Michelle_(5)

Michelle was the most beautiful girl I had seen. She was a brunette with curly hair who wore glasses, my two favorite physical traits in a girl. And she had a supple pair of breasts that made my crotch tingle every time I saw them. I’m not a pervert, but you can’t resist biological urges.

I never imagined myself having sex with Michelle. I just really wanted to be with her. I had never met someone, let alone a girl, who I had so much in common with. We both aspired to be lawyers, and we both loved reading and writing. I would make any excuse to study with her or ask her for help, even though I was known as an excellent writer. And most surprisingly, she was into cars as much as I was. We would talk for hours about naturally aspirated V8 engines, turbochargers, BMWs, and a bunch of other crap that you would expect guys to talk about while girls rolled their eyes and continued discussing the cute guy across the hall. It’s rare to find a girl who loves cars, and that really turned me on.

Michelle also really cared about me. Whenever I was stressed out, she would ask me if I needed anything, and would invite me to dinner so we could talk and relax. When I got sick, she would offer me vitamins and remind me to sleep early. Once, she even walked all the way down to Walgreens, in the rain, just to get me cold medicine. It was hard for me not to have feelings for someone who cared about me so much.

Of course, Michelle had a boyfriend. What was his name? Kyle. What an asshole. I’m not just saying that out of jealousy (although I was definitely jealous). He treated her like trash. Whenever he showed up, he put his arm around her and swaggered down the hall like he was all that. When he met someone new, he would introduce himself by pointing to her and saying, “Hey, I’m her boyfriend, in case you didn’t know.” Yes, we know.

Jealousy doesn’t begin to describe the half of it. I was absolutely furious. Every time I saw them on the couch, laughing and kissing, I wanted to punch a wall. My heart ached whenever Michelle left to go spend time with Kyle (at his frat house, obviously). And on those nights when she didn’t come back, I couldn’t sleep. Every thought of what they could be doing together made me angrier. Kyle didn’t deserve such a kind and intelligent girl, and I honestly couldn’t understand why she would fall for a guy like him.

When I told my roommate about my despair, his only reaction was, “Man, you’re in it deep.” If only I was. But he understood what I was going through. He had a crush on another girl on our floor, who also had a douchey boyfriend. Apparently, she would blabber on and on about how badly he treated her, instead of just breaking up with him. We both agreed that women just aren’t meant to be understood.

But I so badly wanted to understand. Michelle was beautiful, kind, and smart. Why on earth would someone like that fall for a dick like Kyle? One night, I had a chance to find out.

It was Michelle’s birthday, and of course, Kyle had forgotten. His excuse was, “I had to take care of some frat stuff.” And by “frat stuff,” he probably meant getting wasted with his buddies and banging some random chick. But I should thank Kyle, because this was my opportunity.

“You can’t just not celebrate your birthday. I’ll celebrate it with you. Just you and me. Come on, let’s go.”

She giggled. “But it’s already 10 o’clock.”

Well, I hadn’t thought that through. What was I going to do? Invite her to dinner at 10pm? Stupid.

“Well… I mean… we could… I…”

“Wait! I have some vodka left in the fridge.”

I was shocked. I moved backwards a little and cocked my eyebrow. “You drink?”

She laughed and said, “Wipe that look off your face. I can do whatever I want. Besides, look who’s talking.”

She was right. Out of everyone on our floor, I got drunk off the least amount of alcohol, and was the most severely drunk. We’re talking collapsing and crawling on the floor, and calling every white person a racist Nazi.

But Michelle knew this. Why would she invite me to drink? Was she looking to get me drunk?

No time to think. Of course I accepted.

We went into her room, and she closed the door. She and her roommate hate each other, so her roommate never stays in their room. She opened the fridge and pulled out an almost-full bottle of Skyy.

“Oh, you got the good stuff. And you drank some of it, too.”

“We all have our own ways of de-stressing.” She poured the shots.

“To Michelle. Happy birthday.” I winked (what the fuck?) and gulped it down.

Call me a pussy, but no matter how much I love to get drunk, vodka burns. I let out a pained sigh and shook my head back and forth a couple times.

She giggled with her tongue between her teeth, so sexy, and mocked, “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“Damn Russians. That’s fire in a bottle.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s mix it with some lemonade.” She pulled out a carton from the fridge.

“Well, look who’s a little bartender.”

She threw her head back and laughed. I loved it when I could make her do that. “Shut up! I’m only doing this because you can’t take it straight.”

Mixing the vodka with juice meant we could pour more than a shot’s worth into the cups. That was how I always got drunk so quickly.

After about 6 cups (yes, we’re weak), we were laying on the floor. Her cheeks were red. She giggled and rolled her head around, with her tongue between her teeth. I could only admire how attractive she was.

Then she grew quiet and stared off into space, like she was longing for something.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but I suddenly drew up the courage and said, “Hey, I want to ask you something. Be honest with me.”

I got up, offered her my hand, and helped her up. We leaned against the side of her bed, and I could smell her aroma from her sheets.

She met my gaze with a melancholy smile. “Alright. What’s up?”

“Why Kyle?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why him? You’re a smart and pretty girl, and he’s… well… a bit of… an asshole?” I waved my hand in a so-and-so more-or-less fashion, as if to say, “That about describes him, right?”

She giggled and said, “Yeah, he’s like that.”

What the hell kind of excuse was that?

“So then why did you choose him?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted someone to care about me.”

“What Kyle does isn’t called caring.”

She opened her arms wide. “Please, enlighten me.”

“Caring is taking the time to talk to someone when they’re stressed. When they’re sick, you take care of them and make sure they’re okay.” I looked at her sternly. “Caring is telling someone they deserve more than a boyfriend who’d rather party with his frat than celebrate your birthday.”

“Of course we care about each other, Danny.”

I put my hand over hers. “I really care about you.”

She looked at me as if I were a cute little puppy. “Awww!”

I scoffed angrily, pulled my hand away, and turned around.

She wrapped her arms around my waist. “No, come on, Danny! Haha, that’s so cute!”

I pulled away. “Why is everything so cute with you? I’m being serious. You don’t deserve to be with someone like him. What the hell’s wrong with you!”

That was louder than I intended. That tends to happen when I’m drunk.

A tear streamed down her eye and I immediately regretted everything I said. I regretted even coming into her room in the first place.

“Michelle. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and cried into my shoulder.

I was at a loss for words. All I could do was stroke her back until she calmed down.

Suddenly, I felt a slight pressure going up and down my neck. Then I heard a sucking noise that accompanied each pressure.

Shocked, I pulled away and stood up. “Wha…”

She got up and put her face against mine.