Carolina Days: Yesterday's Half Truths Part 21

I can handle that. "How is filming going?"

He shrugs. "Good, I guess. The cameras are weird. We're supposed to ignore them and act natural, but that's easier said than done. I think the episode where we got to the ranch and get paired up with a trainer will air next week."

"Really?" I beam.

He nods. "Are you going to watch it?"

"Of course I'm going to watch it. This is so cool."

He laughs, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. "Promise not to make fun of me if I look stupid."

I gasp. "I would never, ever make fun of you."

His face softens when he sees how serious I look. "I didn't think you would. You're too sweet."

"Oh."

"Lindsay." His green eyes almost look brown in the low light of his room. "You don't have to answer me if you don't want to."

Oh no.

He continues. "Were you ever bullied?"

My eyes water on their own accord, and I furiously attempt to blink away any tears threatening to escape.

My reaction gives me away. "You were."

Blink, blink, blink. He's blurry beyond my unshed tears.

"We can talk about something else."

I nod. There's no way I'm opening my mouth right now, not until I'm back in control.

"I like your s.h.i.+rt. You're showing off your guns."

Why is a compliment, clearly given to take my mind off painful memories, my undoing? I press my tablet to sever the connection as I choke out a sob. My tears are coming full force now. Is he even real?

My phone is in my room. I hurry there so I can text Luke an apology for ending our chat the way I did. He tries to call as I text but I'm in no condition to speak.

I'm so sorry.

He replies instantly.

Are you okay?

I'm fine. Please don't worry.

I feel responsible for making you cry.

Don't.

I hate seeing you cry.

I feel silly for overreacting.

Do you want to talk about it?

No.

We can talk about anything else.

I need some time to calm down.

Will you call me later, before you go to sleep?

I'll try. I'll text you if I'm not up to talking.

I'm sorry.

It's okay. I'm the one who disconnected our chat so rudely.

I don't care about that.

I'm going to go now.

Carefully, I remove my makeup as my tub fills with steaming hot water. It's borderline painful as I step into it once it's full. Hot showers and baths are the only things, which calm me.

The lion's share of my trust issues stem from my freshman year of college. Even then, I was painfully shy. I shared a dorm room with a girl named Wendi. She was never there, always staying off campus with her boyfriend instead. In our room, well my room, I could avoid all of the social aspects of college.

I went to cla.s.s and the dining hall, not that I ever ate there. Otherwise, I was in my room. It might sound lonely but I was content. That didn't mean I wasn't curious about the people around me. I noticed them; had crushes on some of the boys in my cla.s.ses. I hoped one day, one of them would notice me and ask me out.

Our school had a website for students. It was like Facebook and Mys.p.a.ce but on a much lower tech scale. One day I had a private post in my personal mailbox from a guy who said he thought I was cute. I was so excited. I didn't know him personally, but he went to my school and from the picture attached to his account, I thought he was good looking.

That should have been my first clue. I should have known that the way I looked, I could never have been his type. I was nave though and wanted a cute boy to like me. I never pressed him on how he knew me or my name. I was too busy, wrapped up in my fantasy romance.

He pursued me online for weeks with notes back and forth. The only thing keeping me from meeting him in person, were my nerves. He was patient though, never seemingly annoyed by my shyness. We were nearing Spring Break when I finally agreed to meet him. Marc, tall with light blond hair and broad shoulders, was just as handsome in real life.

The first time we met at a park on campus and watched people play Frisbee. He held my hand as in my head I named the three children we would have after we got married. Our next meeting he took me out for ice cream. Being a bigger girl with anxiety over my weight, he was so sweet as he encouraged me to get whatever I wanted. He told me how much he loved girls with meat on their bones.

When he walked me back to my dorm, he kissed me, hard, with tongue. It had been my first kiss. I floated to my dorm room. Our next date was to the movies. We shared popcorn and spent more of the movie kissing than watching. His hands roaming as his kiss turned me to mush.

I fancied myself in love. Our next date was to his apartment. I happily, trusting him, gave him my virginity. He wasn't as affectionate as he had been before. I was tense and nervous, but I wanted to please him. He wanted to leave the lights on but finally turned them off for me. I remember worrying that I had done it wrong when he didn't kiss me afterward. He didn't kiss me when he dropped me back at my dorm either.

I wouldn't find out why until the next morning. There was an email in my mailbox, the sender name listed as 'a friend'. When I opened it, I could see it went to the entire freshman cla.s.s. The file name was Popping Cherries. I stupidly wondered if it had something to do with spring. There was an audio file attached. Twenty seconds in, I knew what it was.

In horror, I listened to people laughing hysterically with Marc moaning my name and my own cringe worthy whimpers and moans in response. How? It was me; it was us. I couldn't understand how someone was able to record us. At the end of the audio clip, there was a group of people, their voices all blurring together as they laughed and congratulated Marc for popping my cherry.

Some of them mooed between their laughs. Below the audio file was a blinking banner, my senior picture at the center of it with instructions for everyone to congratulate me on finally finding someone willing to sleep with me.

The letters on my keyboard blurred through my tears as I went to message Marc. Shocked, I learned his account was deactivated. Like a fool, I realized I didn't even have his number. As I dressed in a haze, I went back and forth between defending his innocence in this to being certain of his guilt. I didn't have his number, but I did know where he lived.

No matter how painful, I had to find out if he ever even cared about me. I made my way from my dorm, across campus to where his apartment was. I ducked my head as I pa.s.sed people. Every laugh I heard, I was certain was directed at me. I'm not sure if my mind was playing tricks on me, but I swore I heard moos as well. None of this would matter if Marc cared about me, if he wasn't embarra.s.sed by me.

When I got to his apartment, I almost turned around. What would be worse, knowing he cared nothing for me, or never knowing and deluding myself? My knock was hesitant. After a minute, I knocked again, this time with more force.

Marc opened the door, his face falling as his eyes landed on me.

I couldn't help but notice he didn't invite me in.

My voice thick, I spoke first. "An audio clip of us together and a message went out to the whole freshman cla.s.s."

"Honey, who is it?" a voice called out from behind him.

My eyes widened, my mouth dropping as two manicured hands coiled around his waist and Missy Pollard's face came in to view.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me. "Are you here to thank me?" she asked.

I was unable to do anything more than gape at her. She continued, "I've always heard it's good to help the less fortunate. Did Hank here show you a good time? We had a bet going to see if you were going to moo like a cow or grunt like a pig." After a moment of silence, she asked, "Well, are you going to say thank you or not?"

"Thank you?" I asked.

"Yes, you ungrateful, fat cow. How else would you ever get someone to willingly sleep with you?"

My eyes had flown up to Marc's or was it Hank? He looked away. Gulping, I turned; Missy's laughter and a long moo followed me.

I want to say I tried to stay in school.

That I tried to hold my head up high even as my cla.s.smates started mooing at me as I made my way to my cla.s.ses. That when boys began grabbing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and my b.u.t.t in the cafeteria, I stood up for myself. The girls on campus weren't any better. They'd laugh, moo, or cough, and say s.l.u.t whenever I was around.

I had no one, not one friendly or sympathetic shoulder to lean on. Late at night, in the safety of my own dorm room, they still wouldn't leave me alone.

They would pound on my door, so hard the door would shake. Sometimes they would slide notes and crude pictures of what they wanted to do to me under the door. Other times they would moan and mimic the sounds I had made in the audio clip as they panted my name.

I tried to get help. My dorm advisor told me none of this would have happened to me if I weren't such a s.l.u.t. I made it one month before I considered suicide. I hated everyone and myself most of all. The only thing that kept me from doing it was my parents.

After a long, tear filled call home I decided to withdraw from school. My mother wanted me to come home, but I couldn't. I could barely handle my own company, let alone anyone else's.

Will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? I'm going home in ten days. Now is not the time to freak Lindsay out. She isn't like other girls. If there was ever a person who deserved a handle with care label, it is her. Knowing that, what do I do? I act like a bull in a freaking china shop. Glancing around my room the pressure of these four walls is closing in on me.

Leaving my phone, I head for the gym. Working out has always been a way for me to clear my mind and focus on what is important. Lindsay is important. Pressuring her from the other side of the country isn't going to do anything to help me.

The gym is empty. Without someone around to spot me, I conservatively add weight to the bar before lying back on the bench press. Down, bar to my chest, puff of breath out and I push up, and repeat. Like magic, my mind clears. I've already been here twenty days and will be home in no time.

I'll text her when I get back to my room and apologize, again. For the rest of my time here on the ranch, I will focus on the job I was hired to do. My attention has been divided. Whether she believes it or not, she's holding a piece of me. It isn't fair to the contestants here.

I'm lucky it's Frankie's show and all I need to do is support him. Any chance they'd tap me to be a new full time trainer has to have evaporated. That's a good thing, but I hate the idea I haven't done my best. From the bench press, I move to a heavy punching bag. My hands aren't taped so I don't go full on.

I was able to burn off most of my frustration at the bench press. This is an excuse to get my blood going and blow off any lingering steam. Leaving the gym, the weight on my shoulders lighter I hope I'll sleep well tonight.

The contestants are not allowed to have access to things outside the ranch but the rest of us are. The episode from our first getting to the ranch is airing tonight and someone thought it would be a great idea for us to watch it together.

To say Gigi is a bundle of nerves would be putting it lightly. She was already waiting in our living room when I walked in.

"What if they edited me to make me seem like a b.i.t.c.h?" she asks.

"We're the good guys. I doubt they would do that," I reply, hoping I'm right.

"Or an airhead. What if they make me seem like an airhead?"

I shrug; she sort of is an airhead so it's safer not to say anything at all.

One of the producers comes in next and sits down next to her, as in right next to her, even though there's plenty of room on the couch. Interesting. The full time, star trainers come in next, Jarrett following them.

It's weird knowing Lindsay and my family are going to be watching me. That keeps me quiet as we all watch. In fact, we all seem to be quiet. Gigi and Jarrett are clearly contemplating their star power. The veteran trainers are as attentive. Could they be wondering if any of us have upstaged them?

It's strange watching myself on the screen. Thankfully, I don't do or say anything embarra.s.sing. When the show is over, as we're disbursing, the producer approaches me.

"You did good kid. The camera loves you."

"Thank you."

Once I'm back in my room, I see missed calls from my mom and my sisters, and texts from Lindsay, Clay and the owner of my gym.

Facing potential disinheritance, I call my mom first, having to hold the phone away from my ear when she answers it screaming.

"Mom." I laugh. "I can't understand you."

Sasha and Natalia are there. I can hear them hollering in the background. My family is straight up crazy, but I love them. Once my mom calms down enough so we can talk, she lets me know how proud of me she is. After her, the phone is pa.s.sed to Natalia, who lets me know she recorded the show so my nephews can watch it. After her, I talk to Sasha, "How's Loki?"

"Spoiled rotten. You should get him a puppy treadmill."

"Please. He'd kill me in my sleep if I did something like that."

She laughs. "You're probably right."

In four short days, she'll be picking me up from the airport. After hanging up with her I read and reply to Lindsay's text.

I'm happy to hear you watched and that I didn't suck.

You were so amazing, Luke. It was crazy seeing you on TV like that.

You see me on TV all the time.

It's different and you know that.

I miss you.

We haven't talked on the phone or Face Timed since the last time. This is me trying to give her s.p.a.ce.