"Say the word." Troy teased. I shook my head, my mouth full of chocolate covered pretzels.
"Why don't you like that word! Just say it!" He whined, not letting it go. "Come on, do you really hate the word pussy so much you can't even say it to me?"
I felt my cheeks heat at the word. "Stop," I ordered. "I really hate it. I'd even rather you used the 'c' word than that. Literally, I hate it."
Troy and I had been playing the get to know each other game for about an hour before we got to the topic of sex. We'd covered birthdays, likes and dislikes (he likes carnivals, but hates clowns), and favourite breakfast foods. Now we were talking about sex and things I like and don't like; obviously, it's all hypothetical since I've never actually done it, but I'm humoring Troy. I think he's committing this all to memory so he'll know for future reference, I swear.
"Seriously? You'd rather I said the word cunt because you hate the other word so much?" I cringed a little, but honestly, the c word is not nearly as bad as the p word. I nodded and he stared at me incredulously.
"You have to be the first girl I've ever known who doesn't mind that word. I'll even let you in on a little secret," he came in closer to me. "I prefer it too." I knew he was trying to make me laugh, but when he said 'first girl' all I could think about was: how many girls have there been? Would it be bad of me to ask?
"Can I ask you something, and you won't get mad?" I had to know.
"Okayyy," he looked a little scared, which I guess, wasn't a bad thing really.
"How many girls have you been with?" there. I said it.
Troy flinched at the question. Shit. That's not good. It means he's been with a lot. Oh my god, what if he starts comparing me to them, and… and… and just oh my god. Instantly, I almost regretted asking the question.
"I don't want you to think badly of me," he told me softly, not meeting my eye. Fuck, I wish I hadn't asked, but now I have. I need to know or the curiosity will kill me. I started to panic. God, what's that saying? Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity was killing me.
"Oh my god, it's a lot isn't it? Just tell me. Tens? Hundreds? Thousands?"
"Tens, tens. I'm in the tens, Brie, god." He was trying to be cool about it, but I knew he was waiting for my reaction.
"Like, in the nineties? Ninety something girls?" I whispered, feeling my own cheeks turn red. How am I ever going to live up to any of his expectations if he's been with that many girls?
"No, Brie. I swear, not that many. It's more like nineteen, maybe in the twenties at most. I don't keep count." He was pleading with me to understand, his eyes wide with apprehension, a deep drowning blue that told me to forget my worrying. But I couldn't.
"How do I even live up to that? They were all probably amazing girls. And I'm just me, Troy. I just don't get it."
"Gabriella, no, I swear to you, it's not like that." Troy begged me to look at him, and I looked up slightly, eyeing him warily. "I've been with a few girls, yeah." That's an understatement, but okay. "But I don't want any of them. If I'm honest, I did it more because I could and because I um, have needs," he coughed awkwardly, "and because that's what everyone expected me to be like. But I like you, Brie. I want you because you're not the same as all the other girls I've been with. You're better. Please," he implored, "You have to believe me when I say that."
I was quiet, but then I sighed in defeat. "I do believe you," I said finally, and relief flashed across his face. "But, I guess this is just my own inferiority complex. I hate that I can't be more for you. More experienced, more normal, I don't know."
"Experience doesn't matter, Brie." Troy said. "You shouldn't feel inferior, those girls should. They gave themselves away so easily, and you're waiting. That makes you so much better." I know he was saying it and he seemed sincere, but I just felt so useless. I wanted to cry, but not in front of Troy. I composed myself, and stood up.
"Do you want to order dinner? Or I can make something?" I changed the subject; I was over this. I didn't want to talk about Troy's sexual exploits and my lack thereof.
Confusion was written on his face, but I ignored it and just walked into the kitchen, and suddenly, he was behind me.
"Brie?" my name came out as a question.
"Hmm?"
"Dirty talk?"
"What?"
"Dirty talk. You hate the p word, but do you hate dirty talk?" he clarified. Oh, I see. He was letting me change the subject back to lighter, jokey tones from before.
"Stop trying to make me blush." I demanded, knowing that a blush was already staining my cheeks. "I don't know, I haven't ever really been in a situation. I mean, I'm not morally against it or anything, but I just don't know."
"If we were ever to… you know… be in a situation where that would come up, would you m-mind it?" he stuttered, I think nervous to bring up sex. I decided to talk to the girls tomorrow about the situation. They've known Troy longer than I have, so they might be able to offer insight.
"I wouldn't mind trying it," I said shyly. I really wouldn't. Who knows? I might even like it. Troy grinned, happy he'd gotten something out of me. He came closer and slung his arm around my waist, pulling me to him so that there was no space between us at all.
"You surprise me at every turn, I swear." He says, eyes shining. "You've ditched school before, you don't mind the c word, and you wouldn't mind dirty talk. It's pretty cool." I couldn't breathe when he was this close; I just wanted to kiss him. I just felt this pull, and at the end of it all, I thought fuck it. He's my boyfriend. I can kiss him whenever I want.
Standing on my toes, I wrapped my arms around Troy's neck and pulled him down more to my level, attaching my lips firmly to his. It only took him a second to react before he began to move against me, his thumbs rubbing circles on my hips. His tongue swiped at my upper lip, seeking entrance, and I opened myself to him as I played with the hair at the nape of his neck. I pulled lightly on it, and he gave a slight groan of pleasure. Detaching my lips from his, I decided I wanted to give him a hickey, but I wasn't sure how. I just started to kiss down his jaw, taking in the scent of him. When I got to his neck, I moved my lips around, kissing and sucking lightly till I heard him inhale sharply. I stayed at that spot, and nipped at the skin there, until I was kind of sure it would leave a mark. When I pulled back, I grinned slightly at the red mark on Troy's neck. I didn't have long to admire it before Troy kissed me again, backing me up against the fridge. Then we were making out hardcore: tongues thrashed against each other, bottles from inside the fridge rattled in protest as Troy continued to push me and move me against the refrigerator. My hands were touching him everywhere that was relatively acceptable; I never went south of his navel, still unsure of myself.
Eventually, we both had to move away to catch our breaths, panting hard. Troy bent in half and put his hands on his knees, as if he'd just run a marathon. Shit, that was incredible. I wanted to get right back to making out, but I also wanted to talk. The getting to know each other game was cute.
"So, when's your birthday?" Troy asked. "I know it's in November, but that's it."
"November 24th," I smiled at him. "You?"
"January 16th," he said, an equally large smile on his face. I froze. That would be the six-month anniversary of my mom's death. I plastered a smile on my face and kissed him lightly before turning away to grab some stuff for dinner. I decided to make a pasta bake, since it was easiest and wouldn't take too long. I got the penne from the cupboard and boiled water, then left the penne to cook in it until it was al dente.
"So what's up?" Troy asked. "Do you think I can't tell when you're giving me a fake smile? What's with the freaking out over my birthday?"
"It's nothing, Troy. Just drop it, really. You're looking into this too much." I said, then started to stir the white sauce I'd made earlier and heated.
"It's not nothing. Tell me," he was getting frustrated, I could tell.
"No. Can you grab the bacon from the fridge?" Troy might be stubborn, but I am too. And I'm not going to tell him. He handed me the bacon and I began to chop it up a little and fry it quickly.
Once everything was done, I put all the stove ingredients and some vegetables into a big pan, crumbled a three-cheese mixture on it, then stuck it into the oven on low heat and set the timer.
"We've got like an hour. What do you wanna do?" I asked, and Troy looked up from his phone. I'm sure he was thinking that ditching Friday night plans was a total mistake: I'd gotten mad at him, weirded out on him about his birthday. Totally not what he signed up for.
"Give me an actual tour of your house this time. We didn't see much of it last time," he winked at me, making me blush about our late night shenanigans yesterday. God, time has flown by.
"Okay, fine." I led him down a hallway, and he stopped me. He was looking at the photographs framed up on the walls.
"Is this you?" he pointed at a photo of me sitting on a dock, holding a fishing rod about triple my size. I was a toddler, and I looked like I was going to topple over from holding it. I laughed softly.
"Yeah, it is."
"You're so cute. If we have kids, they have to look like you." He insisted, still staring at the photo. Woah, kids? I didn't realize guys even thought about that sort of stuff. Does this mean he really is serious?
"And this is your mom?" he pulled me out of my reverie. He pointed to a picture of her and me, faces pressed together and laughing at the camera. It was taken last year in Boston, when she insisted on showing me Harvard, where she met my dad. I nodded quietly, my finger tracing the outline of her cheek in the photo, lost in the memory of her laughter. It was like looking at a different mother from the one I knew at the end. One who never screamed at me, or slapped me during one of her episodes, or would cry all the time. This was my real mom.
"She was beautiful." I said quietly, looking at her clear skin, only a few worry lines around her eyes betraying her age. Her hair was always styled beautifully, her makeup perfect.
"Tell me about her." Troy asked. I looked up to see sincerity in his eyes.
I took a deep breath, thinking. "She was smart. A lot of people thought she was a gold digger when she married my dad, but they didn't realize she went to Harvard for nutrition and was hugely successful before she decided to stop working. She was obsessed with elephants; like, weirdly obsessed. She took us to Thailand for a family vacation once just so she could ride one. She thought they were wise and peaceful and she said in another life, she'd want to be one. I guess now, she can be." I remember her happiness when we went to Thailand. That's how I wanted to remember her.
"I wish I could have met her." Troy told me, a sad smile on his face. I smiled back, not wanting to tell him that the mother I had just described hadn't been like that for years. That the mama before she died was moody, and would be happy one day, then awful to me the next. That I'm glad he didn't meet that version of her. Instead, I just nodded.
"I wish you had too." Not a complete lie. I do wish he'd met my mom before she became someone I didn't know.
After a while of Troy looking around the bottom floor of my house (no matter how much he begged, my room was off limits; I'd forgotten to put away all my pill bottles and I didn't want him to know), we opted to watch TV.
"Desperate housewives? They're playing reruns, we can just do that until dinner is done." Troy suggested as I stopped at the channel.
"I've never watched it but sure."
"You're gonna love it. It's all gossip and backstabbing; Lex and my mom are super into it and I watch it with them sometimes. Guilty pleasure." He looked at me sheepishly. "Oh look, it's the pilot. That's perfect, you can start from the beginning now!" wow.
"You're weird." I teased him, throwing a cushion his way, which he deflected without hesitation.
"I have some quirks, and I grew up in a house where my mom and sister had control of the remote. Give me a break!" he protested as we settled comfortably to watch, me cuddled into his side.
The show started, and within one minute of it, I saw something I never wanted to see. The lady on the screen, holding a revolver to her head. Don't do it, I begged. I can't watch this. When I heard the bang go off, I got up, hand clamped over my mouth.
"Gabriella?" My getting up so abruptly startled Troy, but I couldn't think. I made it just in time to the bathroom before I keeled over and vomited into the toilet, tears spilling over onto my cheeks. The image of mama played in my head, of her on the floor in a pool of blood and the gun by her hand. I vomited and vomited and cried and cried until there was nothing left. Then, I got up, washed my face and brushed my teeth, knowing I had to face Troy.
When I opened the door, I came face to face with him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion and forehead creased with worry. I opened my mouth to speak and he cut me off straight away, hand up in the universal 'hold it right there' sign.
"No. Do not even think of telling me you're fine. What's wrong? You literally just bolted out of nowhere."
"I really don't wanna talk about it, Troy." I said, pushing past him. He grabbed my hand to hold me in place.
"I'm your boyfriend. You should talk to me always." He insisted.
"You've been my boyfriend for less than 24 hours! If I say I don't wanna talk about it, then you have to deal with that!" I screamed, walking down the stairs and away from him. He caught up to me quickly and grabbed my hand. I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was too strong.
"I want you to talk about it with me, Brie. Please," his voice was conciliatory, no signs of yelling there. "Something clearly upset you, come on. If you think I couldn't notice that, you clearly haven't realised that I watch you so much I pretty much am a stalker." I laughed a little, but still hesitated. I resolved to tell him later eventually; clearly, Chad hadn't told him. I was glad for that.
"I promise I'll tell you eventually, Troy, ok? Really. I just can't talk about it now." Or ever, I tacked on the end in my head. He stared at me for a while, before eventually nodding to me.
"You're ok though?" he was concerned, and I didn't know how to say that I was never going to be ok. Instead, I simply said yes to placate his worries and we went back to the couch, all remnants of Desperate Housewives (a show I was positive I'd never watch) gone. I told myself to put this in the back of my head and live in the moment as I lay across Troy's chest, his hand stroking my shoulder. I shivered at his touch, remembering our fiery kisses. Just as I decided I wanted to initiate a little action between us, the timer for the pasta bake rang, and I got up. I set the table and had the food in the middle before Troy even got into the kitchen.
"You work fast," he commented, brushing a kiss on my temple before we tucked in. The food was actually good, thank god, and Troy ate a lot so I didn't have tons of leftovers that would rot in the fridge. We kept the conversation light, and by the end of dinner, it was as if nothing dramatic had ever happened.
The rest of the night was uneventful; we pretty much continued the getting to know each other game, and he asked to see my room. I played it off, teasing him saying he'd have to earn that, which he laughed at. We stayed downstairs. There was um, heavy petting in one of the makeout sessions, to say the least.
I know that considering I've only really been getting to know Troy for like 3 weeks (2 of which he was an asshole), he shouldn't really be getting this far so fast. But I want him to. I just can't help myself when he's around.
"Troy," I gasped. He didn't hear me – or chose not to – as his lips continued to roam my neck. I felt his hand lightly brush over my stomach and I instinctively pushed my groin into his. I felt him moan above me, both of us trying to keep our balance on the couch. Suddenly, in a flash, I was sat next to him, and he was looking away.
"Troy," I knew this was the whole boner thing again. He really needed to calm down. "I'm telling you, it's ok. You're a guy: you get hard ons. I'm not mad, I swear."
He ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it was before. "It's not about that. It's just hard to be around you and you're turning me on and I know we aren't going further right now because you're new to this and…" he was rambling, and it was making me feel bad.
"I might be new to this, but maybe soon we can sort of… you know… fix that." I pointed in the general direction of his lower body, hoping he'd get my general message. We both blushed at the implication of my words, and he grappled for the right thing to say.
"Brie, I love that you're even offering. But I can live without it for a while. Really; I promise you, I'm not gonna push you into anything you don't want to do." He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. "Don't worry about me, baby," he said before getting up.
I know he said he won't push me into anything I didn't want to do, but that was the thing. I wanted to do it. I wanted to learn at least, how to make my boyfriend feel good. I wanted him to come to me with this sort of thing instead of doing it on his own at home – I'm not stupid, I know how boys are. If he thinks I think he's not gonna go home and jack off, he's an idiot.
"I better go home," Troy said. "It's getting late, and I don't wanna keep you up. We've had a long couple of nights," he grinned, winking at me.
"I'll walk you out." He tucked me into his side as we walked to the front door, before kissing me goodbye and strolling casually towards his truck. I watched him go, then got ready for bed. I checked my phone, and realised I had a couple of messages. One was from Taylor making sure that tomorrow's sleepover was still on. I responded with a quick yes before opening the other one, from Troy. It read: tonight was great. You are the best girlfriend I could have asked for, even though it's only been "less than 24 hours." I know you weirded out on me tonight, but I hope that you'll tell me what's up soon. Text me in the morning when you wake up babe.
Ugh, he is so cute. And kind of cheesy, which I fucking love. I'm a sucker for romance, and this was such a perfect way to end my day. And with that, I fell into a deep sleep, feeling myself relax and letting myself be optimistic for the first time in a while. I'd resolved the issues between me and Troy, and now what was left was tomorrow's sleepover. I couldn't wait.