the same time, though, a brief vista of my life confirms the obvious: I am struggling. The difficulty of my classes is peaking to an almost unbearable height, and if I want to graduate, I have to focus my attention there. But in order to do so, I have to be able to keep working and paying for everything I need to sustain my life. After splurging on drinks at the bar and tickets for the show, my wallet is pathetically empty and the thought of looking at my bank account terrifies me. I have already spent too much of my money and my time on frivolous things. As much as I may want him – and I want him so badly, a tiny voice chirps – Garret definitely falls into the frivolous category. He is dangerous, both for me and for the precious balancing act I am performing.
I tune back in to Sarah mid-sentence. “… The bottom line is, you have to make a move soon, Jodie,” she is saying. “There are so many girls who want him, and just because he looked at you all doe-eyed doesn’t mean that he won’t forget about you in an instant while he goes and hooks up with some random groupie.”
“I know, I know,” I reply. I think back to the obsessive gazes of the girls from my class and imagine Garret looking at them the same way he looked at me. It is so easy to see them pouncing on him at a moment’s notice. I nearly gag at the thought.
Part of me has yet to fully relinquish my initial opinion of Garret. The drugs, the promiscuity – there is no escaping that persona. I can dream of this romantic artist swooping me off my feet all day and night, but the fact remains that he has a well-deserved reputation that does not exactly jibe with the fantasy hero that I want him to be. Part of me hates him for it, for the girls he beds, for the sheer sexuality that rolls off of him in waves. It is intoxicating when I am with him, but the farther away I get, the more it sickens me, like a hangover.
Submerged under my loathing for Garret’s promiscuity, though, is something deeper, more personal. I am almost afraid to probe the emotion; I am too familiar with the haven of insecurity from which it comes. You’re scared you’ll be tossed aside, the devil’s voice slithers in my ear. You’re scared he won’t want you. You’re jealous of those other girls, because they have everything it takes to get him while you, well...
My mind keeps seesawing between my priorities and my insecurities, a nauseating tilt-a-whirl of things to consider. I voice my thoughts to Sarah, telling her how my grades and my dire financial situation have to be my priorities. I literally can’t afford to let Garret be a distraction.
She drops her tone to something soft, something consolatory. “Look, Jodie,” she leans forward to cup my hand between hers. “You might be right. You’ve got a lot on your plate; no one is denying that.”
I nod my head in affirmation. Yes, that's what I need to hear right now. The right thing. The sensible thing.
“But the way he was looking at you wasn’t the same way that guys look at groupies they just want to fuck and leave. Garret Lyons –” she emphasizes the name – “was looking at you in a special way.” There is no doubt in her voice.
Despite everything looming over my head, my heart swells with pride and satisfaction. I want to throw it in Mother’s face that a man was looking at me not only with desire but with something more real and profound. I want to shout it to everyone I have ever known that I saw a spark of something that could mean something, however abstract that sounded. It feels real to me. It feels important to me. It matters. I matter.
Fuck you, Mother. Fuck you, Bellamy. I’m not a pig; I’m not an object. Garret Lyons likes me. Me, me, me.
Sarah and I talk for a little bit longer, but as the sun starts to peek through the blinds, announcing morning, she stands and grabs her purse. I kiss her on the cheek and walk to the door to let her out.
I tune back in to Sarah mid-sentence. “… The bottom line is, you have to make a move soon, Jodie,” she is saying. “There are so many girls who want him, and just because he looked at you all doe-eyed doesn’t mean that he won’t forget about you in an instant while he goes and hooks up with some random groupie.”
“I know, I know,” I reply. I think back to the obsessive gazes of the girls from my class and imagine Garret looking at them the same way he looked at me. It is so easy to see them pouncing on him at a moment’s notice. I nearly gag at the thought.
Part of me has yet to fully relinquish my initial opinion of Garret. The drugs, the promiscuity – there is no escaping that persona. I can dream of this romantic artist swooping me off my feet all day and night, but the fact remains that he has a well-deserved reputation that does not exactly jibe with the fantasy hero that I want him to be. Part of me hates him for it, for the girls he beds, for the sheer sexuality that rolls off of him in waves. It is intoxicating when I am with him, but the farther away I get, the more it sickens me, like a hangover.
Submerged under my loathing for Garret’s promiscuity, though, is something deeper, more personal. I am almost afraid to probe the emotion; I am too familiar with the haven of insecurity from which it comes. You’re scared you’ll be tossed aside, the devil’s voice slithers in my ear. You’re scared he won’t want you. You’re jealous of those other girls, because they have everything it takes to get him while you, well...
My mind keeps seesawing between my priorities and my insecurities, a nauseating tilt-a-whirl of things to consider. I voice my thoughts to Sarah, telling her how my grades and my dire financial situation have to be my priorities. I literally can’t afford to let Garret be a distraction.
She drops her tone to something soft, something consolatory. “Look, Jodie,” she leans forward to cup my hand between hers. “You might be right. You’ve got a lot on your plate; no one is denying that.”
I nod my head in affirmation. Yes, that's what I need to hear right now. The right thing. The sensible thing.
“But the way he was looking at you wasn’t the same way that guys look at groupies they just want to fuck and leave. Garret Lyons –” she emphasizes the name – “was looking at you in a special way.” There is no doubt in her voice.
Despite everything looming over my head, my heart swells with pride and satisfaction. I want to throw it in Mother’s face that a man was looking at me not only with desire but with something more real and profound. I want to shout it to everyone I have ever known that I saw a spark of something that could mean something, however abstract that sounded. It feels real to me. It feels important to me. It matters. I matter.
Fuck you, Mother. Fuck you, Bellamy. I’m not a pig; I’m not an object. Garret Lyons likes me. Me, me, me.
Sarah and I talk for a little bit longer, but as the sun starts to peek through the blinds, announcing morning, she stands and grabs her purse. I kiss her on the cheek and walk to the door to let her out.
Similar Books
