The Last Virgin Standing

Bonus: Emma

So as some of you know, I've received offers for representation and publication of TLVS. I've rejected all of them so far because I still haven't told the entire story yet. I'm currently in the revision process. I was playing with the idea of having a team of beta readers (called the Four, haha). Let me know if this is something you might like to do! 

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Emma knew she would never forget Ian. Even two years after their breakup, she still found herself thinking about him at least once a week, which was progress considering it was once the Ian Network all day, every day. She no longer mourned for him, and it took significantly more effort to make herself cry. She even felt less bitter about the girls he'd been with, hating them less. She knew it was irrational. Those girls meant nothing to Ian. They were just playthings. She had been the real deal.

Later on, though, she thought she was happy their relationship had ended. There were times where she convinced herself that it had all been a fruitless effort to bed her. And she was in that mindset when she agreed to help her best friend get back at him, get back at all of them.

***

With Ian, there was always a car.

From their very first date, she had tried so hard to get on his level. Whenever Ian was around, it seemed so easy to lose sight and play pretend. He leaned in, smelling like iced tea, and wrapped his arms around her. Emma was wild. Her heart thumped and all she could think was, Oh, God. He's going to kiss me. Do I smell? What if I'm bad? Can we just save this for a different day?

But he didn't. Instead he whispered, "I'm going to break your heart."

They were breaths apart now. Despite the tangled storm of hormones in her body, she said, "You'll have to get it to break it."

He was impulsive, and she wanted to be impulsive. The thrill was in quick thinking, and that's what he left her with.

They spent afternoons playing chess in his mother's garden and on Emma's living room floor. "This is so weird," she said one day.

"What?"

"You playing chess. I just never thought Ian Jameson did this sort of thing."

"Who did you think I was?"

Emma just smiled and shrugged. "Not this. Not you."

"Can I guess?" She nodded. "How many drugs did you think I was addicted to?"

"I didn't think you were addicted!"

He gave her a doubtful look. "Come on. It's okay."

"No, I'm serious. I just thought you were a casual druggie. Recreational."

"Right."

"I just didn't think you'd be so intellectual."

"I'm no Beckett, but I do all right."

"You don't show it. Why is that? Why do you just let people assume things about you?"

"It's not going to change anything," he said. "I mean, just think about it. When people look at me, they see rich boy who likes sex. That's me. That's my stereotype."

"But it's not you."

Ian moved his queen. "Checkmate."

***

It wasn't raining. It wasn't cloudy. It was a blue-ink kind of night where sparkles dotted the sky. But Emma wasn't looking at the sky. She was staring at the horn on her steering wheel. She wanted to slam her palm against it, beep after beep after beep. She wanted to disturb the stillness of the night, instill it with her fury.

Ian was in the passenger seat, oxygen to her flame.

"Get out," she said. When he didn't move, she said it again.

"Emma‒"

"Get out of my car."

He opened the door, which made the overhead light come on. "I'm sorry."

She didn't look up. She knew she couldn't. She knew that the moment she looked at him and his apologetic face, she'd melt and give in to whatever he said, suckling his words like honey. She maintained her strength until she got to the end of his driveway, and suddenly, it wasn't so easy to play pretend.

***

Ian was sitting outside her door when she came home. When he saw her, he stood up immediately. "Hi."

"Hi. What do you‒why are you here?"

"You," he said. "I don't really have a plan. I just needed to do it. "

Emma gestured towards the door. "Let's go in and talk."

They settled in on the couch. He reached for her hand. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"What I should've done the night we broke up."

All Emma could do was shake her head. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, and now that it was finally here, she didn't know which scenario she wanted. For once in their relationship, she had control. So many parts of her wanted to turn him down, make him feel as rejected as she did, but then she'd lose him for good. She wasn't sure if she could handle that. She'd spent months blaming herself for starting the conversation that ended it all. This was how she could fix that. She could have it all again.

"I'm letting go of all other hands," he said. "None compare to yours."

"I'm not the girl you fell in love with."

"I don't want her. I want the woman in front of me. Believe it or not, Emma, I'm more than just a boy now."

She grinned. "Are you superboy?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling, "I'm superboy."

"Ian, you don't even know me."

"Then let's get to know each other." He stretched his hand. "Hi, I'm Ian."

"I can't forget this. Give me one good reason why we should try again."

"Because we never should've broken up in the first place."

"But we did. We can't change that."

"I know. But you just asked for a reason, and I gave you one."

"Why now? What happened?"

"I played this game because I thought I had to. I thought I had something to prove. I thought that being the Virginator would be my purpose here, my legacy."

"But?"

"High school is more than just awards and popularity contests. Awards get melted down and everyone forgets each other anyways. None of it lasts, and that's not what a legacy is."

"So what's your legacy?"

"Fixing things with you. Swallowing my pride for once."

Ian thought the silence between them was deafening. He needed her to say something. Anything. Even if it was to tell him to get out because then at least he'd know.

She shook the hand she was holding. "Hi, I'm Emma."