Why is it that every time some bad shit happens it's at a party? At this point you really wonder why young people even bother going to those.
To be fair, I say that, but the worst moment of my life happened in my dorm so. Clearly, it's not just parties. I don't know. It's like college is the Garden of Eden to high schoolers until Satan shows up and hands you that apple. Except the apple consists of sexual assault, drugs and booze instead of original sin.
Anyway, I learned Wanda was a bitch at yet another party. This one was hosted by another common friend of Wanda and André's. He was more like a distant acquaintance to me, although he seemed nice enough. He was of Russian descent, blonde and tall, with blue eyes. Can't remember his name. It kind of sounded like Krillin's name in Dragon Ball Z. My apologies to all Russian people for this comparison.
To be fair, I was already beginning to suspect that she was shady. First off, literally during our first text talk, she said she was raped. Now, I'm about to say some super controversial shit, but I don't care, someone has to say it: yes, the vast majority of rape accusations that go on trial are true, but some teenage girls DO lie about that shit for attention. It's not reported 'cause it never goes to court, is all, but I assure you that shit ain't rare.
I knew another bitch like Wanda who'd tell every dude she wanted to bone that she was raped after like, a five minute conversation (she even tried it on André with little success, hah) and who'd pretend to cry and flash her tits. Not even joking, not talking metaphorically. That actually happened. She'd change her story everytime, too. And I knew for a fact that it was bullshit because she'd say it happened when she was six – and I knew her back then. So I knew it wasn't real. Never seen a more emotionally healthy and normal six-year old despite them getting raped by their cousins, beaten and dragged down a basement, I'll tell ya that.
On a side note, dudes are retarded. The amount of dudes I warned about this girl being a manipulative bitch is off the charts. But did they listen? Of course not. Then six months later they'd come crawling back and apologize after she cheated on them and moved on to another guy. And to think tons of people get raped and never believed when legit everyone this girl cried to believed her. Sigh.
So yeah, Wanda did the exact same thing this girl did back when I first talked to her, as a teen. Now, I can hear some of you people all the way from here – Renny, how dare you shame girls like that?! You should believe them! After all, you don't know, they tots could have been actually assaulted!
Ah, but I do know. I know exactly how rape victims react to rape, and let me tell you, it's not by telling everyone merrily that they got assaulted after five minutes while describing that shit in graphic detail and seeming perfectly okay, only to try to get in the dude's pants five minutes later or talk about sex, or how much they "love BDSM". Yes, because these girls always say they're bipolar, love BDSM, and they're tots "special", "crazy", etc. Of course they're all atheists. They like tattoos. Wear lots of makeup. Think they're more attractive than they actually are, they're fourteen to twenty ... sounds familiar, doesn't it? Almost like it's a prototype subgenre basic bitch trying to act cool and rebellious.
How do I know what a person who's been sexually assaulted acts like? Don't really wanna get into that. Besides, it's off topic, anyway. Plus, it's not so much that I know what a person who's been assaulted would do, so much as I know what they wouldn't do.
So, to go back to Wanda, that girl would immediately go on rants about herself. Brag about the supposed "hot guy" she was boning. Send pictures of him. Graphically detail her sex life. Act really tough and independent then immediately after show that she was super dependent on the guy and in desperate need of validation. And again, keep in mind the fact that this bitch didn't know me. This was on our first convo.
I didn't dislike her right away or even straight up fully assume that she was lying though, even if she did remind me of that one other girl I knew in high school. Plus these talks were from a while ago, so, and people do mature sometimes and grow into better human beings and all. I still assumed that at the very least, she had a good heart and was a good friend of André's.
I thought wrong. I arrived by cab that night at like, nine or ten or something. It was a big villa in Etobicoke. Anyone who isn't from T.O will have no idea where the fuck that is, so let's just say it was a house on the outskirts of the city. You know the nice, upper-middle class houses with lots of green, well-kept grass and bushes outside? It was like that.
It was also spring, so still pretty darn cold for Canada. Soon as I got inside I ditched the long, ugly ass grey coat I had back then as well as my black scarf. My fashion sense was on the rise but still not quite there yet. I'd already met Saint Jenny but hadn't had time to fully apply her teachings yet.
What I was wearing underneath was pretty damn good, though: short, skin-tight purple dress, dark leggings and black high heeled boots. I looked great. Even bothered drawing some cat eyes on myself that night. Plus the usual mascara and lipstick.
God, I'm starting to sound like Jenny. I guess ruining other girls' lives wasn't enough, I had to start talking like her, too.
"Renny!" André ran up to me and embraced me. He smelled great, honestly. Getting a hug from him was like rubbing clean laundry against your face.
"André!" I hugged him back. After that he pulled away and looked at me. Uh oh. I recognized that look. Softness. Kind of how Nathan looked at me that one time we fucked. The kind of look that makes me feel ... confused. It went away and he smiled though, but I could tell something was off.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah ... I'm alright, I guess. I mean, I'm getting over it, you know? The breakup." His last girlfriend had just dumped him because he refused to have sex with her. André was a 'waiting for marriage' kind of guy.
"I'm sorry, dude."
"S'alright. I mean, I owe the relationship to you to begin with." It's true. I wingmanned for him. Even I have my moments.
"Did you drink anything yet?"
"Yeah, three beers already."
I nodded distractedly, wondering whether I'd down shots or vodka. I remember thinking I would have liked some sake, but you never found that at house parties unless they were held by Japanese people or wealthy weebs. Feels weird to think back on a time when I actually felt something. Like, I was livelier, you know?
I guess things still meant something, back then.
"Everyone's in the living room. We should probably join them," he told me. A lot of stuff was left unsaid between us, and when that's the case you always say something stupid 'cause you just don't know what else to say.
"Yeah, good idea." I followed after André in the living room. The space was wide and there was a really big glass window that led way to a terrace made of wood. It was too cold to go there though, so everyone was either sitting on the many chairs and beanbags spread across the room, or they were sprawled on the couch.
"André! Honey! You're back!" A voice immediately called out. It was Wanda. In case you were wondering, Wanda was blonde. Like, platinum dyed-blonde hair, with dark roots. So I'm assuming she was actually a brunette in denial. She immediately ran to André and pressed her giant chest and gut against him. Poor skinny André was almost squished to death, but hey. He hugged her back happily and she finally let him go.
