The Virgin and the Whore

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I woke up with absolutely no idea of where I was. I mean, I knew I was in the bed of some strange girl, but that was about as much as I could decipher. For all I knew I could be in another state. I wouldn't let it pass me. Lately any bad idea seemed like a fantastic idea to drunk-me.

The blond haired naked girl was sleeping soundly beside me. I thought about waking her up but then decided against it. What was the point anyway? Even if I had promised her my undying love last night, though I'm pretty confident I hadn't, I hoped she knew better than to believe a drunk guy like me.

I felt like even more of a dick than I already was.

Quietly, I got out of the bed and went on a scavenger hunt for my clothes. My boxers ended up being the most difficult to find—they were bundled up in between the sheets of the bed.

When I was fully clothed and ready to go, I looked at the girl. I thought about waking her up again. But what was the point. I had no idea what was her name. I had no idea at what point we'd met and what had happened exactly between us. And I was too much of a coward to deal with all of these question marks.

When I got out of her apartment and onto the sidewalk, I realized I was about three miles away from the dorms. I could have called a cab but I preferred walking back. It would sober me up a bit and help me clear my thoughts.

I lighted a cigarette even if I didn't really need to. I just wanted to make my bad breath more recent, to be able to put the blame on it.

I had started to smoke pretty much the weekend after my father had died. That weekend, I went to a club for the first time. I got drunk. I smoke outside the club with those club-friends you'd make when drunk and clueless. Smoking used to be more of a clubbing habit—it would be a good reason to step outside and chat with someone farther away from the deafening noise. It was a good way to start a conversation with a girl too. Light and cigarettes were prized commodities. For the last couple of months though, I'd find myself smoking more, lots of time when I'd be walking outside.

If my father could see me now, he'd die again.

If my mother saw me... I have no idea how she'd react honestly. I never knew her well enough to know.

I had no idea what I was doing with myself.

Dropping out of pre-med had seemed like the most logical idea after my father had died. My father had dedicated all of the effort he put on me into making me into the next him. He wanted me to be a neurosurgeon and to follow in his footsteps. My artistic inclinations, as he liked to call them, were in his mind just a fire hazard, a gateway to dwelling on dark thoughts and if I became too engrossed with art I would succumb to them.

When the bastard died, the best way to rebel had seemed like studying art and letting free reign to my artistic inclinations.

But now, after failing classes last semester, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I had no idea what to do.

It was time like these where I needed Tyler to shake some sense into me and to tell me I was being a drama queen. If it wasn't for my best friend I really had no idea what would have become of me in the last year.

The first time I had met Tyler was when his not-yet-brother-in-law Blake had a cracked skull as a result from falling because of a seizure. Tyler's mother had called my father for a favour and flew him out of a retreat with other neuroscientists—which was really just an excuse to get away for a weekend and play golf, but whatever. My father had brought me along with him because he didn't like to leave me alone and with no mother to look over me and because he didn't trust anyone to babysit me, following him was my only option.