I'm a failure.
It's 4:43AM on Friday morning when I finally stumble from the dorm's study room back to my bedroom. My first class is at 8AM. I have three hours to sleep.
I can't do this. There's too much work. It's only been four days and I'm already so behind. College is so hard.
I open the door as quietly as I can, and curse softly when I stub my toe.
"Casey?" Sarah sits up from her lofted bed and looks down at me. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I say hurriedly. "Sorry I woke you, everything's fine."
"Are you just coming to bed now?"
"Umm, no I had to get up and use the bathroom," I lie. Sarah has been increasingly worried about me this week and I don't want her concern.
"Okay…" she lays back down. "I… If there's anything I can do, just let me know, okay?"
"Sure," I say. "You're the best." And I mean it. I don't know how I lucked into having the nicest roommate on campus.
But sometimes, a small part of me resents her. I don't know how she has everything together. She's new this semester too, but she's not staying up until 4AM to keep up with the coursework.
And she's so gorgeous, sometimes I wish she were just a little less pretty. She's already made a whole bunch of friends. And she texts half the hockey team. I know because we have the same color phone case and I accidentally picked hers up yesterday and there were two texts from Michael Grant and three texts from Derek Venturi.
I didn't know they were texting. The phone was locked, so I couldn't read the texts, not that I would've. It just surprised me, that's all. I know they're interested in each other, I knew it from the first dinner we all had together. It's cool, my new best friend and my step brother.
But what about Michael? Isn't one hockey player enough for her? I feel indignant on Michael's behalf.
I haven't felt as close to Sarah since I saw those texts. I mean, I know I denied it, because it's totally false, but I thought she thought Derek and I had some grand love story. She was quick to forget about that. That's all I'm saying.
I set my alarm for 7:45 and fall into bed, exhausted.
"Casey," Derek shakes me. "Wake up!"
God, he's so annoying. "Go away," I groan. I'm exhausted. Why is he bugging me?
"Geez, Sarah was right, you're working yourself into the ground."
What? I jolt awake to find Derek, in my dorm room, standing on the ladder to my loft bed. His face is about a foot away from mine, and I jerk back. Does my breath stink?
Wait. What is he doing here? What time is it? I glance at my clock which reads 10:37. Oh my god I want to cry. I already missed two classes. Why didn't my alarm go off?
"What are you doing here?" I try to shove him aside and get up. I have to get ready, my next class is at 11.
"Sarah texted me that she's really worried about you. And obviously she was right to be. I'm here for your intervention."
I don't flinch when he casually mentions texting Sarah. I don't.
"You need more than one person to have an intervention, Derek," I say absently, thinking about what books I need. Now that I missed my first two classes, the bag I packed last night is all wrong. Why won't he get out of my way?
"Move over," he says, pushing me further into the bed, and climbing up. To my bed. With me in it. "This is definitely an intervention. An urgent one. My bus leaves for an away game in about twenty minutes, and I won't be back until Sunday. I don't want to come back and find you've overworked yourself into an early grave."
The ceilings aren't tall enough for him to sit up fully, so he stretches his legs out and reclines next to me. In my twin sized bed.
He's so close . I can feel the warmth of his body just inches from mine and he's propped up on his elbow, looking down at me and what is happening right now.
I haven't fantasized about him crawling into my bed at home a thousand times before. I never once hoped that he would come home drunk from a graduation party last summer and somehow accidentally stumble into my room instead of his own. I haven't thought about what I would do if this exact scenario ever happened.
I really actually haven't ever imagined him crawling into my dorm room bed. The likelihood of that ever happening seemed too low to even contemplate.
And yet here it is. I hope he can't hear how fast my heart is pounding. I'm not freaking out. Definitely not.
"You need to drop some classes, Casey," he says casually. As though it's totally normal for us to be lying in bed next to each other. "It's your first semester. It's crazy to take eight classes and a lab. You'll still be taking more than everyone else if you drop down to five."
I do my best to focus on what he's saying, instead of his proximity. I think he might be right, as much as I hate to admit it. It hasn't even been a week, and I can't keep up.
"I didn't think it would be this hard," I admit softly. It hurts to say out loud. I feel like such a failure. "I thought if I just buckled down and didn't party too much, I'd be able to catch up."
"You don't need to catch up, Casey," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You didn't miss much, the first semester. With your drive, you were always going to graduate in less than four years. Now, you won't miss out on senior year. Senior year is so much more fun than freshman year anyway."
"I don't care about fun, Derek," I say stiffly.
"Yes you do," he smirks. "Deny it all you want, you care. Now, which classes are you going to drop?"
When I actually contemplate his question, I start to panic. I need all of the classes I'm taking right now. If I drop any of them, I'll be narrowing my major options. That's why I signed up for so many in the first place. I feel tears building and I turn my face away. If I could just work more efficiently, I wouldn't have to drop any classes.
"I'm a failure!" I wail. I don't mean to say it outloud, but the feeling of failure is crushing me.
"Casey, calm down," he reaches out and takes my hand.
We're holding hands .
"You're not a failure. You're trying to do way more than is humanly possible. Luckily for you, you have a step- uh, a me to make you see reason." He clears his throat. "Now, what classes are you taking?"
"Introduction to Literature, Biology, Calculus, Mandarin 101, History of Ancient Rome, Spanish 102, Micro Economics, and Psychology 101."
He whistles. "Well drop Mandarin, that's an easy one. You're already taking Spanish."
"But I want to learn both! And if I'm going to drop one, I should drop Spanish. I already know a little Spanish from high school, and Mandarin is the language of the future."
"Nope. You're keeping Spanish 102."
"Why?"
"Because I'm taking it too," he says, as though this is an obvious answer and a valid reason to keep a class. "I need an A for once, if I'm going to keep my GPA up."
"Der- ek! I can't base what classes I take off of you!"
"Why not? Spanish is practical. And we study well together." He says it simply. Even though it's true, I never expected him to just come out and admit it without pretending that he's doing me some colossal favor in studying with me.
It takes me aback enough that I nod. "Okay," I say. I'm blushing a little, and I'm not sure why. He's still holding my hand.
"And why do you need to learn the history of Rome? That sounds massively boring."
"I was thinking of majoring in history!" I protest.
"Nah, if you go with a BA, you'll pick English. Drop the history class."
I start to sputter in protest, but… maybe he's right. I do like my literature class much better than the history class so far already.
"You need Bio and Calculus in case you decide to go pre-med," he goes on.
I'm stunned that he actually knows this, that he knows I'm contemplating pre-med and that I need both of those classes to keep that option open.
"So I guess that leaves Psych or Econ, hmm. I think you might have to actually pick, Prin- uh Keener," he clears his throat again. "Which one are you more likely to major in?"
I can't believe how he's broken down my course load so well. He's turned what felt like impossible decisions into something simple.
"I guess, I'm most interested in psych," I say. I could see myself going into counseling. With how much Paul helped me in high school, it's hard not to at least consider that.
"Alright then! It's settled!" Derek says with a smug smile. "And now I have a team bus to get to, before Coach gets on my ass."
He starts to sit up, but I grip his hand tighter. I don't mean to. It's involuntary. It's just… I don't want him to leave.
He's so close. And with him here like this, I don't feel overwhelmed. College feels simple. I've been drowning in stress for almost a week and all of a sudden I can breathe again.
I've wanted him here, just like this, lying next to me. I've dreamed about it and longed for it with every fiber of my being. It feels like I've spent lifetimes pretending not to want this.
I've pretended and denied and pushed it all away.
But he's here. It's happening.
I can't let him just sit up and leave.
It's like my brain isn't in control of my actions anymore. My hand grips his and I pull him towards me, until he's lying on his side next to me, practically on top of me.
His eyes are wide and confused, but his pupils are huge. They swallow the brown of his irises.
"Casey?" He asks hoarsely and licks his lips.
"Thank you, Derek," I whisper and before I can think about it any more, I lean forward and kiss his cheek.
He makes a noise, the softest moan. "Casey," he breathes. It sounds reverent. It sounds scared.
Then his lips are on mine and he's kissing me. Really kissing me.
My heart is pounding and I've never been this nervous in my whole life but he feels so good. His lips are warm and soft. I never imagined anything could feel so right. His hands come up to frame my face, they're perfect, it's perfect.
And ohmygod am I really kissing Derek Venturi right now? I've imagined it thousands of times before, but the reality is so much more. In every way more. More sensation, more warmth, more him.
He slants his mouth against mine, his tongue licks against me, and I open, without even realizing what I'm doing. He makes a sound, this low groaning sound, and it does something to me. It's the hottest thing I've ever heard and I want him. I've always wanted him. Heat curls in my stomach and suddenly I'm kissing him back hard.
My hands trace along his torso, grip his upper arms. All the extra muscle I've noticed and ached to touch.
"Casey, fuck, Casey," he chants against my ear. His breath is coming in ragged pants. He kisses along my jaw to my neck. He licks the shell of my ear and it feels so good, I never knew ears were so sensitive. I let out a helpless moan.
His hand traces up my stomach under my shirt, he reaches my boob and cups it. It feels good. His fingers brush against my nipple, and that feels more than good. He pinches lightly and I let out a moan as the sensation threatens to overwhelm my body. I've done this before, Max and Truman have done this before, but it never felt like this before. Their touches were nice and a little exhilarating. This, right now, feels more essential than air.
"No bra again," he murmurs. "You're trying to kill me."
I want to protest that I was sleeping, I didn't do it on purpose, but he dips his head down and licks my nipple. No one has ever done that before. The sensation shoots straight to my groin, and I let out a noise, a high pitched keen I've never made before as he licks again and again and gently sucks. "You're perfect, you're so perfect," he breathes against my skin.
I need more. I need him closer. I need the hard planes of his body against mine. I wrap my arms around him, and pull, until he's on top of me.
The warm weight of his body on mine feels incredible. Like I've been waiting for it forever. I've never made out with someone lying down. Never felt every inch of a man's body pressed against me. No one told me how good it would feel. No one warned me that my legs would wrap around his hips, pulling him closer with some deeply buried instinct that's impossible to resist.
His erection presses against the inside of my thigh and we both moan. It's surreal. Derek is pressing against me right now.
"Casey," he breathes again. "You're so fucking hot. You have to know what you do to me." The words are desperate, like they're being torn out of him.
He captures my mouth again and thrusts against me at the same time. He's so hard and I can feel his heat, even through both of our clothes. My clit throbs, my hips move in uncoordinated desperation against his. I'm drowning in sensation and the insistent pulse that keeps demanding more.
I feel crazed, nothing but a pulsing mass of want. I've never felt this way before and it would terrify me if it weren't Derek, or maybe it terrifies me more because it is Derek and I can't deny how much I've always wanted him now.
He pulls back for a second to look at me. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark and he's got this desperately fierce expression that says he wants me more than he's ever wanted anything.
I think I might be melting.
I wonder if I'm about to lose my virginity to Derek in my college dorm room lofted bed.
My phone rings.
"Ignore it," he murmurs and captures my lips again.
I want to ignore it. I do. There's no place for a phone call in this moment we've created for ourselves, this moment that is the desperate outpouring of years of unfulfilled longing.
But it keeps ringing.
"Hello?" I answer, slightly breathlessly. Derek groans and drops his head against my shoulder. His weight is still deliciously heavy on top of me and I shiver slightly.
"Casey, it's Michael. Are you with Derek? He's late. We were supposed to leave five minutes ago and Coach is throwing a fit."
"Shit!" Derek yells, obviously overhearing. "Shit! Tell him I'll be right there."
Michael laughs on the other line. "I can hear him. I knew it was a good idea to call you when he didn't answer his phone. I'll tell Coach he's got the runs, but he'd better get here ASAP." Michael hangs up on me.
Derek is scrambling off my bed, throwing me an apologetic look. "Gah, Casey, sorry. I gotta go."
"Right," I say. It might come out a little wooden. I don't know. Reality is crashing into me and I'm fifteen seconds away from a total freak out.
He takes in my expression and opens his mouth hesitantly. "Listen, I'm sorry about," his eyes flick to the bed. "I…" he trails off.
He's sorry. He's sorry this happened?
"I didn't mean for this to get so out of hand. Fuck, Case…" he trails off again, but I don't fill the silence he's creating. I couldn't answer him if my life depended on it. "We'll talk when I get back," he says finally.
We'll talk. He wants to talk. Derek Venturi wants to talk?
I nod. He's sorry. It got out of hand. He wants to talk.
"Okay!" It's overly perky, and wildly inappropriate for the moment, but I have to say something. "Um, have a good game. Play hard. I'll see you later." I smile. Brilliantly. It's a totally normal, very happy smile.
He looks at me, glances at the clock, and swears. "Okay. Okay, bye Case."
And then he's gone.