"Goodbye, Samson." Natalia's eyes were distant and she walked away without another word.
I tried to call after her, but my throat felt like I had swallowed a dozen cotton balls. As I watched Natalia walk away, a piece of me was leaving with her.
The morning arrived too soon and my ears were still ringing from the night before. As the sun shone into my room, I turned away from the light and wrapped the blankets tightly around my body. I didn't want to leave this room ever again for fear of running into Samson. I was worried about the awkwardness that was sure to be present between us. I would arrive to class, he would grab my waist and smile at me with his adorable, cocky grin, and the whole time I would be wondering how many times a day he talked to his girlfriend. What an asshole. If I had one wish, it would be for Monday to never come.
As my erratic thoughts continued, I heard the door open and close. If Kingsley found out the events of last night, she would never let me live it down.
"Rise and shine, princess," Kingsley sang standing over my bed.
I growled in response.
"Seriously, Natalia, wake up. It's almost noon and you can't be that tired from last night."
I peeked out from my blankets and saw Kingsley walk to her desk, setting down a cup of coffee on the desk.
She turned back to me. "Wait, you and Samson totally did it! You're exhausted from all of the crazy sex you had! I can't imagine him being any good at it, but wow, I guess I was wrong."
Kingsley's ramblings were making my already present headache intensify.
"Did you shower? Because he's probably really dirty and I could only imagine what kind of creepy crawlers are now growing inside of you."
I pulled the blankets back over my head, hoping to drown out her voice. "Kingsley, please shut up," I shouted.
There was complete silence and I was relieved that Kingsley decided to leave me alone ... until I felt my bed shaking. Looking out from the luxurious fort I had built, I saw Kingsley above me, hopping up and down on my bed. This must be her personal form of torture.
"Get off, get off, get off!" I yelled, trying to push her off with my own legs, which was difficult to do since they were sheathed in blankets.
She stopped jumping and fell to her knees, trapping my legs beneath her weight. "That's not the first time I've heard that," she said, a tight-lipped smile spreading from one ear to another. "Don't be such a grouch. I figured you would be in a good mood this morning, considering you hung out with Pretty Boy all night. Give me details. And seriously, get out of bed." Her tone was firm. She was a very bossy roommate.
"There are no details to tell. We went to the concert, got food, and then went our separate ways." There was absolutely no need to divulge how the night had ended.
"You're an awful liar." Kingsley's somber face stared back at me. "This is me trying to be a good roommate, but you're acting like a little shit. So, never mind."
She walked over to her side of the room, carelessly throwing her heeled boots onto the floor. She continued undressing, not being the least bit shy about getting naked in front of me. I wasn't surprised, though. I'd known the girl for such a short time and I'd already walked in on her giving someone a blow job.
I was surprised, however, that Kingsley cared about the fine points of my night. She'd really never been that curious to get to know any details of my life since I'd been living with her, but I think what flagged her interest was that my night could have possibly been scandalous. Kingsley loved scandal. I think it made her feel better about her own mess.
When I tried to ask Kingsley about her life, she would give me generic answers. Only child. Had one serious boyfriend. Never knew her real parents. The one thing she did fully open up about was her adoption. A few nights ago, Kingsley stumbled into our room and shook me awake.
"I need to talk to you," she whispered.
"Is everything okay? What time is it?" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to focus on her face. She looked as if she had been crying.
"Everything is ... fine. I just," she stammered over her words. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course." I sat up in my bed, eager to hear what she wanted to confess. Kingsley wasn't the type to reveal anything about herself, so at that moment, I wanted to make sure she knew I was listening.
"My past was fucked up. Not just, 'oh, I didn't make the cheerleading squad' or 'boo-hoo kids make fun of me all of the time.'" She bit her lip and stayed quiet before continuing. "No, it was a disaster until Trish adopted me." Her eyes shot up as she finished.
"You were adopted?"
"You thought Trish was my real mom?" Kingsley asked.
"I obviously noticed that you two looked nothing alike, but I wasn't going to jump to conclusions. That's your thing."
She lightly laughed at my answer and explained. "Trish adopted me two years ago. I was fifteen years old and I'd just been thrown out of yet another foster home. I never thought I'd be adopted again. She saved me." Kingsley's face lit up when she talked about Trish. It was the only time she showed any emotion.
Other than that middle-of-the-night conversation about Kingsley's past, I hadn't learned anything else. As much as I would love to know all about her life, I knew it would take her time to open up.
"We kissed." I didn't plan on admitting that information, and it snuck out before I could bite my tongue. I waited for the shit to hit fan and bit the inside of my cheek.
Just as Kingsley was about to take off the last piece of clothing, her underwear, she stopped and swung her body around. She glared down at me and for a moment, I was terrified she was going to pounce.
"We should still get you checked out. You could have herpes forming." Kingsley walked to her closet, throwing on the first thing her hand touched.
I started laughing, reading the text on her black T-shirt. In large pink font, it informed the world that she wasn't wearing any underwear. "Don't you think that's a little inappropriate? I'm sure people look at you and already assume you're not wearing any underwear. And anyway," I pointed to her half-naked body, "you're making a liar out of your shirt."
Kingsley began laughing as if knowing something I didn't. "In two seconds," she hooked her fingers through her leopard-print thong, "I won't be."
I immediately turned to face the wall. Of all things I never wanted to see, Kingsley's parts were number one on that list.
"Do you feel any sores growing on your lips yet?" she snidely asked.
I rolled back around to face her and began dramatically dabbing at my lips. "Oh no! They're all over my mouth!" I jumped out of bed and bounded toward Kingsley, grabbing her and pretending to kiss her face.
Kingsley was strong. Grasping my shoulders, she said, "You're like the annoying little sister I never wanted."
She was correct in the fact that having a roommate did feel like having a sister. Being an only child, I wasn't used to having someone around to share things with. My mom always claimed to be a shoulder to cry on, but any time I tried talking to her about anything other than dance, she'd stop listening. In times of need, I turned to my dad. Anytime a boy broke my heart, Dad was there with two spoons and a tub of ice cream. Anytime I felt exhausted from practice, my dad's shoulder was often where I would fall asleep. I missed him so much.
I lay back down, covering myself up from the coldness of the room. "Is that coffee you're drinking? Please tell me it's coffee."
"It's coffee," she replied, sipping her cup.
I hopped out of bad so fast I didn't realize my feet were tangled in the blankets. Falling face first, I barely caught myself from landing on my nose. Immediately, I heard Kingsley's laughing. I joined in, unable to act mad that she didn't offer to help me up. As clumsy as I was, you'd never think I was a ballerina.
"Need. Coffee. To. Feel. Better." I whined, acting like I had just broken every bone in my body.
"If you weren't such a drama queen, I'd offer you this delicious coffee, but now ... " She waved her mug around like she was holding a troph
y.
"Be a good roommate and give me some," I demanded.
She sighed loudly and started to hand me the cup, but snatched it away, taking a drink instead.
"That's it. I renege on the whole best friend bracelet idea."
When I retreated back to my bed, she cleared her throat loudly, prompting me to turn back around.
"Here, little girl, have some," Kingsley said as she smiled up at me warmly.
As soon as I took the first gulp of the hot liquid, I knew it wasn't just coffee.
"Really, Kingsley? This is disgusting." I handed the cup back to her, feeling my throat began to burn from the whiskey. I'd never been a huge fan of it and I had respect for any girl that could drink the stuff.
"Don't knock what you can't handle." Kingsley downed the rest.
I glared at her in response. I'd had a lot to drink in my day. Maybe I wasn't fall-down drunk every night, like her, but I knew how to throw them back. Fed up with the exchange, I decided to go dance. I didn't practice yesterday and it was the only way I'd be able to forget everything that had happened the last night.
"I'm going down to the studio," I said.
"It's Sunday. No one practices on a Sunday."
I'd practiced every Sunday for as long as I could remember. "This girl does." I quickly changed into my dance clothes and threw my shoes in my bag.
Before leaving, I grabbed my phone. I had four text messages and one missed call. All from Samson. Just seeing his name show up on my phone made me a nervous wreck.
There were many times before last night that he could have revealed his girlfriend. He could have pushed me away when I kissed him, but he didn't. I was angry with him and I felt like a fool. I was even angrier that I was filled with jealousy whenever I thought of Samson with his girlfriend. I needed advice. Since Kingsley was the only girl around, I swallowed my pride and began.
"Kingsley, if a guy you liked kissed you, but then told you afterwards that he had a girlfriend, would you forgive him?"
"Samson has a girlfriend?" Kingsley faced me. "I did not see that coming!"
"Just answer my question!" As irritated as I was with Samson, I didn't want to hear Kingsley ragging on him.
"I've been in that situation many times, but I never cared to stick around long enough to see how it played out. I'd say, if he begs for your forgiveness, then give him the opportunity to explain. As much as that guy makes me want to vomit, maybe he had a good reason for not telling you right away. Just be prepared for the possibility that he was trying to two-time you."
The thought set in. I needed to find out the truth. I sighed loudly, feeling drained. I should have been in the studio, dancing away my troubles. Instead, I had my phone glued to my hand, trying to decide if I should read the unopened texts.
"I know guys, Natalia. They're the easiest creatures on the planet to figure out. It's all in their eyes. When Samson looks at you, all I see is want. Believe me when I say, that boy would beg." She laughed through her nose.
I looked back down at my phone and exhaled. Opening the first text, it read: "I'm sorry." The next one said, "Let me explain." I continued onto the last two, reading, "Meet me tonight." And, "If you don't respond within the next thirty minutes, I'll take that as a no."
It had been twenty minutes. I texted back: "Okay."
Dating the same boy for most of your life has its advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, you're best friends and you know everything about each other, but on the other, you spend so much time together that eventually the spark can begin to fizzle out. The challenges don't seem as fun or exciting. The conversations don't last as long as they used to. I'm so certain that it's happening to Samson and me that I need to figure out a way to re-kindle the flame. After all, Samson is the man I want to be with for the rest of my life and I can't let him get away without a fight.
It was 9 A.M. and I was meeting Samson at Le Pain Quotidien. I hoped he would be on time, though I knew he wouldn't be. As I entered the busy cafe, the array of aromas wafting from the kitchen made my stomach stir. I was too nervous to eat anything. Samson and I would be talking about our relationship and I had no idea how it would turn out. I'd hoped that we could work things out, but with the way everything has been, I had my doubts.
I grabbed an empty table near the front of the cafe, by an oversized window. The weather was perfect this time of year, and the sidewalks were filled with tourists and pedestrians. They all carried a variety of shopping bags, most of them chatting on their cell phones as they crossed the busy streets. It wasn't long ago that I was roaming the city with Samson, taking pictures of the surroundings. We'd wander around aimlessly and I'd take snapshots of him being silly in Central Park or smoking a nonexistent cigarette. I kept all of those pictures tucked away in a box, and lately I'd nixed any craving I'd had to look at them.
I longed for coffee, but decided to wait until Samson arrived. I looked down at my watch to see that five minutes had passed. I was determined to not call and complain about his lateness. I didn't want to seem impatient.
I had chosen not to move to New York. I didn't want to be the girl that followed her boyfriend to a new city just so their relationship wouldn't be compromised. I had goals of my own. Making my father happy was always the most important thing to me. I gave up photography and applied to Yale. I would follow Daddy's footsteps and become a partner at his law firm.
I heard the bell above the door chime and turned my head to see Samson. He walked in with the same cocky smile he'd been wearing since his braces came off in the tenth grade.
"Look at you, all fancy this morning," Samson said cheerfully.
I stood up. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close to his chest. When he released me, I looked down at the outfit I had thrown on this morning. I wore nice clothes all the time. Today, I had worn a pair of skinny jeans and paired it with a Lacoste polo and my Tory Burch riding boots. Since the New York air was cool, I had on one of my favorite Theory blazers.
"This is how I always dress. Have you forgotten?" I knew I was supposed to ease our conversation and try to fix things, but already, I could tell he was hiding something behind his smile. I had a sick feeling that he wasn't telling the truth last night. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at me.
"Over here, Samson," I waved my hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. "Let's order some coffee."
The awkwardness was apparent, and I wasn't sure what to say. We sat down and ordered two shots of espresso and a blueberry scone. Samson's favorite.
I'd been with Samson all of my life, and sitting across from him at this cafe, lacking all conversation, made me grow wary of repairing anything. We'd always been each other's support system. Our dads were both overbearing and if it weren't for Samson, I probably would have broken down by now from the pressure.
When I was younger, I wanted to be a photographer. I remembered the time I asked Samson to let me photograph him while he danced. I adored the way he moved his body on the dance floor. It was a beautiful way to bring both of our talents together. I reflected back on our good times.
So much had changed over the last year. I was angry with Samson and the road he had chosen. Going against his family and coming to Juilliard was disrespectful. I understood the challenge of wanting to follow your own dreams, but it came down to him making a choice, and he made the wrong one.
"How was the banquet last night?" Samson's hand reached for mine, his voice bringing me back from my thoughts. "I'm sorry I couldn't come, my schedule has gotten crazy. Plus, I'm rehearsing all of the time and not sleeping nearly enough."
"It was fine. Daddy wasn't pleased, but I covered for you. Of course, he didn't understand what could be more important than being my date for such a big event." I couldn't keep from lashing out and I knew I needed to calm myself down and not cause a scene. Reeling myself back in, I continued. "Sorry, I just wish you could have been there with me." Samson's face lacked any emotion and for a moment, I was
n't sure if he'd heard a word I had said.
His eyes stared into mine, almost like he was trying to engrave them in his memory. "Did Daddy fix you up with one of the suitable bachelors in attendance?" He was clearly mocking me.
"Why would he do that? He knows I only want to be with you and he would never make me give up something I love."
His laughter startled me. "Do you even hear yourself, Aubrey? He made you choose law over photography!"
"I chose it, Samson. Law makes me happy," I insisted.
"Aubrey," Samson looked down at his lap, hiding his eyes from view, "we need to talk."
With those four words, I felt the collapse of my heart. "We are talking, Samson." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
I wanted this all to be a joke. I wanted so badly to wipe the slate clean and re-do the last year of our entire relationship. I wanted so much for us, but I knew how scarred our love had gotten and how impractical it was to fix. If we were in for what I thought we were, I'd be left alone, without him and I didn't know if I could breathe on my own. Or, if I ever wanted to.
"Last night, I wasn't studying. I went to a concert with my dance partner," Samson confessed.
"You did what?"
"I know I should have told you the truth, but I didn't know how to explain it to you."
"So, instead of going with me, you went out with another girl? Are you attracted to her? What's her name?" I interrogated him, wanting to know everything about this dance partner, while ignoring the rapid beating of my heart. My stomach was in knots.
"It doesn't matter what her name is. I just wanted you to know the truth. Things between us haven't been good for a long time. You know that and so do I. We can't keep pretending we're this perfect, happy couple. We're not. At least, we're not anymore." Samson stared at his coffee mug. He couldn't even look me in the eye.
"Is that why you chose to go out with another girl? Because you aren't happy? Don't you think you should have mentioned that to me?" My voice rose and I noticed a few heads turn in our direction. I lowered my voice. "I came today hoping we could fix things, but you act like you don't want to. What do you want, Samson?"
In the Air (The City #1) Page 9
