Danas Story Ch 13 15

Dana has discovered sex (well, discovered

good

sex) now that she's in college. She showed up at Darren's door hoping for more. He'd gone home for the weekend. But his neighbor, Randy, was home, and more than happy to give Dana what she wanted, and she had a glorious time with him. But actions have consequences, as Dana learns. Sorry, no sex in this one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sunlight woke her. Squinting through one eye, the other squeezed shut, Dana stared at the dust motes dancing in the light. She felt fuzzy-headed and exhausted and it took a few moments to remember where she was. She was lying on her side with Randy spooned up behind her, one arm draped over her waist.

She lifted her head to listen for a moment. Randy breathed slowly and quietly behind her. The building was silent. Everyone—or almost everyone—was asleep this soon after dawn. She'd have remained asleep herself except for the sunlight stabbing her in the eyes. The window had blinds. She could close them—but now that she was awake, she felt the need to return to her own room. She felt..dirty, sticky, and didn't want anyone to smell her morning breath.

Slipping out of bed without waking Randy was easier thought of than accomplished. She didn't want to talk to him until after she'd had a chance to use the bathroom, brush her teeth, maybe even shower. Simply moving was painful—she discovered sore muscles in all kinds of places, some of them quite intimate. The thought brought a rush of delightful memories and a grin that stretched her cheeks. A little tenderness was a small enough price to pay for what she'd experienced.

Once she was standing by the bed, Dana picked up her backpack and retreated to the shared bathroom. She locked both doors before brushing her teeth, using the toilet and taking a quick shower, carefully keeping her hair dry. She dried herself with the towel she'd used the night before, then unlocked the door to the other room before scurrying out and closing the bathroom door behind her.

Randy was still dead to the world. Going back to sleep seemed like a great idea—but she wanted her own bed. She dressed hastily, gave the room a quick once over to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind, then knelt beside Randy's bed with her backpack slung over one shoulder.

He didn't react to his name though she called it several times. A couple of firms shakes finally roused him. Randy peered at her through slitted eyes. He mumbled something but she didn't catch it. "I'm going home," Dana told him. "Thanks for a terrific night."

"Yeah, it was great," he mumbled. "Do it again sometime?"

Dana nodded, excited by the prospect. "I'd like that." She hesitated, wondering

should I kiss him?

What the hell. Why not? She did, and did her best not to take it personally when he returned it only half-heartedly. She wasn't sure he was really still awake at that point.

She didn't meet anyone leaving his room. Everyone was dead to the world, just as she would be on most mornings. She was a night-owl by nature and almost never saw the world so soon after dawn. The campus looked very different with the morning light slanting in from the east. It glittered on the dew covering everything. The air was brisk—cold when the wind kicked up—and Dana shivered in her thin t-shirt.

She was happy to reach her own dorm, and happier still to enter her dorm room, only dimly lit by what little light penetrated the window curtains. Judging by the size of the lump under Zoe's comforter, she wasn't alone in bed. No surprise there.

Dana closed the door with exaggerated care, then crept the short distance to her own bed. She removed her shoes but didn't bother undressing otherwise. She snuggled down into the bedclothes and let a long, silent sigh carry her away. Zoe could have an orgy in the next bed and she wouldn't notice. Not this morning.

* * *

Zoe and her guest were gone when Dana woke up. She knew without looking at her alarm clock that it was nearly noon. Night owl she might be, but her mother refused to let any child of hers sleep all day. Too many years of such discipline made it impossible for her to sleep past noon. She lay gathering her will power for a minute, then flung the sheet and quilt aside and climbed out of bed—and rediscovered all the aches she'd accumulated the night before. They were, if anything, worse than before.

Dana lurched to the bathroom feeling rather like a zombie. She poured some water and swallowed a couple of painkillers with it. She stared at herself in the mirror for a minute considering her options, then stripped and took a second shower. A long shower, with lots of hot water to ease her sore muscles, and to wash her hair.

Toweling off, dressing in fresh clothes, and brushing out her hair took quite some time. She moved slowly, deliberately, her mind occupied with memories of her night with Randy. She felt much too sore to feel any desire at the moment, or maybe she was sated by their marathon lovemaking. No, not lovemaking. Fucking.

There had been little tenderness in what they'd done. They'd been eager, excited, horny—but it had been purely physical. She'd enjoyed it immensely, more than she'd imagined was possible. She couldn't begin to count how many times she came with Randy, but she knew it was many more than she ever had with Darren.

Was it Randy? Was he that good? Or was Darren just mediocre? He'd seemed amazing compared to Mike back home, who'd done his virgin, inexperienced best. He'd given her a lot of pleasure. But Randy—Randy was way better.

He'd fucked her so well. He'd probably fucked a

lot

of girls to be that good at it. She wondered how she compared to all of

his

previous lovers. He'd come several times while fucking her, so probably pretty well. Well enough, in any case, that he wanted to see her again. She was very glad of that because she definitely wanted to fuck him again. Soon.

Dana glanced up at the sound of keys in the lock. The door swung open and Zoe entered the room. She flashed Dana a grin. "Hey, roomie," she said, leaving the door open behind her. "Long time, no see."

"Hey, Zoe," Dana replied, wishing Zoe hadn't returned. The thought startled her. She liked Zoe, and after a rocky start they'd become good friends. So why did her return tie a tiny knot of anxiety in her belly?

"You and Darren have fun last night?" Zoe asked.

And there it was. The root of her anxiety. Dana stared at Zoe, feeling exposed and vulnerable, unable to formulate a response—unable to pull a coherent answer from the whirlwind of possibilities clouding her thoughts. She desperately hoped her face wouldn't give her away.

Zoe had been settling back on a pile of pillows on her bed. Now she paused, turning her head slightly as she peered at Dana. She sat up. "Dana?

Dana closed her eyes, wishing Zoe weren't here or that

she

weren't here, wishing that closing her eyes would hide her from Zoe, knowing that it was only adding to the sum Zoe was calculating.

"Dana, were you with Darren last night?"

Dana scooted backward on her own bed until she was sitting with her back to the wall, knees pulled up in front of her. She put her hands over her face. "No."

"Are you okay?"

The question was so unexpected, so

not

what Dana was expecting that she lowered her hands to look at Zoe. "What?"

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you guys break up?"

The look of concern on Zoe's face was so obvious, so unexpected, that Dana blurted the truth. "No, nothing like that." She watched the tension in Zoe's frame fade, and saw a hint of mischievousness take its place now that she was no longer worried.

"But you did spend the night with someone?"

"Yes." Embarrassment and pride wrestled for dominance in Dana's soul.

Zoe smiled. "Anyone I know?"

"I don't know. A neighbor of Darren's. Randy. A little shorter than Darren, stocky?"

Zoe shook her head. "Don't know him. So how did you get together with him? I thought you were going to stay with Darren."

"Darren wasn't there. I forgot he was going home this weekend."

Zoe's smile broadened. "I see. So you found yourself another playmate."

"I—yes," Dana admitted. She squirmed under Zoe's gaze. "You said I needed to learn to find my own playmates."

Zoe laughed. "Yes, I did. I have to admit, I didn't think it would happen so fast." She moved from her bed to Dana's to sit tailor-fashion facing her, leaning close "So," she said in an intimate voice, "tell me all about it."

Dana did. Not without long pauses and occasional blushes, but she told Zoe the whole story. It would have been unthinkable for her to share such an intimate story before she'd met Zoe. She still couldn't imagine sharing the details of her sex life with anyone else, but she liked being able to share the details with Zoe.

"Wow," Zoe said when Dana ran down. "Sounds like you had a great time. You gonna see him again?"

"Yeah, I think so." He'd been interested and Dana definitely was.

"What about Darren?"

Dana felt some of her enthusiasm leak away. "I don't know."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Dana sighed loudly. "I don't know," she said. She didn't like how whiny she sounded. "I should, I guess. I don't want to. I don't know how he'll take it."

Zoe nodded in understanding. "Did you two have any sort of understanding?"

Dana shook her head. "No. We didn't really talk about it."

"You didn't agree to be exclusive?"

"No." Dana wanted to leave it there, but honesty compelled her to add, "but we didn't agree

not

to be exclusive either."

Zoe shrugged that off. "I don't see a problem, then. You only went out, what, twice?"

"Yeah," Dana said. If you could call falling into bed together as fast as possible 'going out.'

"Do you want to see Darren again?"

Dana thought about the question. She liked Darren, and she liked having sex with him. But she liked having sex with Randy even better. And she liked him, too. He was easy to talk to. But so was Darren. "I don't know," she said at last, unable to reach a decision. "Maybe."

"Do you want to see Randy again?"

Dana had no doubts on that score. "Yes."

Zoe grinned. "So a definite yes for Randy, and a maybe for Darren." She cocked her head, eyeing Dana sideways for a moment. "Are you thinking you have to choose between them?"

"Well...yeah," Dana said. How else?

"Why?"

"Why? I have to. I can't just...." The very thought of continuing to see both of them, continuing to sleep with (fuck) them both, alarmed her.

"Can't just what?" Zoe waited. "Can't just...date both of them? Can't just

fuck

both of them? Why not?"

Because I'm not that kind of girl.

Dana drew a noisy breath, shocked by the vehemence of the thought. "Wow," she said.

Zoe raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"'Because I'm not that kind of girl,'" Dana said. "That's what popped into my mind when you asked me that."

"Do you believe that?"

Dana hesitated to answer. Not because she didn't know the answer but because it was something she'd never admitted to anyone before. "No," she said. "I don't." Abiding by the rules back home had always been more about her inability to express her desires and to avoid being ostracized as a 'bad' girl more than a lack of interest.

"Well, then?"

Dana felt the grin that spread across her face even as a yawning chasm of anxiety opened in her belly. She'd already done things she'd never imagined she could or would, and the possibilities before her were exciting—and frightening. "But what if someone...calls me a slut?"

Or just thinks I am?

Zoe patted her hand. "It might happen," she said, which was not what Dana wanted to hear. She'd wanted Zoe to share some secret that would armor her against such things, even as she realized how stupid that was. "But unless their opinion matters to you, why would you care?"

Why? Because—because Dana

always

cared what people thought about her. She hated that about herself. It was at the root of her shyness, her inability to express what she thought or felt or wanted to...anyone, really. Her family, her friends back home, even complete strangers held her in thrall, forcing her into the cramped box of their expectations—even when they made no demands. How many times had she been happily engaged in some bright adventure of her own, playing with her toys and narrating a story line to herself, lost in her imagination, and a parent or sibling had entered the room and she'd felt herself shut down?

Because her interests were inappropriate, or fanciful (read: stupid), or just not the sort of thing anyone else found interesting. Hearing that so often as a child had left scars. No one had to say anything to her any longer; their simple presence was enough to drain the joy from her, and leave her self-conscious and unhappy, waiting impatiently for them to leave her alone once more.

She was only herself when she was alone, and not always even then. In the presence of her parents, her siblings, her schoolmates, the countless strangers in that small town who nonetheless always knew who she was, she was someone else. The good daughter, good student, good Baptist, obedient and quiet and compliant, a bland, bloodless shell of herself programmed to say and do and be only what everyone expected her to be.

The worst possible crime was failure to fit into that tiny, tiny box. God forbid she say or do anything to violate those expectations! Anything that might make anyone uncomfortable—or angry! The shouting from her sisters, quiet recriminations or lengthy dissections of her failings from her parents, or worst of all, the silent treatment from her mother.

It could last for days as her mother spoke to her, if at all, only when absolutely necessary—to tell her to do her chores, or make a cutting comment about her most recently demonstrated personality flaw. Or of course in public, when putting on a good front required her to act as if nothing were wrong.

But no sign of love or affection was to be seen. Or felt. Oh, her mother would feed her and clothe her and make sure she lacked no necessities. But until her anger ran its course, they might as well be strangers. And there was no escaping that fate.

No apology, no expression of regret, no belated recognition of her sins—and certainly no

tears,

no matter how sincerely felt—were ever sufficient. They were always viewed as crocodile tears, the cunning pretense of a villain whose only real regret was for getting caught, for suffering the rightful consequences of her actions. It was horrible.

She'd spent her whole childhood trying—and failing far too often—to stay in her mother's good graces. And in everyone else's, the better to avoid disappointing her mother

again

. She hated it!

"Dana?" The alarm in Zoe's voice caught Dana's attention. She looked up, only then realizing her eyes were full of tears. That she'd collapsed in on herself, pressed up against the wall behind her, hugging her knees tightly to herself. Her stomach ached and her eyes burned.

"Dana, what—what's wrong?" Zoe shifted to sit beside Dana, then pulled her into an awkward embrace. "Talk to me, roomie," Zoe said. "Tell me what's wrong."

Dana shivered in Zoe's arms, torn by the need to close herself off, to withdraw, and the desire to share her feelings with Zoe. The tension was unbearable, and very real. Her stomach felt like it would tear apart at any moment, or like she would throw up.

She remained silent, trembling in Zoe's arms, tears rolling down her cheeks, wanting to speak but unable to put it into words. She hated herself for it. All the progress she'd made—or thought she'd made—and here she was stubbornly mute once more. She opened her mouth repeatedly, trying to force the words out—but none came.

Zoe pulled away abruptly and sprang from the bed. Dana watched with dismay as Zoe abandoned her, heart breaking as her friend made a beeline for the door to the room. She'd driven even her best friend away with—

Zoe reached the door and flung it closed, pausing just long enough to throw the lock, then hurried back to pull Dana into her arms once more. Dana burst into full blown sobs of vast relief. Zoe wasn't washing her hands of her. Dana pried her hands free of her own knees and wrapped them around Zoe, clinging to her like she were Dana's last hope of salvation. She clung to her and cried for a long time, sometimes silently, sometimes with shuddering sobs she felt certain were audible in the hallway outside.

Through it all Zoe held her, rocked her gently, occasionally stroked her hair or kissed the top of her head. She maintained a running commentary, telling Dana she could cry as long as she needed to, that she'd hold her as long as she needed it, that she could talk if and when she was ready, or remain silent.

Dana clung to Zoe, taking comfort in her embrace, as she cried out all of what felt like years of accumulated fear, hurt, and—yes—anger she felt. It was deeply comforting to be held so closely by someone she trusted. It was

odd

to be held so closely by someone she trusted. Odd and unfamiliar.

Her tears slowed and ceased as she wrestled with this revelation. Had she really

never

felt this kind of unwavering, nonjudgmental comfort from her family? Surely not? If asked, she'd have said she had a—if not a happy childhood, at least a good one. No family tragedies, no terrible failures. No parental infidelities, no one fired from a job, no money troubles. No family problems with gambling or drugs or run-ins with the law.

A thought she'd had earlier came back to her: that's pretty low bar for a good childhood. She hadn't ever felt neglected or abused, but she was beginning to realize that she'd never really felt cherished either. It had left her feeling lonely and perpetually anxious to stay on the right side of her parents'—her mother's—rigid views of right and wrong, acceptable and unacceptable. Her feelings had been irrelevant. Her desires, even her needs, had been irrelevant.

Zoe broke the silence that had stretched between them. "I'm getting a little cramped. Let's change position." She stretched out on her back, and pulled Dana down to snuggle against her, Dana's head on Zoe's shoulder.

"That's better," Zoe said. After a moment she added, "What are you thinking about?"

Dana didn't answer immediately. Zoe held her, waiting patiently, until Dana spoke. The words came slowly at first, as usual. Talking to Zoe still sometimes took a lot of effort, particularly when the subject cut so close to Dana's deepest, darkest thoughts. But she

could

speak to Zoe about it, and that was a definite win. She'd never had a confidante before.

"I'm so sorry," Zoe said when Dana wound down. "That must hurt terribly."

"It does," Dana confessed. "But...it's true. I just never saw it before. Or never admitted it to myself."

Zoe stroked Dana's hair, saying nothing. Dana lifted her head to meet Zoe's gaze. "Thank you," she said, her voice coming out slightly strangled by the sudden lump in her throat. She wished she could convey just how much Zoe's help meant to her. She felt certain she wasn't communicating nearly enough.

"You're welcome," Zoe said. "I hope I helped."

"You did." Dana sniffled and gave Zoe a weak smile. "But I think that's enough self-reflection for one day." She pushed herself up to sit once more, then leaned over to grab a box of tissues from her desk at the foot of the bed.

Zoe sat up as well. "You feeling any clearer on Darren and Randy?"

Dana shook her head. "No. But I know I need to figure it out. Just...not right now."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dana's phone buzzed about 8:30 pm Sunday night.

I'm back,

Darren texted.

You free?

She stared at the message for at least a minute, feeling a knot develop in her belly. The moment of truth had arrived—and she had no idea what to do or say, or what she

wanted

to do or say. He was expecting a response and she felt pressure to respond quickly.