Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  “No, actually, I don’t want to thank my mother and father. I’d like to take this time to thank my boyfriend, Tristan. Thank you, Tristan, for never being there for me. Thank you for wasting two years of my life in high school and then breaking up with me a couple of weeks before college. Thank you for ‘accidentally’ becoming my roommate and confusing me with all of your crap last semester and tricking me into thinking that you’ve changed. And most of all, thank you for this semester. Thank you for promising to help me with my speeches and leaving me high and dry. And thank you for pretending that you have a lot of important work to do when in reality you’re just hanging out with that girl that looks a lot like Kate Middleton, from your office. And, of course, thank you for mentioning how hot she actually is before I show up at the bar to spy on you. That was really the cherry on top. That made me feel a lot better watching you two making out. But most of all, thank you for doing all of that now, before I wasted even more of my life on you. You fucking asshole!”

  Shit. What did I just say?

  I look up at the class. Thirty pairs of hands start to clap and cheer. Oh my God! I nod, hang my head, and make my way back to my chair.

  At least I didn’t freeze. No, the words just came out. I couldn’t make them stop. But I definitely shouldn’t have cursed!

  After class ends, I try to make my way outside, past the professor, without him noticing. No such luck.

  “Alice Summers. May I talk to you, please?” he asks.

  “I really have to go,” I say.

  “It will just take a moment.”

  I take a deep breath and turn to face him.

  “I’m assuming that was not the speech that you had prepared earlier,” he says. I nod. “And I’m assuming that you know that it’s illegal to come to class drunk?” he says.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Intoxicated, then. Either way, you can get expelled for this.”

  “Expelled?”

  My head starts to buzz. My eyes come in and out of focus. Oh my God. What did I just do?

  “I’m so sorry, Professor Milner. It will never happen again. I was just having a really bad night.”

  “Yes, I know that,” he says with a little smile. “I heard all about it in your speech.”

  He’s mocking me. I shake my head. Look down at the floor. I don’t know what to do.

  “I’m going to have to fail you on this assignment,” he says.

  I’m going to get kicked out of school. What am I going to do?

  “But,” he says, giving me hope. I look up at him. “But I won’t report this incident to the Dean of Students if you promise to go to see an alcohol and drug abuse counselor.”

  “But I don’t have an alcohol problem. I hardly ever drink,” I say.

  “You’re drunk in my classroom. That’s enough for me to know that something is wrong.”

  “Okay,” I say, dropping my shoulders.

  “You have to see this counselor every week for the rest of the semester. Starting this week,” he says. “If you miss a meeting, I’ll have no choice but report your behavior to the Dean of Students.”

  “The rest of the semester?”

  Professor Milner ignores me. He writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

  “The counselor’s name is Dr. Greyson. She’s very nice. Here’s her office number. I’ll let her know to expect your call.”

  * * *

  The buzz from the alcohol starts to wear off by the time I get home. Instead, it’s replaced with a blistering headache. And, as if the day wasn’t completely shitty already, it also starts to rain. And I get completely soaked walking back to the dorm.

  I put on a fresh pot of coffee as soon as I get in. After I change out of my wet clothes, I go back out to the kitchen and see Tristan pouring himself a cup.

  “That’s my coffee,” I say.

  “I think there’s enough for two,” he says with a smile.

  “I don’t care. I’m going to drink two cups myself. You have to make your own.”

  “Okay, jeez, what’s wrong with you?” he says, pushing the cup toward me.

  I shake my head. The Advil hasn’t kicked in yet. It hurts to talk.

  “I saw you,” I say after I finish one cup of coffee. And start on another.

  He stares at me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

  “Yesterday, at the Martini.”

  “What…what were you doing there?” he asks.

  I look him straight in the eyes. They twinkle in the light. Look as beautiful as always. But I hate them now.

  “I was talking to Juliet about how I don’t see you anymore and she suggested that we go spy on you,” I say. “Who is she?”

  “Nobody,” he shrugs.

  “Didn’t look like nobody. You two looked really cozy together.”

  “Alice, she’s nobody. Just Kathryn. I told you about her. She works with me.”

  “I thought you all go there together? As a group.”

  “Well, yesterday, everyone suddenly cancelled,” he says.

  “How convenient,” I say sarcastically.

  “Listen, nothing happened,” Tristan says. He puts his arm on my shoulder. I shrug him off.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say. “And how can you say nothing happened. You two were laughing the whole time. She put her hand on your leg. And then you kissed. I saw you.”

  He shakes his head.

  “And I pushed her away. Immediately. I don’t like her that way. I love you.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it,” I say.

  “I know that she likes me. But she’s my colleague. I want to be nice. But she also knows about you.”

  I shake my head. This conversation isn’t really going as I had planned.

  “I just hate being this way with you, Tristan. I hate that you’re gone all the time and now I’m becoming some sort of jealous, crazy girlfriend. This isn’t who I am.”

  “I know.” He nods. “I know that I work too long. And I should not go out with everyone so much. But there’s this whole party atmosphere there. It’s hard to explain.”

  I shrug. I understand. But I don’t really hear an apology. At least, not one that I believe. Just a lot of excuses.

  9

  Neither of us says anything for a while. I want to tell him that I don’t know how to deal with this. I know he wasn’t cheating – I don’t think he would, no matter what Juliet says. And that even the flirting and the interrupted kiss is as far as it will go, but I still feel shitty about this. The main thing I want to tell him is to just stop. Take a break. Have a little fun. I feel like we’re some sort of old married couple that are like two ships passing in the night due to their hectic work schedules. Mainly his schedule, actually. But I don’t say any of these things. Instead, I sit across from him and pout.

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” Tristan finally says. He takes his hands in mine. He stares at me – I feel his gaze burning a hole in my face – until I look up. I see my reflection in his eyes. I also see someone who is at a loss as to what to do. The despondent look in his eyes frightens me.

  “I don’t know, Tristan.” I shrug. “You really hurt me, you know. I just felt like a total idiot sitting there, watching you flirt with Kathryn.”

  “I wasn’t flirting. We were just laughing over what someone said back in the office.”

  “It looked like flirting,” I say. “And then when you kissed…”

  Shivers run up my spine. I can’t even handle saying the word.

  “We didn’t kiss, Alice. She kissed me. And I didn’t see it coming. And when it happened, I pulled away right away. And I told her that I have a girlfriend and it’s going to stay that way. That I love you.”

  “I guess,” I say, sighing.

  “But I understand how you feel.” He finally says something I want to hear. Something I’m yearning to hear. “I understand that it was awful for you. Just as it would be for me if you ever…”

  Tristan lets his vo
ice drift off. I can see that the thought of it is painful to him too.

  He comes closer to me. Takes me into his arms. This time I don’t push him away. I want him close. I want to get over this. Whatever it is. I want to find a way to forgive. He lifts up my head. Slowly, Tristan presses his lips to my cheek. He gives me soft, tiny kisses as if his lips were wings of a butterfly. Cradling my face, he buries his fingers in my hair and brings his lips to mine. I close my eyes and part my lips.

  Tristan’s lips are soft. Effervescent. His tongue inside my mouth feels like home. Like finally, we’re somewhere where we belong. He drops his head and tilts mine. I feel his lips run down my neck. His kisses are so soft, the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  Somehow we end up in my bedroom. I have no idea where Juliet is, but I also don’t particularly care. I just hope that she doesn’t come home any time soon.

  We fall into bed together. Our legs intertwine. His hands caress my shoulders and run down both sides of my body. As we grind against each other, we shed our clothes. My legs open and his intertwine with me.

  “Wait, I have to get my wallet,” he mumbles. I nod. He needs to get a condom. We never had unprotected sex. I’ve been meaning to go on the pill, but that requires going to the gynecologist. And I hate doctors, let alone gynecologists. So I’ve been putting it off.

  When Tristan’s ready, he plops back next to me.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he says, brushing hair out of my face.

  “So you are you,” I say, smiling.

  I pull him on top of me and kiss him. His hair falls into my eyes. He comes into me. Slowly, our bodies start to move in sync. His hands slide up and down my body. And I bury my fingernails into his back. I start to moan with pleasure. Our bodies rise and fall with each movement.

  “Oh shit!” Tristan says and pulls out of me. “Oh my God, no, no, no.”

  I look down. The condom is broken.

  “What does this mean?” he asks. “What are we going to do?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God, you can’t get pregnant.”

  “I know! Stop freaking out,” I say. “It’s going to be fine. You didn’t…finish yet. So, the likelihood is probably really small.”

  “But there’s still a likelihood,” he says.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug.

  We sit in bed for a few moments, staring at each other. We both know that the night is over. And there was no way to recover it now. Eventually, I grab my clothes and hand Tristan his.

  * * *

  Later that evening, I meet up with Tristan again in the living room. He’s watching TV, but not really watching. Just flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch.

  “There’s nothing good on,” he says.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say.

  Tristan turns off the TV and grabs a Red Bull out of the refrigerator.

  “Isn’t it a little late for Red Bull?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I have a lot of Macroeconomics to do. I think I’m going to fail that class.”

  “I’m sure you won’t.”

  “Can I tell you something, Alice?” he asks and continues without waiting for my answer. “I just feel a lot of pressure. I’m working these crazy hours. And I don’t have time for anything. Not for my classes. Not for you. Not even for work. You know, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do there? I mean, I look at those charts and figures and they just intimidate me. But I pretend that I know what’s going on. And that’s exhausting.”

  “I can imagine,” I sympathize.

  “And as for going out afterwards. I often don’t want to go. Really. I just want to come home and be with you. And study, though I don’t really want to study.”

  “So why don’t you?” I ask.

  “Because I hear the way they all talk about other interns who didn’t come along. And how all the full-time people mock them for skipping out. And all those people who didn’t go out with them – well, they’re not working there after graduation. Tim told me that many of them are still struggling to find work six months after finishing college.”

  I nod. I want to sympathize. I want to say something that will make him feel better. But nothing comes to mind.

  “Tristan, it’s your freshman year of college. You shouldn’t be working so hard. You should have some fun.”

  “Alice, I’m talking to you about something serious that I’m going through and you…you just act like it’s nothing. Like what I do doesn’t matter. Don’t you know how that makes me feel?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t want to…”

  “I know. You never mean it. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve said it.”

  I don’t know what’s happening here. How did all of this suddenly become my fault?

  “I know you’re working hard. But maybe the internship is just too much. I mean you’re going to an Ivy League school. And it’s your freshman year. You should be able to have some fun, sometime. You’re practically entitled to it.”

  “And what makes me entitled to it, exactly?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. The fact that you’re 18 years old. If you’re not going to have fun now, when are you going to?”

  He shrugs. Drops his shoulders. I run over the conversation in my head. I didn’t mean to get into another fight. Or maybe this is just the continuation of the last one. I don’t know anymore.

  I turn around to head back to my room. Everything is still completely unresolved, but I don’t think anything will improve today. It seems to be one of those things that you have to sleep on in order to get a fresh perspective.

  “The thing is that, Alice, my life is just so complicated right now,” Tristan says. I guess he wants to keep talking. “I’m torn in all of these directions,” he adds.

  “I know,” I say. I come back toward him and put my hand on his shoulder. “You need to take some things off your plate. It’s too crowded.”

  “And I want to,” he nods.

  I look at Tristan. He looks tired, but close to saying something important. Finally, he’s going to make me a priority. That must be what this is all about. So just come on out with it. Say it.

  “So you understand?” he asks.

  “I think so.” I nod. “You’re going to try to get out of the internship?”

  “Get out of the internship?” he asks. “You don’t really understand at all!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The internship is hard and time-consuming, but it’s also super important. I can’t believe that you still don’t get that. I mean, how many times do I have to tell you?”

  I hear anger in his voice.

  “Okay, okay.” I get it. “There’s no need to raise your voice. You’re just complaining about it so I thought…”

  “So I complain about it. So what? You’re supposed to be supportive. You’re supposed to be understanding about it.”

  I shrug. I don’t understand anything that’s going on anymore.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I’m a little confused with everything right now. That’s why we’re off. Why this is getting so complicated,” Tristan says.

  He gestures, pointing to us. What he means is that we’re complicated. We’re off, as a couple.

  “I’m confused about everything,” he says again.

  “Stop saying that. I don’t know what you mean. Say what you really mean,” I say in my most insistent voice. His metaphor keeps going over my head, leaving me confused.

  “I’m confused about us, Alice.”

  The words hang in the air as if they are suspended on a string. I stare at him. What’s happening here?

  “I think we need to take a break.”

  My ears start to buzz. Tristan keeps on talking, explaining, but I don’t hear a thing. Everything turns to black.

  10

  I go see Dr. Greyson the next day. I want to stay in bed and never
come out again, but I can’t miss the appointment or I’ll get kicked out of school. At this point, however, I can’t even imagine graduating. Nothing else happened last night after Tristan told me that he wants to take a break from us. At least not for me. Tristan kept talking, but I don’t know what he said. Eventually, I said that I had to go to bed and I haven’t seen him since.

  I barely have the energy to change out of my sweats, but somehow I manage to make it to Dr. Greyson’s office, all the way across campus. I don’t know what to expect. But I also don’t stress out about it much. I’ve become a robot. Operating entirely on autopilot.

  Unfortunately, there’s no line. And Dr. Greyson comes out and greets me as soon as I arrive. I take a deep breath and walk into her office. Dr. Greyson is a beautiful, no-nonsense African-American woman in her early 40s. She has gorgeous olive skin and perfectly manicured nails. Her suit looks like it’s tailored and her heels look expensive – if only Juliet was here, then she’d tell me exactly how much they cost. When she asks me to sit down, her voice reminds me of Oprah’s even though Dr. Greyson is about half her size.

  Her office is decorated with photos of exotic places. Tropical islands, white sandy beaches, schools of fish swirling around corals, places that seem so far away from here they might as well be on another planet.

  “You like to travel?” she asks, catching me staring at one photo with ‘Thailand’ underneath. The photo has a long, wind-swept palm tree coming down to earth and kissing the sand.

  “I like your photos,” I say. “Definitely not New York, huh?”

  She nods. She doesn’t say another word. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s waiting for me to answer her question.

  “Yes, I do,” I finally say. “I haven’t travelled too much, though. But I really enjoy it when I do go. I hope to travel a lot more in the future.”

  Somewhere warm, I continue talking in my head. Somewhere with coconut palms where you don’t need to wear layers of clothes to stay warm. I’ve never really thought of it until this very moment, but clothes insulate people. You put on these layers and they separate you from the world. Make you feel as if the world isn’t right there. And other people aren’t like you. This isn’t really a complete thought yet. I don’t know what I’m thinking. It just feels like that, sitting in this office, wearing a T-shirt, a sweater, jeans, boots, a scarf, and holding my jacket on my lap. It just seems like too much right now. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be in at tank top, shorts, and flip-flops right about now!