Just Pretend

by Juliana Conners

  I take a deep breath. This is it. The moment I confess my embarrassing secret to my friends.

  “No,” I tell them, letting out a big breath as if I was just blowing up a balloon. “I’ve never even had sex.”

  “Ooooh,” Monique says, as if she’s discovered a rare gem.

  “Stop it,” I tell her, feeling stupid. “It’s really not that uncommon.”

  “No,” she says, grabbing my hand in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant like, wow, I’m kind of jealous.”

  “Really?” I ask, looking at her skeptically.

  Her brown curly hair threatens to come loose from the crazy cinnamon bun- style hairdo propped on top of her head with bobby pins and hair spray. Her dark eyes look sincere.

  “Really,” she says. “You’re a blank slate. You can have any kind of ‘first time’ that you want.”

  “I sure wish I could go back and have my first time over again,” Tessa agrees.

  “Why?” I ask her.

  “It was with some douchebag jock in the back of my car.”

  She scrunches up her face in disgust.

  “As soon as it was over he drove me home and dropped me off and that was that. I wish I had waited until I was in love.”

  “Love is overrated,” Monique declares. “I wish I could have a ‘re-do’ of my first time too, and it was with my boyfriend of nearly three years and we were madly in love a the time. Or so I thought.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Now it’s my turn to be intrigued.

  “Yeah, I built it up in my head to be some amazingly big deal and it so wasn’t. It hurt and then it felt boring. He just laid on top of me for a minute or two and that was it. The beginning of the end for us.”

  “Everything changed after that?” I ask her, genuinely curious. “Because you had sex?”

  “Because we had bad sex,” she says. “And I realized I just wanted something better.”

  It’s kind of a funny statement but all three of us nod our head solemnly, as if it is very sad.

  “Hmmm,” Tessa says thoughtfully, which is my sentiment exactly. “So maybe my first time wasn’t that bad after all. At least he made me come.”

  We all laugh and I feel a sense of relief about unburdening myself of this formerly shameful secret. And about knowing that they’re envious of me instead of pitying me.

  “So how do you want your first time to be?” Tessa asks me. “With someone you love? Or with a stranger?”

  “I couldn’t imagine it being with a stranger,” I immediately answer.

  But then I look around at the plethora of hot Irish guys walking into and out of various bars and around the square and I wonder what it would be like to go home with one. Could I really give my virginity to a total stranger?

  “I really don’t think I could do that,” I tell them. “But in fantasy it might be fun to think about.”

  “Have you never had a boyfriend?” Tessa asks, and Monique elbows her.

  “What?” she says. “I just bared my soul and my embarrassing sex story here so I just thought I’d ask…”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I’ve had boyfriends but they were all good boys and I was a good girl.”

  “So I see not much has changed.”

  “Ha ha.”

  I think back wistfully, about both the positives and negatives of high school.

  “My friends— and the few guys I dated— and I were all destined to go on and become the college students we are now, on the scholarships that we earned while studying our asses off in high school while our classmates were partying or experimenting. We didn’t have time for booze, drugs or sex.”

  And maybe we were a little bit scared, I thought.

  Having sex for the first time is a really big deal. But I’m starting to feel like if I don’t do it now, I might never do it. I don’t mean right now right now, but soon-ish.

  Tessa and Monique might have cringe-worthy stories about their first time but at least they’ve lived through the experience. I’m starting to feel like I’m missing out on something.

  “Well, let us know when you want to do the deed and we’ll be sure to offer all of our support and unlimited liquid courage,” Tessa says.

  “I will,” I tell them. “I’m thinking it should probably be with a stranger, so that at least it won’t mess up my relationship. And I’m starting to think it should probably be soon.”

  “Woo hoo!” Tessa shouts, throwing her arms around me. “I’m so excited for you. I feel like I can live vicariously through you.”

  She shivers into my shoulder. Monique joins us in a group hug.

  “Well now that I’m up against your warm coat, I realize how freezing cold I am,” Tessa says.

  “Maybe it’s just the alcohol wearing off,” Monique jokes. “Time to go get some more.”

  “Yes!” Tessa practically shouts. “Onto the next bar.”

  “I think I’m going to call it a night,” I tell them.

  “Oh really?” Monique pouts. “But the fun was just getting started.”

  “Do you want us to go back with you?” Tessa asks.

  “No, I’ll be okay,” I tell them. “You two have fun finding guys who are neither married nor bad kissers.”

  “We will do that,” Tessa declares. “And you have fun with your Kindle book.”

  “Very funny. Bye ladies.”

  We hug one more time and they head off to the next bar. I still can’t stop thinking about our conversation.

  Why do I feel so ready to lose my virginity? And who could I possibly lose it to?

  As I walk down an alleyway, further away from the lights of the square, I realize I should be concentrating on more pressing issues. I thought that there was a main road this way, from where I could hail a cab away from the bustle of the bar scene and with hopefully less of a wait. Squinting into the darkness, however, I realize I must be tipsier than I thought, because I have no idea where I am.

  Chapter 4 – Jade

  As my apparently very bad luck would have it, it begins to rain. I walk further down the alley, sure that there must be a major throughway just around the corner. But every time I pass a corner, the only thing that greets me is more alleyway.

  The light drizzle begins to turn into a near downpour.

  Great.

  I partially remove the sleeves of my jacket and hoist it up over my head. I contemplate going back to the square and waiting for a cab but it can take over an hour in Dublin on a regular day, let alone during peak pub crawling time on a Saturday night.

  Although I had originally thought the wait would be shorter once I reached a less crowded street, now I’m thinking I can just walk back home. I’m not completely sure where I am but it seems that I’m getting closer to my flat.

  However, it also seems that the area is getting seedier. Garbage fills the alley way now, remnants of people having been here and not bothering to have cleaned up after themselves. A chill runs down my spine.

  What the hell was I thinking, leaving my friends and going out into the strange area all by myself at night? This isn’t like me at all. But neither is going club hopping or confessing my virginity.

  I start to think I should have just gone home to finish my Trevor book much earlier. I shouldn’t have spent so long outside talking to Tessa and Monique about the past.

  Nonsense, I chide myself. I’ve had a great last night in Dublin. Tonight was the last night I could drink, could let loose and actually go out, before returning home to a rigorous study regimen. They’ll be plenty of time to read then— for work and for fun.

  I finally get to a street and the sign says Sherriff Street. It looks like a thoroughfare where perhaps I could catch a cab instead of continuing to have to walk in the rain trying to find my way. There are even some people further down the way—if I squint, I can make them out.

  It looks like they’re passing by on their way to a pub but the pub must be seedier and more of a dive bar than the one I
’ve just come from. The people look rather scruffy and dangerous and the area looks dirty.

  I keep walking. I still have my jacket pulled over my head and I hope no one noticed me.

  I’m reticent to continue down more and more alley ways. But I also don’t want to get myself into any trouble with people in a rough area with which I’m completely unfamiliar. The safest decision seems to be the dark alley instead of the frightening crowd.

  But as I continue on my way I see two men in the distance. Two men. I squint and make out the first man raise his arm and knock the other man on the side of his head. The second man raises his fists as if he wants to fight back but the first one pounds him upside the head again.

  The first man is large and menacing, while the second is quite small in comparison. The second one lets out some grunts, seeming to beg the first one to stop the violence.

  I know I should turn and run away but it’s like seeing a train wreck. I feel frozen and compelled to watch, my feet stuck to the pavement and my mouth hanging open.

  The bigger man continues pummeling the smaller one, knocking him upside the head until he falls over onto the ground. My heart races as the first man begins kicking and stomping on the first man, shouting something I can’t quite make out. I gather that the words form sentences that sound something like “I told you so” and “teach you and yours a lesson” but nothing is making any sense right now.

  I feel that I should call out and try to stop this chaos from happening but my better reason takes over and I realize that could be very dangerous. I also don’t think it would help anything. The first man continues kicking the second until he is apparently satisfied that his job is finished.

  And then he looks up and sees me, staring wide- eyed and shocked right back at him, although, luckily, from a distance.

  Holy shit.

  Now I really need to turn and run away, and I do. I run faster than I ever thought I could, down the alleyway and back to Sherriff Street. I careen around the corner and making a mad dash for the people I had just a few moments ago decided I hadn’t wanted to be around.

  Being around them seems like the best idea right now. I barrel down the direction in which I had seen people walking, wanting to shout out for help but also not wanting to attract even more attention from the man I just witnessed commit some heinous crime.

  At last I am among other people and although I’m out of breath and panting, no one seems to notice. They’re drunk and quite rowdy, singing drinking songs and fighting about politics. This does look like a seedier pub area— somewhere that Monique and Tessa avoid when they go out.

  I pretend that I belong among them, hoping that I blend in well enough to hide in between the boisterous pub crawlers. When I dare to turn back around, I see the man from the alleyway, searching the crowd for my face.

  Cars speed down the street and I think about throwing myself in front of one of them and begging the driver to take me somewhere, anywhere, to get me out of here. That idea isn’t much of a plan because it could backfire stupendously on me. So I continue my way with the crowd until we reach a street corner.

  Luckily, it looks like a major crossroad and I see a cab in the distance. I step out into the street and wave my arm like a lunatic, hoping and praying that the cab driver will let me in.

  Miraculously, I manage to flag him down.

  “Where to, Miss?” he asks.

  I hop in and say, “Please start driving,” before he can ask me again.

  I’m panting and breathless, searching for the man from the alleyway. I see him behind me, peering at the cab, and I can only hope and pray that he doesn’t have a way to follow me. I have a flight home tomorrow— I just need to get out of here and home to Boston and put this nightmare behind me.

  What started as a fun last night in Dublin has now turned into a gruesome event. And the best I can hope for in the future is that it will only be a terrifying memory.

  I give the cab driver my address as soon as I can think straight.

  “Are you okay, Miss?” he asks, peering at me from the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, which is the most honest and raw thing I’ve said all night— even after having spilled my guts to Tessa and Monique. “I hope so but I really don’t know.”

  St. Patrick’s Day Evening – Boston– One Week Later

  Chapter 5 – Jade

  “Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa says, clinking her glass of green beer up against mine and then Monique’s.

  “Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” we both say.

  I can’t believe that I’m out and about with them again, this time when it’s not even legal to drink. But we had gone to the St. Patrick’s Day parade and then they had produced fake IDs and insisted I come out with them.

  They said I’d been holed up in my dorm for fall too long, being moody and studying for midterms and that I needed a break. Really I had been scared to death about what I saw in Dublin.

  I hadn’t even told them because I didn’t know what to say. I’m afraid they will say I should have called the police or done something to try to stop the man from hurting or even possibly killing the other man. I fear for my life, though, so I’m not going to do anything that would further endanger it.

  I’ve been scouring the Internet for any news of the crime that had occurred but nothing had shown up. Apparently the area I was in was one of the most dangerous in Dublin. That’s another reason I don’t want to tell my friends what had happened— I feel stupid and embarrassed for venturing off late at night and getting lost.

  Some of the most dangerous mobsters in all of Ireland frequent that seedy strip of bars on Sherriff Street. From my Google research, I found countless acts of past mob violence.

  Although there was no mention of this specific crime on that specific date, I’m sure it was just one of many that probably went overlooked. I don’t even want to think about what kind of cover up could have been planned.

  The good news is that no one seems to be looking for me. I made it out of Ireland safely and I doubt they know where I live or have the ability to follow me to the United States.

  I suppose, under the circumstances, that everything worked out as well as it could have— except of course I wish I never would have witnessed that crime. It haunts me at night, making my stomach churn and my body shake. It’s hard for me to fall asleep and sometimes even after I do I wake up with nightmares, drenched in sweat.

  Tonight, though, I really want to try to forget all of that. It’s St. Patrick’s Day— a night of revelry and fun. I had given into their request that I go out with them and we had all gone back to the dorms to change before venturing forth for whatever tonight holds.

  “I’m so glad you could come out tonight,” Tessa continues, winking at me. Her blue eyes are framed with green eyeshadow to match her green dress.

  For once, I’ve gotten dressed up myself— wearing a dark green form fitting dress and a long gold necklace. My hair is piled on top of my head and I can’t seem to resist touching it to make sure it’s all in the same place as it started out earlier tonight when Monique did it for me.

  “We know you’ve been having a difficult time lately,” Monique says.

  “Yes,” I say. “I really have.”

  “How is your mom doing?” she asks. “And your sister?”

  Monique and Tessa think that it’s only family issues that have been bothering me. And those sure haven’t helped matters.

  “They’re okay,” I say, taking another sip of my beer and realizing I’m being purposefully obscure.

  It’s been a tough couple of years. First, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They managed to cure it but then it came back and now she needs even more aggressive treatment. It’s costly and her insurance doesn’t pay for all of it. I’m not sure what we’re going to do.

  Then, my younger sister didn’t get a scholarship for college like I was fortunate enough to be able to do. She had worked just as hard and gotten j
ust as good grades, but she was unlucky and didn’t get any of the many grants and scholarships for which she applied.

  Our parents had saved some money for college for both of us, which I gladly would have donated to my sister, but we both donated to our mom for her cancer treatments. Now my sister is in community college and I feel guilty, as if I should be doing more for her, but I don’t know what else I can do.

  Tonight, though, I don’t want to think about any of that. Nor do I want to think about the man in the alleyway in Dublin. All I want to do tonight, on St. Patrick’s Day, is drown my sorrows and forget my worries like every other college student in America.

  I down the rest of my beer and say, “We need some shots up in here!” in my best Tessa impression.

  “Wow,” Tessa says, laughing. “You sound just like me.”

  “I know,” I admit. “I was trying to.”

  “Mission halfway accomplished,” Tessa praises me. “But I would have shouted loud enough to actually get the bartender’s attention.”

  I laugh and she says, “I’ll go get the drinks.”

  But while she’s standing up, an elegant woman approaches our table. She’s wearing a black dress that stands out in the sea of green clothes that everyone else is wearing.

  “May I refill your drinks?” she asks, gesturing to our empty beer glasses.

  “Yes please,” I tell her. “And we’d also like some shots.”

  I’m debating whether to get jello shots or lemon drops when Tessa says, “Jack Daniels please. In honor of our recent trip to Ireland.”

  She winks at me.

  I shrug.

  Why not?

  The woman smiles at us and says, “Of course.”

  As she walks away, I say, “She doesn’t look like a waitress.”

  “Yeah, I guess they’re really getting fancy up in here with their wait staff on St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa agrees.

  “Doesn’t matter to me as long as they bring us our drinks,” I laugh.

  “I’m so glad to see you’ve loosened up,” Monique tells me, shaking back her mane of curly hair that she’s wearing down and free tonight.