The Virgin and the Whore

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When I woke up that next Monday morning, I woke Sleeping-Beauty up by almost suffocating him with his pillow. Why? Because he and his girlfriend had texted me about a hundred times the night before to make sure that I would. And Tyler-the-Hypochondriac woke me up at three in the morning by switching on all the lights and asking me if the tiny mole on his arm was cancerous because he was sure it was and he was sure it was a malignant form of it and he was going to die in the next four hours.

I swear to god, he probably only became friends with me in the first place because he thought I would become a doctor.

I headed out afterwards to a yoga class Vanessa had signed me up for, grabbing a coffee from the dorm's cafeteria on my way.

Tyler and Vanessa were seriously over doing it, trying to keep me occupied as much as they could, buying me nicotine patches and gum, and they almost confiscated my phone so I wouldn't make any booty calls.

Honestly, I had never figured that having parents could be that annoying.

I guess the yoga class in the morning was kind of nice though. It was a good way to start the day and it helped calming me down. The nicotine patches definitely helped. I hadn't realized I had become that addicted.

Maybe they should have confiscated my phone. Once I got out of yoga class, one of the particularly hot girls there came up to me and gave me her phone number. I was kind of tempted of just calling her the second she walked away and go do some cardio with her, but I was pretty sure Tyler and Van would find out and I would get an ass whooping. I was apparently abstinent for the whole week. And sure, my best friend was easily distracted, but for some strange reason sometimes he noticed things he really shouldn't have, and I was pretty sure any activities in my pants would be reported to him somehow.

My friends little intervention had definitely been a wake up call, but it didn't mean it had resolved anything. Sure, admitting you had a problem was half of the work, according to D. Phil, but dealing with my shit life wasn't going to just magically happen. I still felt like a walking, talking disappointment, like it was useless to even make any kind of effort to make my life less shitty because in the end what was the point? I was never going to be anything more than the screw up orphan who couldn't deal with losing his dad. A screw up... just like my mom.

That line of thought didn't help with turning off my need to call the yoga chick. I mean, if it was all meaningless in the end, what was the point in fighting the inevitable, the inevitable, of course, being me fucking like a rabbit.

I grabbed another coffee on my way back to the dorm where I showered, changed and then ate a little something before heading to class. It was pretty amazing the kind of stuff you could accomplish when you woke up in the morning. I always forgot how kind of rewarding it felt to actually do something with myself.

I totally blamed the mix of caffeine and nicotine patches for that train of thought.

I was sipping on my third coffee which was a Starbuck's skinny iced caramel macchiato with extra sugar-free caramel drizzle on top when I walked into my first class. I was wearing sport pants and a hoodie with a jean jacket over it a cap and sunglasses. All I needed was some Ugg boots to be the perfect basic bitch and I was totally okay with that.

I thought I was going to be the first one but there were already a couple of people sitting around the room. The Minnie Mouse was sitting at the same seat she'd sat during our first class. I thought about picking an empty desk, but then figured I should talk to the girl.