Saturday, March 9 – 9:30 AM
Owen
I feel Maria shaking at my touch, but she holds my hand tightly against her leg and doesn’t let go. She wants so badly to try, but she’s even more scared than I am. I press my lips against hers, tasting her, stifling her delighted moan as my hand runs delicately up her thigh. The lace beneath her skirt tickles my arm, and my heart skips a beat as my fingers brush against the soft fabric of her underwear.
Her body burns like fire against mine, and she gasps frantically for air as she breaks away from the passionate kiss, trying to catch her breath. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want her right now.
The alarm clock goes off, shatters my dream and yanks me back to reality. My heart races, I’m covered in sweat, and the sheets cling to my skin as I stare up at the ceiling. I promised myself that I’d work on my thesis today, but it’s so tempting to just stay here in bed—to let myself drift off back to that heavenly dream and relive last night instead.
I’ve never felt more connected to someone than I did with Maria last night. Not one single girl I dated back when I was an undergrad ever made me feel like she does. The connection I felt last night as we lay in each other’s arms was the most intense, intimate feeling I’ve ever experienced.
I’m grateful now that Craig and Tina interrupted us when they did. I don’t know if I could have controlled myself for much longer. I wanted so desperately to take off her dress—to explore her body and experience everything with her—but I feel as if I’d be hurting her even if she wanted it too.
Why am I feeling guilty about something that didn’t happen? Emotions are complicated and sometimes even the good ones only make things harder to understand.
I have to get up.
By the time I’m out of the shower and dressed for the day, my thoughts are finally back in order and I’m ready to work. I grab my coat, toss an apple in my backpack, and head out the door.
It’s much warmer than I expected, and my coat quickly finds its way into my backpack when I stop to check the mail. The sun shines brightly in the clear blue sky—a rare occurrence in upstate New York—and I feel positively cheerful. I had the time of my life last night, and today’s looking promising too.
My outlook on the day suddenly changes drastically as I see the letter from Mom, and my heart sinks as I rip open the envelope and see the bill inside.
My insurance company sent the bill for my broken hand to my parents’ address instead of to my apartment. A yellow sticky-note with Mom’s handwriting is affixed at the top.
“Got this bill. Your father said not to pay it, so I wrote a check from your account. –Mom.”
The bill is for eight hundred dollars. She drained almost my entire account.
My pulse pounds louder and louder in my head as I walk up the hill to campus, and I start to panic. I just paid my rent two days ago, and the check hasn’t cleared the bank yet. When that goes through, I’ll be wiped out completely! My next paycheck is on the fifteenth—how am I supposed to eat until then? I have no money left for food!
My mind keeps racing in circles even once I make it to the library, and I can’t focus on my work. What if my bank balance had been just slightly lower? What if I’d gone grocery shopping early this month or used an ATM? Mom didn’t even call me before writing the check!
Something else bothers me, though—something much bigger than the money—and it gnaws at my chest, growing more and more painful until I have no choice but to pay attention to it.
Mom got a bill for a trip to the emergency room, and she never even called to see if I was okay.
I knew Dad didn’t care about me, but...
My eyes tear up and I can’t make them stop.
“I don’t matter,” I whisper, laying my head on the desk as I feel myself start to wilt. “I don’t matter at all.”