by Riley Jean
“Scarlett Rossi?”
My chin popped of its resting place on my palm.
“Yes?”
“In which age range did you have your first sexual experience?” Professor Queen pointed to the whiteboard where she appeared to be taking a tally.
“Oh…” My face must have turned ten shades of crimson. Worst time to be caught day dreaming ever.
I blinked rapidly and licked my lips as thirty sets of eyes zeroed in on me. Attention… I hated attention. I rarely spoke up in class—especially regarding anything personal. Not like I had much to add in this subject.
Now, what exactly did she mean by “sexual experience,” anyway? Specifically intercourse, or would second base count? Halloween, junior year, with Nathan flashed through my mind. I felt my cheeks blush a shade brighter at the memory. My feet nervously uncrossed then crossed again under my desk. I cleared my throat in an attempt to form an answer. “Well, I…”
“Professor Queen!” Lexi shouted beside me. “Little Scarlett is a virgin!”
The frat boys erupted in laughter from their back corner, followed by whistles and jeers from every other male in the room.
I sat still as a statue with pursed lips while half the class laughed at my expense. Why had I even agreed to take this course? I was a journalism major. I could have taken any psychology subject to satisfy my undergrad requirements. Yet here I was: the virgin studying Modern Human Sexuality.
It might have been fine taught in a typical lecture and textbook format. But Professor Queen (who looked like Kate Beckinsale—which explained all the frat boys) was adamant about class participation and sharing personal experiences. She said this was a safe environment where people should be free to open up and feel comfortable to discuss their sexuality.
Well. So much for acceptance.
Always one to soak up the limelight, Lexi laughed right along with them, proud for speaking up. That’s right, she was the very reason I had enrolled in this class, and now she was inviting everyone to make fun of me. Thanks a lot, best friend.
The professor fought to contain a smirk at the commotion, but when I didn’t offer a contradiction, her eyes widened. Silently, she turned back to her board, created a new column labeled “not yet,” and drew a lone tally mark for me. Just great. Trying to regain control of the classroom, she moved her inappropriate questioning along to the next student.
“Little Scarlett,” one of the boys behind us whispered. Instinctively I turned towards the sound of my name. “I’m having a party this weekend. I’d invite you, but no virgins allowed. Sorry.”
I shook my head and returned my focus to the front of the room, trying to ignore his friends snickering like giggling school girls.
“Scarlett,” another taunted. This time I did not turn around. “I’d be happy to fix your little problem for you. Tonight. Room 212.”
They all laughed again. Someone even thought that lovely comment deserved a fist bump.
Next to me, Lexi gave me the stink eye. I shrugged, eyes wide and innocent. It didn’t matter to her that this kind of thing made me extremely uncomfortable, or that she was the one who threw me to the wolves in the first place. She was angry that I was getting attention and she was not. (Which, by attention, I meant practically sexual harassment. And, if you asked me, that wasn’t something anyone should be jealous of.)
But it was no good to point this out to her. It was just easier to let it go.
Effectively shutting me out, she turned to face the professor. I sighed and faced forward too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lexi grab a pen. “212” she wrote in the margin of her notebook.
I tried my best to tune out Lexi’s snub and the snide comments still coming from the back corner. Professor Queen continued her tally-taking as each student answered about their own first encounters. In the end, she calculated the percentages of each age range then showed us the results to the same question from classes over the last two decades. According to the data, it appeared each generation was becoming sexually active younger and younger. I took copious notes, wondering if I had simply been born in the wrong era.
No matter how archaic and foreign it seemed to my peers, I’d always believed in waiting for “the one.” My perfect love was out there somewhere, and even if I didn’t know him yet, I knew he was worth waiting for. No amount of teasing from Lexi or a bunch of classmates was going to convince me otherwise. As for the frat boys… better they learn I was off-limits anyhow.
Professor Queen then assigned us a paper regarding our thoughts and interpretation of the data. Simple enough. I jotted down a few of my initial ideas, main contributing factors, and a suggestion for a larger sample group.
As the last few minutes of class ticked by, I counted down the seconds until freedom. Hopefully by tomorrow, no one would even remember my embarrassing five seconds of fame in this classroom. I’d be happily invisible again.
When class was dismissed, Lexi booked it out of the room without saying a word. I just shook my head. She’d be upset for another hour or so, then she’d get over it. I gathered my books and made my way to the door.
Outside the classroom, I leaned back against the building and looked up into the gray, ominous sky. It was a cold January day, just two weeks after the hope and promise of the new year. Students shuffled to their next classes with their own worries, their own lives. And I was left wondering how it was possible to be surrounded by this many people and still feel so alone.
I inhaled a deep breath of frigid winter air, and exhaled morosely.
It was time to accept that I may never see him again. Perhaps it was best to leave our encounter untouched, as one memorable night with a perfect stranger. Maybe that’s the most that anyone can really ask for. So I was grateful to have gotten that much.
Besides, hadn’t I promised myself to change this year, that I wouldn’t be kissing strangers anymore? Only one week in, I’d almost failed that goal. Plus, as those frat boys reminded me in class today, I had precious little to offer someone like him.
Yes, it was best to just move on.
It took another ten seconds to realize that I wasn’t in the mood for my remaining classes. Not normally one to ditch, I mentally perused my agenda for today. No tests or assignments due, just lectures that I could easily substitute by reading a chapter. It was settled. I would skip.
Relief hit me with the realization that I could soon be back in the sanctuary of my dorm. I didn’t want to have to deal with people today. I wanted to wear my fuzzy slippers and lose myself in writing. Life always looked a little clearer when I articulated my innermost thoughts on paper. It reminded me of everything I knew to be true, everything I hoped to be true, and everything I had to be thankful for. And it never judged me. As long as I had my journal, I would never be truly alone.
I wiped away a stray tear and forced a smile. With a push off the wall, I headed in the direction of the dorms.
Maybe I’d get some coffee, too. A chai tea latte.
See? I’d be fine.
Chapter 8
Guardian
“I Will Not Bow” by Breaking Benjamin
[Present]
“I have a new idea,” Ricky said, and revealed the weighted punching bag behind him.
It was another bad night at the Rossi residence, so here I was again, climbing through Ricky’s window and looking to escape. I devoured The Count of Monte Cristo and was deep into my next book, still yet to face blank pages of my own. I’d been coming over more than normal recently, but Ricky didn’t seem to mind. He had been available almost every single time I texted.
Between his bedroom and my books, I’d found my source for ample distraction.
I had not, however, anticipated Ricky’s new equipment.
“I don’t know about this,” I eyed the thing warily. Music and writing had always been my hobbies. Athletics were not exactly my forte.
“Let me see this noodle you call an arm.” He wrapped his hand around the thickest part of my
bicep, and he could still touch his middle finger to his thumb. “Do you see this? Too small. Kick boxing it is.”
“Your hands are abnormally large,” I grumbled. Admittedly I had become thinner than normal over these last few months. Stress will do that to you. “And what do you expect? A little kick boxing and I’m going to have muscles like you?”
His lips tilted up. “We can call that a long term goal.”
He helped me slip on the humongous padded gloves. They felt awkward and surprisingly heavy on my hands. I stared at the punching bag for a few seconds before giving it a girly smack.
“That was pitiful,” Ricky criticized. “Again.”
I repeated almost the same exact punch.
Ricky stood to the side and watched with folded arms. “Do you remember what I told you about anger?”
“That it’s the strongest emotion,” I recited. “It can overrule anything else I feel.”
“That’s right,” he nodded. “Now use it.”
“Shouldn’t I be learning how to control my emotions, not channel them into something destructive?” I’d tried to wear my anger in the way he described, but it felt unnatural. Intimidation suited Ricky; when he got angry, people cowered. When I wore my anger, I became an impatient and rude little bitch. There had to be another way to reveal the new me without letting my temper run rampant.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get to that. But when you’re in front of the bag, this is where you release it. Use your anger. Again.”
I sighed, then used a little of my annoyance to take another shot. This time I kicked the bag, too. It didn’t budge but I ended up tripping.
Ricky came up behind me and placed his hands on my hips, moving me into a new position. “Crouch low like this. Stay light on your feet.” He grabbed each of my wrists and brought them higher. “Use your gloves to protect your face. Punch like this—” he slowly extended my right arm forward until the knuckle of my glove tapped the bag, then brought it back towards my face. “But quick, like a jab. See that?” He did it again, this time much faster.
“Okay,” I nodded. “I think I got it.”
He let go and I took a deep breath before trying to repeat the move.
“Keep your wrist straight,” he critiqued.
I concentrated on the line of my arm when I threw the next punch.
“I’m still not seeing your anger.”
“Ugh!” I grunted in frustration and hit the bag again.
“Better. Remember to keep your hands up to protect your face. Don’t trust that fucker for a second.”
I laughed under my breath. As if my trust issues weren’t bad enough already.
“Okay. I think I know what your problem is. Keep hitting.”
I took a few more swings while Ricky went to work on something else in his room. I tried to recall all his instructions: keep low, light on my feet, hands up, quick jabs, straight wrists, channel anger. It was a lot to remember everything all at once and my arms soon grew tired. This really wasn’t my thing, but Ricky had gone to all this trouble and now that damn bag was mocking me. If I ever wanted to be capable of defending myself, I sure had a long way to go.
Ricky stopped me a moment to adjust the bag. I took a minute to rest, staring at the ceiling and breathing from the exertion.
He stepped aside to reveal his handiwork. The punching bag was now wearing a black beanie stretched over the top, with holes cut out where the eyes would be.
“Are you crazy?” I shrieked, backing away.
His hands came down hard on my shoulders, halting me in place. “Hit it again.”
I was frantic. “What the hell, Ricky? What the hell?”
His fingers bit into my skin, not allowing me to retreat. “Use. Your. Anger. Bury every other emotion you feel. Your fear. Your nerves. Your pain. Your remorse. Block it all out. Focus.”
Could I do that? Looking at the mask brought back a hundred emotions from that night. One of them was anger. I felt it in there, somewhere. Could I block out everything else to only feel the one? It was worth a try.
I focused on the injustice, the outrage. I tried to control it, tried to let it run through my veins until every muscle in my body was tensed and ready, eyes locked on my target.
“Good,” Ricky murmured in my ear. He lifted his hands off me with one final push forward. “Now hit him.” I stared at that mask and stuffed everything else down. I refused to let myself feel anything but anger. It was taking over now. Prevalent in my mind. Roaring, clawing at my gut. “Hit that motherfucker.”
Suddenly I was no longer in that bedroom. I began to see the figure as if it were actually the masked man in its place. It represented the night everything good in my life was ripped away. Love. Hope. Sanity.
When the emotions started to bubble up within me, threatening to boil over, I reared back and unleashed a torrent of unyielding blows, hitting that motherfucker with all my might.
* * *
[Past]
I trekked along the barren field, making my way across campus towards the dorms. After the embarrassing episode in class today, I was looking forward to spending the afternoon by myself.
I was determined not to think about Lexi angry at me for another stupid reason. Or the frat boys teasing me in front of the whole class. Or the charming Brit who had me smiling from ear to ear only seven days ago, who had ended us before we ever had a chance to begin.
I was concentrating so hard on not thinking about these things, I didn’t see the person on the path ahead of me.
“Hey Curly Q, going my way?”
I clutched my books tightly to my chest and kept walking, doing my best to ignore him. The dorm wasn’t far from here. I had taken a shortcut through the fields. I just needed to make it across, and I’d be fine.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
I picked up my pace. A few steps later, another boy jumped in front of me to block my way. I gasped in surprise. Then I recognized him. He was one of the frat boys who had been mocking me in class today. A frightening grin spread across his face when he read my mind. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Little Scarlett from our Sex Education class.”
I twisted as another boy appeared beside me. “Want to study together?” he taunted, wiggling his dark eyebrows. “I could definitely use a tutor.”
A third boy appeared over my other shoulder. He was in my class as well. “I think Little Scarlett here is the one who could use a tutor.”
The boys all laughed.
Great. More teasing.
“Leave me alone,” I tried to move past them.
Before I could get far, my butt was grabbed. Now they had crossed the line. I spun to face the perpetrator, but there were several boys there, smirking unapologetically.
“D-don’t touch me,” I tried to say, but it came out as a timorous squeak.
Again my behind was smacked. I turned back around, my breath picking up. There were more. Maybe six or seven total now. They had formed a circle, laughing and pawing at me. Tugging at my hair. Calling out taunts.
I dropped my books and threw myself between two boys, hoping to escape in the gap. But their arms pushed me back in the center again. Distorted faces and a chorus of dark laughter broke out, resembling something out of a nightmare. I spun in a dizzying circle to confirm the awful truth—I was surrounded.
How did I find myself in this plight? True, I was shy. And I’d always been a bit of a pushover when it came to my friends, I supposed. But I was a nice girl. Just trying to go to school, to find myself and where I fit in in this crazy world. Now here I was in college, for the first time in my life, being bullied.
A scuffle broke out. The circle jerked with the sound of grunts and a cloud of dust.
They were getting violent.
I squeezed my eyes shut and hid my face with my arms. I should have been running or screaming, but I was too scared to move a muscle. All I could do was brace myself and hope the next hit wouldn’t land on me.
That’s when I heard h
is voice.
“It takes some real bloody tossers to harass an innocent girl.”
I sucked in a breath and opened my eyes.
I was no longer surrounded. The boys who were not doubled over on the ground had taken a step back and clustered behind me. They were all staring in one direction. I hesitated for only a second before following their gaze.
It was him. My handsome, angelic, mysterious stranger.
My desperate eyes soaked up every perfect detail. His muscular physique. His flawless face. His hypnotizing blue eyes, now twisted in rage. I’d begun to doubt his very existence. I’d reasoned that no one could be that perfect. I must have built him up in my mind through the haze of that chaotic night.
But he was even better than I remembered. And most importantly, he was really here, standing over us like an avenging angel.
“We weren’t really gonna do nothing, bro, I swear,” pleaded the boy held by the back of his collar, right before he was shoved away with a look of pure malice.
Steely blue eyes stared them all down. “Touch her again,” he threatened, “and it will be the end of your precious brotherhood.”
His stance was so intimidating, he was in complete control despite being greatly outnumbered. The boys sensed it too, and stood down. I would have been frightened had I not been so enamored with seeing his face again. I refused to look away when I knew my hero could disappear at any moment.
“Well?” The boys flinched at his guttural command. “Clear off. And consider this your warning. I assure you, there will not be a second.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. The boys scrambled away and disappeared to the other side of the field with their tails between their legs. All except for one, who clearly did not like being ordered around by the greater alpha. That boy lingered, foolishly challenging his stare with his own feral sneer for another minute before finally following after his brothers.
“See you later, Curly Q,” he called over his shoulder like a promise, and finally disappeared out of sight.
At last, his eyes blinked and came to mine, calm and assessing me cautiously. I stood still as a statue as he bent down and gathered my books, hypnotized, unable to even move.
