Page 80 of Leaving the Station
“I’ve never been with anyone likeyou,” I finally responded after some on-the-bed kissing. It was true but only in that I hadn’t been with anyone. But the people Ihadfantasized about weren’t anything like him.
Alden had a belt on over his jeans, and once it became clear we had nothing more to say to each other that would forestall the moment, I let him take it off himself. After that, we were off to the races. I helped pull his pants down over his nonexistent hips, and he got in my way as I pulled my T-shirt over my head.
The fewer clothes he had on, the more I wanted to pause and admire him. He was a normal-looking guy, which made me all the more jealous. His stomach was hairy, and his boxers sat low on his hips, in a way my pants never could because of how wide my own hips were.
He watched me watching him, smiling. I smiled back, a real one this time.
He never tried to take off my bra—a sports bra that was so tight it nearly cut off my circulation—and for that I was grateful. Other than the night of the party, I had never worn my binderaround him, but I still didn’t want him seeing my boobs. I didn’t even know ifIwanted to see them.
After that, it was mostly logistics, like getting a condom on and all the things people do to prepare for penetrative sex.
“Are you good with this?” he asked, and I nodded. I wanted to try it, to see what the fuss was all about.
I knew some people who had had sex in high school, and when the topic came up, they were more than happy to offer advice.
“You’ll just know what to do,” they’d say. “Yourbodyknows.”
That wasn’t the case for me, but what my bodydidknow was that I wanted to be on top. I helped Alden apply lube that he’d had in his drawer, then straddled him.
He lasted about ten seconds, and when his face scrunched in pleasure, I stared down at him from above, a scientist looking at a lab rat.
He wanted me to stay and cuddle. I wanted to leave.
It wasn’t that I hated what we’d done, but it was just that: done. I had that data point. This is how babies were made. Okay. Great. Fine.
“I’m not feeling so well,” I told him, my catchall excuse for getting out of situations I didn’t want to be in.
“Are you gonna throw up?” he asked, backing away and looking freaked out.
“Yes,” I said after seeing his reaction. “I’m definitely going to throw up.”
I pretended to retch for good measure, and he let me go without complaint.
When I made it outside, I really did feel a wave of nausea, and I vomited into a large shrub directly in front of Alden’s dorm. It splattered onto the red bricks, and I didn’t know what else to do so I walked across campus back to my building, hugging my waist to fend off the cold.
As I walked, a number of things became abundantly clear. I was not attracted to Alden. Or maybe I wasn’t attracted to Aldenall the time.I wanted to like him, to date him, on my terms. But he wanted to date meall the time.
The next was that, due to this fact, I needed to break up with him.
The third was that I couldn’t do that without breaking his heart, and without breaking mine, just a little.
Because breaking up with him would mean acknowledging to myself and to him and to the world that I wasn’t the person I’d been trying to be for the past eighteen years.
But instead of wallowing in this pain, I surprised myself by pulling out my phone.
It rang once, twice. I was ready to shove it back in my pocket until—
“Zoe?”
“Autumn?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice drowsy with sleep.
I immediately regretted calling. I had woken her up. She’d probably only texted me over the long weekend due to boredom or pity, and I’d never even texted her back.
She cleared her throat. “What’s going on?”
“Did you ever want to be my friend?” The question came from me without thought.
