*author's note: I wrote this back when I was 17. My writing has improved beyond this point. I'm bringing it back only because of requests to.*
Nebella's name used to be Lane
Hazel's name used to be Hailey
Gideon's name used to be Nathan
I'm still editing this book and fixing the issues
Sorry x
Chapter One
At my age, I've only had one boyfriend my entire life.
"You two are screwed," was what my sister, Sarah, first said when I told her I was going to be in a long distance relationship with my boyfriend, Brandon, of four years. "I don't know why you'd even sign yourself up for something that's got doom written all over it..."
Sarah, unsurprisingly, wasn't the only skeptic when it came to my decision to be in a long distance relationship. And it wasn't like she didn't make any sense to question our decision. She had a point when she said "that's got doom written all over it." I went to East Oregon University while he attended a university in New York. He was born in New York and it was almost natural to go there for school since he had so many family members and old friends there.
Countless incoming freshmen tried the long distance thing and failed miserably. Knowing that we had survived the first year of college with minimal scratches was something many found baffling.
Soon enough, it got easier and easier to adjust my daily life without him at my side. Sure, it took time, but it wasn't impossible to accomplish. Before I knew it, freshman year had flown right by. And within that fraction of my life, I had made incredible friends.
The second semester ended with some great achievements, both for Brandon and I. He had gotten an amazing assistant job with an indie film studio, and I got an internship over at the Portland Tribune.
As the summer's unbearable heat neared its peak, fraternities and sororities students began to return to their houses up On The Hill (I capitalize it for a reason. If I didn't, I'm sure nearly all of the Greek-Life oriented students would pulverize me to a pulp). Even though I no longer lived on campus, I knew what was going on at East Oregon University.
Despite the inflow of a few students, the campus was still super quiet because it was the last three weeks before the insanity of college would pick up again, so many students tried to use their time sparingly as the countdown to the start of classes began.
A couple of fraternities and sororities had all piled into their top of the line lavishly furnished vehicles and drove over to the beach. They carpooled though so I guess that meant they lost snobby points and won earth friendly points.
Yippee.
Ever since I was a kid, I had always had a low tolerance for arrogance so it was a no-brainer that I didn't want to go. Even though I wasn't a sorority member, my two housemates—Monica and Hazel—wanted me to go with them to beach with the rest of their sorority sisters.
I told them that I'd rather set fire to my own head than go into that car with their so-called Sisters. And with that, they departed the apartment we all shared and followed their friends to the beach.
When I told Brandon on one of our Skype dates that I hadn't tagged along with my housemates, who were both part of Kappa Gamma, he made a funny face into his webcam. His expression only worsened when I told him my plans for the day and for the rest of summer break.
"I bet twenty dollars that you're the only girl on this entire planet that's reading instead of hanging out with her friends."
I rolled my eyes. Brandon always had to throw in his two cents whenever it came to something dealing with how I spent my personal time. When people invited me parties, I inform them that I need to study. When Hazel asked if I wanted to go shopping with her last week, I resided in my bedroom, steaming rerun episodes on my laptop instead. Going out wasn't my thing and Brandon was well aware of that. But he always tried and change that, no matter what I said or did.
"Do you just not have any fun over there at all?" he asked.
"You're starting to sound like my dad."
"Ouch. Don't family-zone me like that." He winced, patting where his heart was. "I'm just worried that you're purposely isolating yourself. Don't you do anything else with your time?"
I lifted my laptop and got comfortable on my bed and placed it onto my lap, angling it so Brandon could still see me with my crappy installed webcam. "Of course I do."
"Oh, really? When? You're always in your room." He leaned into his hand. "I'll even raise my twenty to a fifty. I know you've got to be the only one reading."
"Saying I'm the only one reading is highly unlikely. I'm sure there's someone out there doing the exact same thing I am."
"Okay fine," he puffed, returning the smile. "You're the only girl I personally know who's that insane." He did something similar with his desktop, moving it in closer. Whatever it was, it wobbled the shot on him for a bit, making it hard for me to see him clearly. When the shot stilled, I heard a voice in the background. Brandon's head bobbed up and he gave a lovely grin to whoever had walked in.
Curious, I asked, "Who just came in?"
"Trey and his cousin," he replied, but his eyes were still glued to his friends. I didn't know who the cousin was, but I definitely remembered Trey. Trey Sullivan was Brandon's best friend from before he moved to my hometown in Portland four years ago. When Brandon went back to New York, it was understandable that he roomed with his best pal since they both desperately needed a housemate.
A few words were exchanged, and then suddenly both Trey and his cousin got into the frame. I waved at them both and they waved back with equally large grins.
"Caught any new STD's?" I joked to Trey.
With the amount of sexual conquests he bragged about, I couldn't help tease him about it every time he made a guest appearance on our Skype dates. And even if he didn't brag, Brandon would surely complain about how he couldn't sleep because of a girl moaning in the room down the hall.
Despite the fact that Trey was too close to the camera, I could still see his arm shoot down to his crouch. "I've got one just for you, babe," he chimed smugly.
I cringed. There was nothing I hated more than a winker-besides calling me pet names, of course.
Brandon slapped the back of his head, cursing at him for using that kind of language with me. It was no use. Trey would do it anyway. He didn't have a filter.
"Not even in your wildest, wet dreams." I teased back.
"Night-terrors, babe," he corrected. "Get it right."
The three of us laughed. The stranger beside Trey spoke up for the first time, "You look younger than how Brandon made you out to be." He tilted his head, squinting at me harder. "I'm Nelson, by the way."
I was nearly twenty, but I got that comment quite frequently. I shrugged, not taking it to heart. "It's okay, I get it a lot."
"I can imagine," he huffed and nudged Brandon. "You sure she's even legal."
Brandon rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Nabela. Can you get this guy off his ass and into the next bar?!" Trey shouted, but it sounded more like a plea for help, a whimper almost. It wasn't the first time his friends begged me to get Brandon out of his apartment to hang out with his friends at the local bar. After Brandon's twenty first birthday, that was the only thing they ever tried to get Brandon to do.
Drinking wasn't Brandon's thing. After having to deal with an alcoholic father and an apologetic mother, constantly making excuses for his father's slip ups and drunken rages, Brandon had slowly developed a hate for alcoholic beverages in response. Occasionally, like for weddings or graduations, he'd have a sip, but never enough to get him slur his words and start babbling endlessly.
I didn't know much about Brandon's parents other than that. His mother eventually left his father, ending the marriage in an ugly divorce and leaving Brandon with his mother. She moved to Oregon shortly after, entering him into my high school in Clearwater, Oregon. They lived with her sister for the most part.
I'd once met his aunt, but I'd never met his mother. She, like my father, was always tied up with something off at work. I understood and didn't question it. My father had pushed himself more and more into his work after...
I shook my head, not wanting to think about it. I sighed, reminding myself where I was and frowned at Brandon's housemate. "Trey, you know I can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do."
"C'mon. I've been begging him since noon," he begged. "It's Abby's birthday and I think everyone would be more than happy to have him come."
"But I haven't seen Nabela for a while," Brandon argued.
"Take a plane over and see her then." Trey said.
"You know what I mean." Brandon grumbled. No one messed with our Skype time. Any chance we got to talk, we did. But Skype was only used when either of us missing each other to an extreme extent. Today was one of those days. Brandon had a horrible day at his internship, so for the most part it was him venting and me letting him vent.
Brandon sighed. "You know I haven't seen her on Skype in nearly two weeks now. I'd appreciate it if you didn't force your way into this time between us and make me do something I genuinely don't want to do. Also, you know I never liked Abby to begin with." He couldn't see Trey from behind him, but I could. And after he said that, Trey rolled his eyes and mouthed to the camera:
Your boyfriend's so whipped.
I couldn't help, but chuckle for how inaccurate that statement was. Brandon, who was talking to Trey's cousin, glanced back at me and was about to ask what I was laughing at, but before he could finish his question, he was interrupted by Nelson.
"You talked to her this morning, and this afternoon, and during lunch, and now at night." Nelson droned on and on. "Ugh, what else is there for you two to talk about?"
Stung with a pinch of annoyance at his tone, I glared at my screen. After hearing that, I confirmed that I didn't liked Nelson very much.
The noise of someone crashing into my room ripped my attention away from my computer. I glanced up, and like I had suspected, my housemates—Hazel and Monica—trotted into the room and slammed the door shut behind them. I would've been mad at them if it wasn't for the fact that they were in here because my bathroom had the only shower. Bathing in the hot sun, they probably wanted to wash off the sand and the smell of the beach.
Still in her pink bathing suit, Hazel walked in, toweling her hair. Monica, on the other hand, was already dressed in a different set of clothes than what she had on when she left. The only thing that indicated that she had gone along with her Sisters was the fact that her hair was still dripping wet, leaving her blue polo wet from around her shoulders and down her back, darkening the fabric.
Hazel craned her neck to get a good look at my screen, most likely to see who I was talking to out of curiosity, and because she was just a noisy person. Instantly, she reeled back when she saw three pair of eyes gawking at her partially naked body.
She shrieked in shock and hurried off to the other side of the room. "Nabela! Why didn't you tell me there were boys on your screen!?"
I shrugged nonchalantly, unshaken by her shouting. "You didn't ask."
"Well, hello to whoever that was." Trey smirked, thoroughly scanning the space behind me in the hopes of getting another glimpse at my housemate. "Who was that anyway?"
"Don't hold your breath," I snorted. "She's not into boys."
Trey's head knocked back as he gnawed down on the corner of his lip. "That's hot."
"You know if I gave two shits about you, I'd get you some serious help for that messed up head of yours," I said frankly. "This addiction to women you can't have is getting far out of hand."
"I'm sorry I'm not as 'perfect' as your boyfriend." He exhaled stiffly, making air-quotes.
"You and Brandon continue to amaze me," Monica sighed from the corner of my room where the large floor to ceiling window I had. I turned my head and spotted her brushing a comb through her puffy, coarse hair. It was a lot like my own, but a little less manageable. "I can't even be around Tony longer than a certain amount of time without getting in some kind of argument."
"She's not lying. I've kept time on the both of them," Hazel chimed in, "It's approximately three hours and fifteen minutes."
"So exact," I chuckled. Momentarily, my gaze drifted down to my laptop. Without even saying goodbye, Brandon had gotten off Skype. That didn't make any sense. He would've at least said goodbye, or warned me before leaving. I frowned at the now unanimated screen in front of me and shut down my computer. Doing my best to mask my current emotion, I turned to my friends and questioned: "How'd you measure that?"
"I just asked her to text me when she got over to his apartment, you know, on dates or whatever. Then, I'd count up until she started texting me about how stupid or ignorant he was acting."
"Don't forget inconsiderate and incompetent," Monica growled through clenched teeth. Roughly, she pushed her curly hair into a beanie and stalked over to our closet and pulled out a salmon colored blouse that would look nice against her chestnut, dark skin. As she peeled off the blue polo, she said, "I don't know why I even put up with his shit."
"Every couple gets in fights. It's normal," I explained and placed the laptop onto my nightstand while I got to my feet. "But if every fight feels like you're trapped in a constant cycle—fight, breakup, makeup—then maybe you should try a different approach. I've been around you guys enough times to see that he's got a very dominating personality that goes against your stubborn personality. It makes sense why you guys wouldn't mesh well, given your upbringing."
Monica froze. "Have...have you been analyzing our behavior?"
"Uh, kind of." I confessed. "It's a bad habit that happens on its own."
"Make way," Hazel teased, "Psych major coming through."
I rolled my eyes and ignored her, crossing my arms over my chest, "Maybe it's not too late in the relationship to fix it."
Monica groaned. "Nabela...I don't know if I want to fix it." She said, tucking her head into the shirt and her arms through the short sleeves.
That caught me off guard. I blinked at her repeatedly, trying to fully understand what she meant, before replying with: "If he stresses you out so much, why do you stay around him so much?"
"That's a good question." She rubbed her eyes with her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose as a sigh in distress rumbled out of her. "I guess because of familiarity," she answered, raising her voice at the end, as if it was supposed to be a question. "Really, I don't know."
I frowned. "That's not a very good reason, M."
"I don't have a better response." She shrugged, halfhearted and visibly defeated.
"Enough about your love lives," Hazel exclaimed from inside the en suit of my bedroom. "I've got a question for you."
I pointed at myself, unsure, "Me?"
She walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed in tight jean shorts and a pink and red sweater that had her sororities name in orange letters across her chest. "How do you feel about sports?"
"I hate them," I said effortlessly, "Unless there's bloodshed involved."
"What the hell, Nabela!?" Monica burst into a fit of laughter. "You sounded barbaric there for a second there."
"What?" I raised my hands, defenselessly, "Is it a crime to want to see a bloody nose now and then?"
Monica and Hazel locked eyes when I said that, like something internally clicked for the both of them. Which, may I remind you, never happens. A blue moon was more likely to occur than for those two to be on the same page about anything.
"Me, you, Monica." Hazel listed on her fingers. "Tonight. We're all going out somewhere."
"What?" I narrowed my eyes, glancing at the both of them. To my surprise, Monica was nodding along, agreeing to this plan before it was even established what in God's name we'd be doing. "It's a Wednesday, Hazel. There's nothing to do in Cloverdale, but get drunk in some field."
"It'll be fun," she promised, grabbing my hands and squeezing them hard. "Trust me."
"No, no, no, no, no," I repeated. "The last time you said those exact words, you got all three of us nearly arrested and sent straight to the Dean. And I'm still afraid of horses because of what happened!"
"I swear, Nabela! There will not be a repeat of the Groundhogs day incident."
My stern expression didn't falter just yet. "I don't believe you." I faced Monica. "Tell me this isn't a repeat."
"It's not," she reassured me. And just like that, I let them dress me "for the occasion" around half past midnight. I was refused to wear high heels or shoes with any form of heel. They didn't give me a hint on where we were going. I got into Monica's car, blindly trusting them that they weren't involving me in some illegal activity.
The world they were throwing me into was far worse than what I had feared.
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