This one is far shorter and far less fraught also no sex. The topics bounce around because my life, contrary to this story's impetus, is not that interesting but I wanted to continue updating. I hope that you enjoy it all the same. Be aware... this story depends on my life actually occurring so it won't be the most consistent upload schedule (as well as getting prepared for grad school apps and moving to Germany (not grad school...working abroad)) As ever... drop me a line. I'm pretty good about answering e-mails/pms. Artie K. West.
No. No, I wasn't going back.
He was coming to me. I had walked home barefoot, pleased that the April weather was warm enough to not make me lose a toe. Surprisingly my roommate was home, rare for a weekend.
I didn't say anything to him just let him take in my ignominy. I trudged into my bedroom and just let myself slide down the wall.
Eventually, I felt disgusted enough to need to shower. In high school English classes, you learn that anytime a character is caught in the rain or takes a shower it symbolizes baptism or rebirth. I prayed while I was scrubbing down my body that the world of literary fiction would translate to real life.
I finally felt clean but my eyes still burned. I was glad I hadn't cried. I wasn't a crier. Sure, I was an obsessive, emotional wreck but I wasn't someone who cried. I've always been someone to make too much out of a relationship. It must be from my writing; I see the world in potential relationships but it's not real.
With this sad realization I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel. I stepped out into the living room. My roommate sat across from Ian, he opened his mouth, "This guy came over." My roommate wasn't a smart guy. I frequently wondered how he had gotten into college in the first place.
He had seen me in so much less. He had seen me naked—hell, two hours ago I had been inside him and yet I felt so vulnerable. I couldn't look at him. I continued into my bedroom.
Closing the door, I fought the panic. I didn't think I would have to see him again for the rest of the semester. I thought I was going to have the week to go home and decompress before coming back for the summer sessions.
I wasn't a coward though. I couldn't hide in my room and wait for him to go away. That just wasn't fair to him. I slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants; I wasn't going to dress up for him.
I slid out of my room. My roommate had made himself scarce. I don't know if I would have preferred him there as a layer of protection.
Ian looked concerned. Still incredibly beautiful, his hair which I first thought was tousled but is more sex-hair was exactly how I expected. But there was something wrong. There was a tightness around his eyes.
Ian was sitting on the couch, where I had fucked Sean the day before. Fuck, maybe Ian wasn't the only slut. Suddenly ashamed, I fidgeted in front of him.
He had to take the initiative, "Okay, so tonight was fucked, right?"
I knew he expected a smile, a laugh. It wasn't coming. "Yeah. I'd like to just forget it, if that's okay with everyone."
Ian grasped the back of his neck looking uncomfortable, "I shouldn't have suggested it."
"Why did you?"
"Why were you making out with Reilly?" Well, fuck. He had me there. I didn't say anything, sitting there with what I hoped was a mildly stony expression. He didn't force me to answer. We both knew why. We both knew how I felt. "I still shouldn't have done it."
There was an awkward pause for a moment while I plucked up the courage to ask what I had been thinking for nearly six months, "So what are you? Gay? Straight? Bi?"
He then said the worst sentence I've ever heard, "I don't like labels." He gathered by my glare that I wasn't going to buy that. "Look, I'm just sexual. I'll take whatever."
Well. Wasn't that just the most flattering thing I had ever heard. Glad to know I was one of an exalted bunch. I felt the weariness in my bones; I was still intoxicated. More than that, I was fucking exhausted, I hadn't had more than 4 hours of combined sleep in the past week.
"Ian, thanks for coming over and whatever but I'm just going to go to sleep."
"Want some company?" Was he kidding?
"No," I declared resolutely.
Ian merely nodded and stood, "Okay, Artie. I really am sorry."
"Not your fault, I knew what I was doing." I watched Ian walk to the door of my apartment. He paused and turned back to me, "I brought your shoes for you."
"Thanks Ian." I actually was thankful, it was thoughtful of him and I wouldn't have to go back to get them or ask Drew to bring them to me. Ian nodded and smiled sadly.
I didn't watch him leave but when I turned back he was gone.
For the first night in many nights, I actually slept well. Maybe it was the exhaustion but probably it was the booze and my body actually needing it. Whenever my insomnia got bad, eventually my body would give out and I would be forced to sleep for 14 hours.
It was mid-afternoon when I woke. For a long moment, I didn't remember what had happened. I felt warm, refreshed and happy. Then I remembered and I just wanted to crawl back into the loving embrace of sleep.
But I had a life to live. I stretched out my body, feeling refreshed like I hadn't in a long time.
I didn't see Ian for nearly a week and though I thought about him from time to time, I was good with the separation. I saw Sean in class, he was more than attentive. He asked me out but I turned him down citing having to prepare for my final papers and projects. In truth, I felt like an asshole for fucking him and then turning around and fucking someone else.
It was the last week of classes, such a strange week of classes. The last day was Wednesday with finals beginning after that. Of course before we could get to those final few torturous hours, we had Patriot's Day. For those not from Massachusetts, Patriot's Day officially celebrates the battles of Lexington and Concord which started the American Revolutionary War. Sure, there are reenactments and people who actually cared about that but schools were off. For Boston, it meant the Marathon. It meant a fucking train wreck if you were trying to get anywhere but also the best day for doing nothing. For many college students it meant drinking a lot.
By this point, I feel like you can tell how Lambda celebrated. In truth, it was an event of epic proportions. Four other fraternities entered, and several brave sorority girls joined in as well. Because my school isn't known for its creativity the event was indeed called the Greek Marathon, redundant in two ways.
It was a race but there really were no winners. On go the contestant would shot-gun a beer then run about half a mile where they would take two shots another half mile two shots another half mile two shots another half mile to shotgun another beer. At the end you ran 2 miles, had six shots, and shot-gunned two beers. 2-6-2
I'll be very honest that I prefer my drinking to have 100 percent less running involved. Thankfully nobody took the running part seriously—well except for the 'roided up dudes but they could chill the fuck out.
The morning was warm, finally seeming like actual Spring. I stood on the improvised start line holding my beer and a key. There were probably thirty of us running. I was most worried about the puke factor, chugging a too cold beer and then running sounded like a recipe for disaster. As it was my first April in Lambda I was required to run.
The whistle blew, far less noble than the shot being fired to start the actual marathon. The sound of cans being burst filled the air as well as laughing and chugging as we all struggled immediately to swallow down the carbonated liquid.
My pledge brother Chase was the first to throw his can to the ground, yelling in victory before starting his jog toward the next house where the first of the shots would take place. I finished choking down the beer, crushed the can and felt the trapped air try to leave my body. Still, I couldn't stop smiling.
There was something so painfully idiotic about it that just made it delightful. Watching my Lambda brother's t-shirts covered in beer drift to the ground in favor of running shirtless certainly didn't diminish my mood. Of course drinking at 8 AM is always a recipe for a good time. It only becomes alcoholism when you graduate, until then it's all fun and games.
The first half mile was easily the worst, all that carbonation had people looking queasy. But Emily stood at the first table with lines of shots in tiny Dixie cups waiting for us, her smile at us all struggling made it worth it. I couldn't help but feel like a dick being unhappy running half a mile when people just down the street were going to be finishing 26 in just a few hours.
The shots were terrible: Svedka. I don't know who made that choice but it was wretched—straight gasoline searing the esophagus.
The race continued with a lot of joking and laughing. I could feel myself settle into a fine state of drunkenness but the race and adrenaline and laughing staved off the lethargy. The last table was back at 48. The table full of beers and keys were ready and I could see that the first wave of runners had already finished. Though slightly out of breath, I ran to the table intent on finishing strong.
A strong hand pushed mine away from the beers in front of me. My eyes shot up, Ian. He looked fresh—like he had just gotten out of a fucking shampoo ad. He certainly hadn't been running. His hair was pulled back in the man bun that he had started to affect. It wasn't my favorite look usually. For him, he just looked more masculine.
Ian handed me a beer, I didn't worry about why that one was specifically better. I just jammed the key into the side of the flimsy metal and started sucking.
This beer was better than the first, though they were the same Bud Light. This one was room temperature. In normal life, room temperature beer belongs in the third ring of hell. But when chugging it's amazingly better.
I crushed the can between my fingers and threw my hands up. An outsider might have laughed at my glee but exercise is hateful to me.
Ian chuckled at my Rocky stance, "Way to finish."
