Fuck and Run
Disclaimer: Not. Real.
Summary: Tag to rw's college fic, Party Hard. It's been particularly crazy/dysfunctional lately..Mac ruined my bed spread, dresser, and mirror..Manny's being verballly abusive to Kris...terrible things have happened to Ryn...Stevie doesn't seem to learn anything..Chloe is pregnant...Boydlet is getting drunk! And one person speaks out.
AN: Kept it general so it can apply to any of the girls...Wrote this in an hour after rw gave me permission at like 2:30 in the morning. :D
AN2: F&R belongs to Liz Phair and whoever else it belongs to.
Rating: R for language.
Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level: 4.7
What ever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who tries to win you over, and
What ever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who makes love cause he's in it, and
I want a boyfriend
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Like letters and sodas
-"Fuck and Run" by Liz Phair
I woke up with someone’s arms wrapped around me. The blankets were about chest high and I felt warm and content…for all of five seconds. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I looked up and immediately got a case of ceiling fright.
You know, that god-awful feeling you get when you look up at the ceiling and realize it isn’t yours.
It soon dissipated as I realized who’s ceiling it was and a knot in my stomach replaced it. I was in his bedroom. Again. After I promised myself I wasn’t going to take him back; after I repeatedly told myself he was a low-life scum sucking dirt bag; after I caught him with Chloe again. And yet here I was, lying in bed with him.
I bit my lip and closed my eyes. I was so fucking stupid. When did I get this stupid? I was never this stupid in high school. I never let myself get caught up in the drama there, so why was I seeking it out here?
I used to be the girl who laughed at all the imbeciles with the jerk boyfriends. My friends and I would make snarky comments behind their backs, promising to shoot each other if we ever got that stupid. We’d never let a boy control our lives, treat us like dirt, or determine our self worth. We were women; hear us roar.
Sandy, Jules, Heather, where are your guns?
I bit my lip harder. I wasn’t always like this. Honest. I didn’t take crap from anyone. If someone dished it out, I threw it right back at them. I even had boyfriends in high school and there was no way I would ever let them treat my like this. And yet here I was.
Freshman year I showed up here with stars in my eyes. Obsessed with hockey I quickly found the school’s team—watched them practice, signed up for the booster club, and fell head over heels for my current boyfriend.
If you could call him that.
I was so out of it; I probably followed him around like a puppy dog, tongue hanging out and all, the first week. He was just so different from all the guys in high school. A sophomore, he just exuded confidence. He was just so…cool and I wanted to fit in. Three thousand miles away from my home and here was this guy ready to take me under his wing and show me what college was all about; introduce me to his friends and their girlfriends; and take me to parties. Things just clicked and I wanted a boyfriend so badly. I suppose, what I really wanted was a friend.
And it was just…it was just so much easier to forget and forgive. All my friends were dating various members of the hockey team. If I broke up with my boyfriend, things would be awkward between us.
Okay, lame excuse, but… You just don’t know what he’s like when he’s sweet and talks to me and isn’t cheating on me…and yeah, I’m sounding particularly pitiful and this reflects rather poorly on my whole self-image and worth, but… He’s just part of my comfort zone now. I don’t know what life would be like without him. We hang out, he messes up, I forgive him, and we hang out again. A cycle that continually repeats itself.
And I know, god I know, that he knows he can get away with anything and that I’ll still take him back. And I know he isn’t going to change. And I know how fucking stupid I’m being, but I can’t stop myself. I’m addicted to him…and I think I love him.
God, I’m so fucking dysfunctional.
He groaned and rolled over. Free from his embrace, I sat up on my elbows, looking around the room before my eyes finally settled on him. ‘Is he worth it?’ I asked myself. It’d be so easy just to curl up against his chest and go back to sleep. Close my eyes and revel in peaceful slumber and not think about what he was going to do in the next few hours that would inevitably hurt me again.
But I’d had “easy” for over a year. I hadn’t talked to him the entire summer (or rather, he hadn’t talked to me) and if you thought that was a big fucking hint, you’d be right. But to tell you the truth, I hadn’t really noticed. I traveled three thousand miles back to home, spent time with my friends, and volunteered at the hospital. It’s funny, I never once mentioned him to my friends during the school year and his name didn’t come up at all over the summer. Maybe my subconscious played a role—embarrassed by my stupidity. Maybe I knew my friends wouldn’t understand or they’d try to get me to break things off with him… Or maybe I was finally lucid and realized he really didn’t mean that much to me.
Whatever it was, my sanity soon passed and as soon as I returned to campus in the fall, I took him back. I think my life has been completely consumed by him. It’s pretty obvious and the only explanation for my stupidity. Why else would I let him treat me like this? Why would I take him back repeatedly knowing he’d only mess up again? Why would I even forgive him in the first place? My life is a fucking soap opera and I’m spinning out of control.
Throwing off the blankets, I quietly stepped out of bed looking for my clothes. I found my underwear and jeans, and pulled them on. During my sophomore year of high school I was being an overly romantic sap (my friends and I had decided for some strange reason to watch every romantic movie on the planet one by one each Friday) and wanted to be Scarlett O’Hara, be sleepless in Seattle, and meet my own very special Harry. I so desperately wanted to be in love and have some horribly awful torrid romance that you always see in the movies that I dated some guy that I probably shouldn’t have. We dated for a month before I finally realized I wasn’t having any fun and he was annoying the living daylights out of me. Actually, I had realized this after the first date, but continued to go out with him, hoping that eventually I’d find that spark. After that I realized I could have so much more fun being single and promised that I would never stay in a relationship that didn’t make me happy.
Now a sophomore in college and on my hands and knees searching for my bra, it was more than obvious that my promise had been broken.
He moved again, this time opening his eyes as he turned his head to face me. “Whachu doing?” he asked, his voice still laced with sleep. I pulled my shirt on, forgetting my hunt for my bra.
I stared at him. His hair was sticking up every which way, a small bruise decorating his shoulder from a game two days before, and his eyes seemed so warm and inviting as he stared into mine. He gave me a half-smile and I couldn’t help but smile back, even as I was remembering all the things he had done to me. A millions replies ran rampant through my head as I stared at him. I’m getting dressed. I’m leaving you. I’m tired of being your whore.
But only one came out of my mouth, “I’ve got class.”
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You can stay here with me.”
And suddenly the weight of the two choices was pressing up against me. I could leave quietly and never see him again. I could look back on this last year or so and laugh and smack myself. Or I could stay and blindfold myself for another day, knowing if I didn’t he’d just as easily find someone else. Knowing even if I did, I couldn’t be around him all the time and eventually he’d find someone else again. And the choice seemed so obvious and so simple, but it wasn’t at the time as his eyes bored into mine.
I wanted to be loved. I wanted a boyfriend. But I didn’t want to be the pathetic loser I had become.
Stuck at a crossroads, I sat dumbly as the person next door blasted Liz Phair through the thin sheet rock that separated each room in the halls. He scowled at the sound and covered his ears, mumbling something about “chick music.” I smiled because he looked so annoyed and there I was, having an epiphany. He was brash and inconsiderate of my feelings. He cheated on me without even a thought in my direction (although, I doubt he considered it cheating). He didn’t care about me and treated me like an object. And for some fucked up reason I actually liked him. The fact, plain and simple, was that he never hid who he was; he was an asshole and proud of it (and probably thought I should be more understanding of the fact that he was). I, on the other hand, was the one with the problem. My problem wasn’t not understanding that he had to sleep with other women, that when he got drunk he was bound to destroy my things or sleep with one of his teammates, or that I wasn’t willing to kowtow to his every whim. It wasn’t that I didn’t please him right or that I wasn’t a good enough girlfriend.
My problem was that I was willing to put up with it all because he murmured a few sweet nothings in my ear every now and then or told me that he loved me. And that’s more fucked up than anything he could ever do to me.
The problem wasn’t him; it was me. And somehow that made everything so much more tolerable and easier to fix. Because I could change me—I couldn’t change him.
He took my smile for affirmation, and threw back the covers, pulling me in close for a kiss. I kissed him back harder than usual and we both fell back onto the bed so that I was pressed against his chest, his warm skin penetrating through my shirt. He groaned my name as I pulled back and stared at him; my hands on either side of his head as I straddled his hips. When I didn’t say anything, he finally opened his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I was so tempted to stay. His voice sounded so sincere and I was already melting staring into his eyes.
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.” My voice broke because I knew I wasn’t being sincere. I slipped on my sandals on the way out and I could hear him yell my name as I closed the door behind me. He yelled something to the effect of “Fuck, I said, ‘I loved you.’ And this time I meant it!” as I walked down the hall. As I began the humiliating morning trek (you know, the one where everyone looks at you and just knows you’re wearing the same clothes you had on the night before) I felt exhilarated and free. I wasn’t the least bit sad and even wondered to myself why I hadn’t done it earlier.
I didn’t even cry when I saw him talking to that girl the other day. Or when the rumor mill went ballistic over his possible involvement with Chloe’s pregnancy. Or when he told all his teammates that I was bad in bed. Or when the girls came over with their sympathy cookies and ice cream. Or when I overheard him tell his friend he never loved me.
I cried when I took him back.
the end. yes, it's horribly depressing. lol go read rw's fic...it'll make you laugh. :)