  “Am I him?” he asked.

  “Yes… Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Exactly how many hims are you dating right now?” he asked sarcastically.

  Rising from the bench, she looked at him. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring you? How am I scaring you? I’m just sitting here, asking how many guys you’re seeing.”

  “I don’t like you when you’re like this.” Natalie backed away from him as if he had a knife pointed her way.

  “What are you talking about?” He looked at her as if she was crazy. “Like what?”

  “I just can’t talk about it now.” Turning, she walked quickly away.

  He stood and said sarcastically, “Thanks for coming to my match!”

  Returning to his room, Brian collapsed on the bed. He looked over at the John McEnroe poster on his wall. Brian’s father had given him the poster when he was ten, after introducing him to tennis. His father, a big McEnroe fan, had shown Brian tapes of the classic Borg–McEnroe matches of the early eighties. McEnroe was the reason Brian played tennis. The poster showed the tennis great with his hands in the air and his fists clenched in celebration of his first Wimbledon championship. Most of Brian’s friends made fun of his 1980 poster, but he didn’t care. McEnroe changed tennis forever, and that image was the one he tried to picture in his head when he was feeling down. McEnroe’s Grand Slam victory after being an unranked amateur only one year before proved that if you work hard enough and really want something, you can achieve just about anything. As he looked at the poster, he thought, Johnny Mac would never put up with this kind of crap from a girl, and he could hear John’s iconic phrase playing over and over in his head:

  “You cannot be serious!”

  He could hear John saying it to him about Natalie. How could he seriously be putting up with her shit? Either she wanted to be with him now or not. It was as simple as that. But Brian was too scared to give her an ultimatum, because he feared what the answer might be. At least this way, he felt there was still a chance.

  9

  Two weeks had passed since the tennis match, and Brian hadn’t spoken to Natalie once. When Rob entered the suite, Brian was standing in front of the window in the living area, staring out at the landscape. Rob walked over. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Brian said as he stood there, pretending to enjoy the scenery and weather on that early spring day. They both watched as students walked quickly by on the sidewalks below.

  Rob glanced at Brian. “Don’t I see you right here when I get back from my ten o’clock class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?”

  “I don’t think so,” Brian said nervously.

  Below them, Natalie appeared on the sidewalk, wearing one of her standard outfits, her long, blonde hair flowing down to her ass. Brian spotted her on schedule, and his expression changed to one of confused longing.

  Rob glanced down to Natalie then back at Brian. “Man, you have a serious problem.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She has a ten o’clock, too, but it’s across campus,” Rob said with a knowing look that screamed he had solved the case.

  “Who?” Brian scoffed.

  Rob walked away and then sat on the sofa. “You’re obsessed with her.”

  Brian turned toward him. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Admit it—you’re stalking her,” Rob added.

  “I’m not obsessed,” Brian replied defensively. “It’s not like I’m hanging outside her window, watching her change or anything. And yes, maybe I rush my little sorry ass up here every fucking Monday, Wednesday, and fucking Friday at exactly 10:57 a.m. to watch as she walks by.” Brian closed his eyes with his hands on his cheeks. “The earliest she’s ever walked by was at 10:59 and the latest was 11:07.”

  “Oh, well, I take it back then. You are not obsessed,” Rob said sarcastically.

  Pulling his hands away from his face, Brian looked to Rob, desperate for understanding. “I think she’s just trying to mess with me. She likes me. She doesn’t like me. She has this thing from her past that prevents her from getting close to anyone. Then there’s this Greek guy, this high school boyfriend—Poros or Milos or Dildos. One of those freaking oses.”

  “Greek boyfriend?” Rob asked.

  “I didn’t tell you?”

  Rob shook his head no.

  “All I saw of him was the back of his big, fat Greek head as he was leading her away from the court.”

  Rob stood up and walked to the window. After pausing for a moment, he turned back to Brian. “What are you doing for Spring Break?”

  “I’m staying here. I can’t afford to go anywhere.”

  “Come home with me,” Rob said.

  “I can’t.”

  “If you stay here, you’ll pine away for her all week. You’ll be here all alone, you know. Everyone in the suite is leaving. You’ll drive yourself so nuts thinking about her that you’ll stalk the entire campus until you find a girl who looks like her. Then you’ll kidnap her, skin her, and be caught wearing her skin.”

  Brian looked at him as if he was insane. “Isn’t that from Silence of the Lambs?”

  “Probably. Look, my mom’s place is in Miami. It’s only about ten hours from here. We have a pool and a tennis court and—”

  “You have a tennis court, and you don’t play?”

  “I only play real sports.”

  “It’s a real sport.”

  “I don’t consider any activity where a skirt is an appropriate uniform a sport.”

  Brian scoffed. “Only the women wear the skirts.”

  “Okay, the men might as well, with all that skipping around after the ball in their little white shorts. A real sport involves men getting dirty while smashing into each other, and getting hurt while playing. Unless it’s got that—it’s not a real sport.”

  “I’ve seen players get hurt playing tennis,” Brian added defensively.

  Rob chuckled. “What, like a guy got hit in the nuts once?”

  “No, I saw a guy sprain his ankle,” Brian began but quickly realized how lame it sounded. “It was, uh, really… incredibly swollen.”

  Rob exhaled. “Wow, that sounds painful, but unless there’s a strong possibility of a compound fracture, I don’t want to play, and I certainly don’t want to watch.”

  “Okay, so it’s not as violent and dangerous as your precious rugby.”

  “That’s right. It’s not even close.”

  Brian shot Rob a confused look. “Why the hell are we talking about this?”

  Rob shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Wait. I remember, so if you’re not going to play me, what am I going to do—just stand on the court for hours and practice my serve?”

  “My mother plays—really well, in fact. I’m sure she would play you,” Rob said.

  Brian rolled his eyes. “Dude, there is no way I’m playing tennis with your mother. Maybe we should go to my house instead, and you can go bowling with mine.”

 
; “So, don’t play with her. We’ll go down there. The weather will be warm. The women will be wearing practically nothing. I can get Laura to hook you up with a friend, and if you get the hell out of your funk, maybe you could actually get laid for once.”

  “You can get me laid?” Brian said, beginning to warm to the idea.

  “I said maybe. It’s not like I have hookers lined up, or anything. You need to actually have a personality and talk with them about something other than tennis.”

  Brian’s mind raced, and he looked Rob in the eye. “The tennis court—what’s the surface?”

  “You see that’s what I’m talking about. Surface? It’s a fucking tennis court.”

  “No, I mean is it asphalt, Har-tru, concrete, or one of those, uh, awesome Decoturf courts?”

  After exhaling deeply, Rob gave Brian a tired look. “If I knew the answer to that question, I’d be dead. I would have killed myself already. You know, there’s more to life than tennis. You really should—”

  “Okay… Jesus,” Brian interrupted.

  “So… Miami?” Rob asked as he put his fist out for a bump.

  Brian exhaled, smiled, and finally gave him one.

  10

  Rob drove his nearly new black BMW south with Brian in the passenger seat. As Brian looked out the window, he decided to try to put Natalie out of his mind while on break. He might even try to talk to women about something other than tennis, as Rob had suggested. He struggled to think of some sample topics.

  Rob said, “Like I told you, Laura will want me to stay over with her a couple nights, at least. We haven’t seen each other since Christmas Break, and the last time I spoke to her on the phone, she sounded really freaking horny… like I’ve never heard her before, you know?”

  Brian nodded. “Good for you. I’ll find something to do, and I’ve got a test to study for anyway.”

  “Oh, we’ll definitely hang out some. I’m not going to dump you down there and take off. Anyway, I cleared it with my mom, and she’s totally cool with it… Look she’s still going through a hard time right now—divorce. My dad’s basically a dick who cheated on her. So, if she’s, kinda, depressed or just staring at the pool like a zombie or something, it’s because of that.”