Surviving Michael by Joseph Birchall

was taking the lead. He didn’t even try to kiss me until our third date. As for sex, I practically had to drag him into the bedroom and pull his shirt off. And he was so sweet. So loving.
    I could tell that his buddies Nick, Charlie and Liam had their designs on me, but there was something different about Danny. An incorruptibility about him. And yet a sweetness too. And when I chose to sit with him that night, he was like a little puppy dog with a new treat. He talked and talked, and I just listened to him, and looked into those big, chocolate, brown eyes of his. And not once did he glance at my breasts. He didn’t even try to sneak a peek when I crossed my legs in front of him.
    When we were saying goodnight, I asked him to close his eyes, which he did, and then I asked him what color my eyes were. He told me that they were emerald green, but that when I laughed, and the light shone directly into them, they turned a golden amber. I’ve been fed more lines than a Shakespearean actor in my time, but the way he said it rocked. It wasn’t the usual BS I get every weekend. Well, I almost jumped into his arms. But I didn’t, of course. I kissed him on the cheek and handed him my number. The fool even texted me an hour later about what a great night he had. But that’s what I’ve always loved about him – no games. Such a rare quality in any man. Practically impossible to find it in an American one these days. I think I’m his first real love. I’m not saying that he’s my first, but I can’t help but be crazy about him. Nothing makes me happier than when he texts me and asks me if he can come over. No assumptions. No possessiveness.
    This is going to hurt him, and he’s going to have to man up a bit. Take one on the chin. The thing is, I’m not so sure he can take it. It’s gonna kill me to see those big puppy brown eyes of his so sad. Maybe he’ll surprise me. A girl can always live in hope. Can’t she?
    I squeeze my boobs again. One in each hand. Christ, they’ve definitely grown.
    I lean onto my side and stand up, but I do it all too fast and my head spins. Oh, God. I need the bathroom.
    Ugggghhhhhh.
    Christ, that was a sore one. Am I supposed to be vomiting this early? I haven’t even eaten anything today. It’s most likely just my body reacting to an uncommon twenty-four hour sobriety spell. I don’t think I’ve ever knelt in front of the toilet before for a non-alcohol related illness.
    I should call home. Mom is going to fucking freak out. I know exactly what she’ll say, and what she’ll want me to do. But that’s not a decision I’m prepared to make yet. I need to talk to Danny first. I can handle my dad. He’ll be disappointed in me, but won’t actually say anything. As for any support, Mom will make sure he’s toeing the family line. Which means her fucking line. He’ll throw a couple thou into my checking account, as he’s already done a few times.
    Christ. What sort of financial implications is this going to have? Can I even afford it? I can’t manage it on a bartender’s salary, that’s for goddamn sure. And what if I do have to do it all on my own? How will I cope? I’ve no family here. Shit. I’m starting to sound like my Mom…
    Aaaaagggghhhhh. Oh, Jesus, God. Maybe I should go home. That is if they’ll have me back.
    If I could just stop vomiting and crying for five minutes. I just need some time to think. I’ll tell Danny first. Depending on how he reacts will determine what I’ve got to do next. Depending on how he reacts? That hardly sounds like the warring feminist I was known for in college.
    If my college girlfriends could see me now; half naked, and sitting on the bathroom floor, tear tracks all down my face, the smell of vomit on my breath. Actually, that’s not too far from those days as well.
    No, I won’t go home. I’ll be on my own. I’m not so sure I have the patience though. I can just about keep myself on the straight and narrow. But then where do I go? I