~ 21 ~

"Jesus! What happened?" Angela tugged me inside her room and plopped us both onto her bed. "Who did this to you? Are you hurt? Oh my god, Bella, did you get . . .?"

"No! God no, Ange. I'm okay. I just couldn't be alone right now."

She reached over and took my hand. "I'm glad you came, Bella."

The waterworks started up again, and Angela patiently pressed tissues into my hand while I got myself under control. "You sure you're not hurt?" she asked once more.

"Yeah. I could really use something to drink though." My throat was raw and tasted like . . . well, exactly what I'd swallowed.

"Here," she said, handing me a can of Tab. "Now who do I have to make Ben beat up?"

I had my first laugh in weeks. Sweet, shy Ben was more the type to get lost in a comic book than break someone's legs. "It's fine, Ange. I promise."

"You and I haven't spoken in over a month. You show up at my door looking like . . . frankly, looking like I should call campus security. I have no idea who you've been with, what you've been up to. You better start talking, Swan."

"I . . . met a boy."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Another boy? Lemme guess. He had Edward's eyes?" Her tone was scathing and her words cut but only because they were true.

"So anyway, I followed him after class. He's really cute. We shared a smoke . . ."

"Wonderful."

"Yeah. So he kissed me, and it was a really nice kiss, and then he kind of wanted more."

Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of more?"

My cheeks heated. "Not sex," I answered right away.

"So he wanted to play Tiddly Winks?"

"Yes, that's it, Angela. We played Tiddly Winks, and his dick accidentally ended up in my mouth!"

Her jaw dropped at my outburst. "Jesus Christ, Bella. You sucked his dick? A total stranger?"

"Screw you. I know him. He's in my Baroque Music class."

"Oh, pardonez-moi. So this guy who's in your music class, you kissed him and what? You said, 'Excuse me. Isn't Bach great? May I please suck your dick?'"

"He said he wanted my mouth on him, and I . . ." The heaving sobs started up again.

"Okay, okay. So . . . how was it?" she prodded cautiously, a lion tamer with a whip in one hand and a raw steak in the other. "This was your first time, right? Or have you been . . .?"

"No, geez! I haven't. Yes, it was my first time even seeing one of those things."

"One of those—?" Angela burst out laughing. "You're a real trip, Bella. You know that?"

"Is this funny to you?" I looked her right in the eye and pushed my sorry ass off her bed. "Coming here was a huge mistake."

"Whoa, calm down. I'm sorry. It's just . . . you can't even say the word and you just . . . ya know."

"Whatever. It's not like I planned it or anything. Everything just happened so fast."

"Did he force you?"

"No. Not really. I . . ."

"You wanted it."

"Do you think you could dial back the judgment—or is that not even possible?"

Angela heaved out a long, weary sigh. "I'm trying here. You just seem to be spiraling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. I'm afraid for you, Bella, but you're not going to listen to me, so what's the point?"

The stupid tears started again, and I needed to get out of there. "I don't know, Angela. For some idiotic reason, I thought you might just act like a friend for a change." I was too humiliated to ask for the hug I needed, so I turned toward the door.

"A friend? You don't want a friend, Bella. You want someone to listen to all your delusional bullcrap and not tell you you're pissing away your life. You're a mess. You're a danger to yourself and everyone around you. This is your friend telling you to pull your shit together before you end up in the gutter."

Without turning to face her, I responded, "Thanks for nothing, Angela." I'd never go back there again. Being alone was not the worst thing.

Before I even got back to my room, I knew I'd never be able to show my face in music class again. I could listen to the tapes in the library and get help from Mom if I needed some interpretation—not that things were going so swimmingly with my mother.

She'd call each Sunday afternoon and try not to ask me anything too invasive. In return, I didn't give her any truths she couldn't handle. The small talk worked pretty well for both of us until the inevitable, "Would you like to speak with your father?"

"Has he hired Edward back yet?"

"Bella, you don't understand—"

"Right, Mom, I'm the one who doesn't understand."

And the conversation would come to a screeching halt.

My first skipped music class was a snowball that picked up momentum as it rolled downhill. Organizational Behavior was a joke, and why should I bother going to Risk Management when the TA just lectured from the book? Finance was all number-crunching, and I had my faithful HP12-C calculator to get me through. Schoolwork had never been that much of a challenge, and I was sure I could go it on my own. So that was settled; no more classes.

I pretty much swore off the male gender as well—not because I didn't crave the comfort of their company, but because I didn't trust myself, and I sure as shit didn't trust the bad boys I thought I craved. If I'd previously been searching—consciously or otherwise—for a boy like my "perfect" father, that strategy was smashed to bits.

Since I no longer had a schedule, there was no compelling reason to go for meals in the dining hall. I set up base camp with my electric kettle and mini-fridge and hit the 7-11 when I needed to restock on ramen and Cheerios. It was so easy to slink away and become invisible. With the exception of my concerned resident advisor occasionally stopping by to check on me, nobody missed me and there was certainly nobody I wanted to see. I was more grateful than ever not to have a roommate.

And so it went. Days went by where I barely moved beyond my bed and desk. I'd wake up whenever, grab a bowl of cereal, put on some twisty music that validated my mood, and find a reason not to do anything productive. I'd heard the stories of students who'd fallen into similar traps, stories that all ended the same way—with a ticket home. Home was not an option for me—not for Thanksgiving and certainly not as a dropout. No, I could figure this out on my own, somehow. I just needed a solid plan.

Lying was so much easier now. Maybe I'd built up enough good will over the last nineteen years that I was still credible, or maybe Mom just heard what she wanted to hear; either way, I marveled at how readily she believed I was going home with Angela for Thanksgiving. I had every intention of using the long weekend at school to catch up on my reading and finish a couple of late papers. Problem was, my body rhythms were so messed up, I could no longer fall asleep without sleeping pills. The only way to counteract the drowsy hangover was with cigarettes and caffeine. It was a vicious cycle that had me too strung out to study. All I knew was I was heading for a major crash and burn, and I had no idea how to slow the roll.

A/N: I think it's fair to say Angela spoke for many of us. Are you the friend who tells it like it is? Are you the one who runs away? Was the "friend" Bella wanted the one she needed? Do you remember Tab? Who besides my darling husband still owns an HP 12-C?

I think we'd all like to believe that kids wouldn't slip through the cracks like this anymore, with all the so-called advances in mental health awareness. Sadly, we know otherwise AND it's 1982 here.

Glad you guys are still here...

xxx ~BOH