Harvard

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
If you're offended by a lot of foul mouth and cheating chicks, then don't read this. kthxbai.

OKAY! After a nice 4ish month hiatus of writing absolutely nothing, I AM BACK! Whooo! Thank you, dreams, for giving me story ideas developed in my deep unconscience.

Submitted: August 12, 2010

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Submitted: August 12, 2010

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I lived in a town full of fuck-ups. There was simply no other way to put it. Thanks to shitty parents, I could chug a fifth of vodka by the end of eighth grade. I don’t know how many guys I had one-night stands with on stupid Friday nights, only to fuck them again the following weekend because there weren’t enough kids in town to mix it up. It was a southern beach town in California, not even on the map. The high school contained 40 kids. My graduating class had 12 students. It was a dream graduation ceremony, since it only lasted half an hour.
 
I lived here for the first 18 years of my life, until college on the east coast whisked me away from the awful place. Thank you, Harvard University. And thank you good grades. Just because I parties didn’t mean I didn’t give it my all in school.
 
I bet you’re surprised to find that out. Half the kids from my old town don’t even go to college. They don’t realize that they get old and need money from a good job to save for their retirement, or that one day, probably in their 40’s, their liver is going to fail them.
 
I don’t plan on being like that. For one, I don’t smoke. I carry cigarettes around because most of my friends smoked, but I never touched them. That remains the same, two years after I left home. I gave up drinking and sex to focus on my studies. Sometimes I’d get letters from home, but I never responded. My ironic parents. My father would write secrets to me. His handwriting and spelling would suggest he was drunk. He’d say, “Now don’t tell yer mama but I like guys like a lot. And I cheat on her a lot with our neighbor Krackle. You remember Mr. Krackle? Did you know that he’s gay and I cheat on yer mama with him?”
 
No sir, I did not know that Mr. Krackle was gay and that you cheated on my mama with him. But I do know. And it sure as hell doesn’t shock me. I was emotionless against the sudden, strange outbursts of my parents. My mother’s letter that she sent in a week after the letter regarding my father’s sexuality was even stranger.
 
“I’m so sorry baby but did you know that your father isn’t actually your father? You’re real father is Mr. Krackle, do you remember him? We were at a drunken party 20 years ago, and we were having so much fun and then” – I’ll omit these details to you. I can summon it up in a less gruesome way though: gangbang – “and did you know that we still do it on your father’s workbench when he’s at work?”
 
You mean when he’s at a gay bar picking up dudes? And no ma’am, I did not know any of that. Thanks for telling me in a goddamn letter that bisexual Mr. Krackle, who my parents both sex it up with, is my real father after fucking him drunk at some party.
 
And this could be described as normal. You see what I mean about my life now? The people at Harvard though, no, they’re not messed up like that. So all I had to do was flash a smile and pretend I was a rich bitch just like them. I even had a yuppie boyfriend for six months. I would even go farther and say that I was relatively happy with him, and that I never cheated on him. As we neared eight months of being together, drama, brought back from that strange little beach town, came back to fuck me.
 
All I was doing was reading a book about the age of social catastrophe under a tree in a park near campus. Dogs and their joggers jogged by; families pushing strollers strolled, out for this beautiful spring day; college friends of mine out to read like me read under trees like me – they all passed with smiles on their faces.
 
Another figure stepped up next to me, shading my book from the sunlight. I glanced up and there was Dustin. An older version of a kid with the maturity of a 14-year-old who knew too much about the anatomy of a human female. I pretended not to remember him.
 
“Excuse me,” I stated politely, “would you please move? You’re blocking my light.”
 
He leaned down, grinning like a dork. The wind tossled his dust hair, and the sunlight passed over his head and onto the pages of my book. Damn.
 
“Would you please go away? I feel uncomfortable with you in my space.”
 
His lips spread apart slightly, revealing perfectly white teeth. They were beautiful.
 
“You’ve never minded me being this close before, Carissa. In fact, on more than one occasion, I’m pretty sure you begged me, with those big blue puppy dog eyes, for me to insert some part of me into some part of you.”
 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please take your perverted comments elsewhere.” I turned a page in my book.
 
“Eesh, the ivy league has really weirded out your brain, hasn’t it?” He sounded amused.
 
“Harvard fixed me,” I said, refusing to look at him. “Before here – that was the time I was truly messed up. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
 
Dustin stood up. He never once erased the smile from his face.
 
“I think I understand more than you do, Carissa. You’ll see. People don’t change.” He strolled away, shouting an exuberant “hey babe” to a girl wearing a sports bra as she jogged by.
 
“Well you certainly didn’t change,” I muttered, turning another page.
 
Dustin was a particular case for me. He almost served as an attachment for me. A first love, as some might dare call it. He was the only one I ever called back after one of those wild nights. And of course, he was ecstatic. I was girl – unofficially, duh, and it was an open relationship – but I was his favorite. He’d had sex with me more than any other girl, and vice versa. Being around him made me happy and contemplative and daring. But it wasn’t like that anymore. Simon, my current boyfriend, had been begging me to let him meet my parents. I would always say, “Wait a little while. They are on the other side of the country after all!”
 
Now I was lucky. I had the opportunity to get rid of his parental wishes. Molly came up to me and asked me who the cute guy I had been talking to was. It was perfect, I could eliminate my past for good now, so long as Dustin cooperated.
 
“My brother. He was my brother, Dustin. He came to tell me that… that my parents just passed away because of a car crash…” I thought of that time when I was six years old and saw a dead kitten on the road, crushed by speeding wheels, small enough to fit into only my hand. It brought tears to my eyes, but Molly, who was no mind reader, believed that I was grieving over the loss of my parents.
 
“Oh my gosh, that’s so horrible! Carissa, I’m so sorry…” She leaned down to comfort me, but I pushed her away.
 
“I just want to be alone right now,” I hiccupped. Damn I should’ve been an actress. Like Fiona wanted to be back in California.
 
Molly was a gullible person, and also very talkative. The first person she told must have been Simon. He called me up later that night while I lay in my dorm room bed, thinking about Dustin.
 
“If I can’t meet your parents anymore, then may I please meet your brother so that I may pay my respects to him as well?” he asked over the phone. “I honestly didn’t know you had one. It’s good that you still have family left.”
 
“Yeah.”
 
I didn’t even know what I was going to do about Dustin. If he met Simon he was sure to blow my cover about not being a virgin, and how my parents were alive and healthy and weird, and how messed up I was only two years earlier. I told Simon that I was a virgin because of his religion (no sex before marriage), and I really liked him. So I lied and said that I popped my cherry while masturbating, just in case he had any confusion about why my little “girlie wall” wasn’t there. I had keep my past separate from my present.
 
But Dustin sure posed a problem. I called him and requested coffee on Monday morning.
 
“Gosh, you’re quite in a little rut,” he gushed. “Coffee? Morning? Are you kidding me?”
 
“Just don’t be hungover please, I really do need you to pay attention to what I have to say,” I said sternly.
 
“Yes mother.”
 
Meeting with him was not my idea of a fantastic morning, but it had to be done. I jumped right into the conversation, ignoring his over-friendly hello and the way his eyes molested the slight cleavage created from my tight button-down shirt.
 
“Look, I told my friend Molly – ”
 
“Is she hot?”
 
“No. But I told her – ”
 
“Aww…”
 
“Shut up. She saw us at the park talking together, so I told her that you were my brother and our parents just died in a car crash. So you’ll be able to play along with this, right? Simon wants to meet you.”
 
“Hook me up with a sexy smart girl and you got yourself a deal.”
 
“Agreed.” I held my hand out to shake on the agreement, but he just stared at my fingers like he didn’t understand my gesture.
 
“What the fuck, Carissa, what the fuck.”
 
Molly was, of course, the first person I thought of to hook Dustin up with. I lied to him – she was actually very pretty, and she thought that Dustin was pretty, too, so they seemed like an acceptable match. She immediately and anxiously said yes.  Now the hard part began. I set up reservations at a nice local Italian restaurant that I was sure both guys would like.
 
“Dress nicely,” I told Dustin.
 
“That’s gay.”
 
“No it’s not, now do what I say.”
 
From the beginning, the dinner was awkward. Simon was so polite, going up to Dustin and hugging him, whispering “I’m so sorry” in his ear.
 
“This dude’s a faggot!” Dustin mouthed over Simon’s shoulder.
 
No, Simon is not gay, and “faggot” is such a rude word…
 
Dustin kept the conversation fresh and away from how eccentric my parents were, nor did he ever erase that smug look off his face. It reminded me that he was the one with the power. He was the one calling the shots and held my entire Harvard sphere in his hands.
 
Overall all parties were congenial.  I tried not to talk much, and found amusement in the fabrication of what our parents were like by wonderful Dustin. My mother was the miraculous Emma Myon, Ph.D.. Father was the esteemed owner of a popular little hardware store, known only in California. Such bullshit. Like my parents could ever get anywhere in life.
 
After dinner, Simon drove me back to my dorm. Dustin went off to I don’t know where in his surprisingly neat but out-of-style tuxedo. When Simon made a comment about it, I just responded that that’s “how we do it in Cali.” He escorted me to my room and kissed me goodnight, and I fell into my bed, full of relief that this was all over. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that Dustin wouldn’t leave.
 
My roommate wasn’t anywhere in the dorm. Casey said she had been invited to a frat party, so I assumed she wouldn’t be back anytime soon. She’d probably hook up with an older guy and stay at the frat house, and in the morning wake up feeling groggy and wondering how she got into a bed with a guy who was beneath her league. I closed my eyes, happy that the room was all mine tonight.
 
The door opened. Well I guess I was wrong about my roommate Lisa. I muttered a hello as her body drew closer to mine. She’d often get a little horny for girls when she was drunk, so all I had to do was push her away until she passed out on the floor.
 
“The other bed, Lis,” I grumbled, shoving her off.
 
“Hi.”
 
Dustin? My eyes popped open and there he was, laying next to me in my bed.
 
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, jumping up.
 
“Making sexual advances towards you.”
 
“Did you not just meet my boyfriend earlier tonight?” This man was truly exasperating.
 
His smile widened. “The Carissa I know doesn’t care about relationships like that. So let’s just sex it up like the old days, eh?”
 
“I don’t think so,” I said flatly. “I’m happy with Simon.”
 
“Happy? In a relationship? Don’t give me that crap, people don’t change. You haven’t changed.”
 
I would never admit this to Dustin, but I missed his sex. It was strange and fun and erotic. In fact I missed all sex. Simon, yeah he loved me, but he was a guy who believed only in sex after marriage (although that still doesn’t mean we haven’t done nasty things…). I thought about it, truly. Simon and I were at a stasis. We definitely were not going to get married, and so our relationship wasn’t advancing at all. It was almost getting boring. In fact it was completely boring. Lisa wasn’t coming back.
 
It was hot. It was passionate. It was the best sex I ever had. It was porn worthy.
 
He pushed me up against the wall, threw me onto my bed, onto Lisa’s bed, and jumped on me. The rough way he handled me was exhilarating, and new and different and took me back to the past. I wanted to get drunk. The dizziness and confusion was a good feeling for me. I wanted to fuck every guy I saw. The promiscuity… whore-ness, actually – it made me feel powerful and sexy.
 
We lay in bed with the covers pulled up over our naked bodies, and Dustin poured me a shot of vodka. I don’t know where he hid the bottle of alcohol considering how I undressed him, but I wasn’t going to be unappreciative.
 
And as the door opened, we looked up to see Simon waltzing through, saying, “Baby I’m still worried about you so I wanted to check in…”
 
He saw me. He saw Dustin.
 
Dustin smiled. “It’s the way we do it in Cali.” He made no mention of that fact that he was not my brother, or that we were now together.
 
Simon’s face was unreadable. He just turned around and left. I don’t know if he felt hurt, anger, shock, or disgust. All of them, and more, probably. The door was wide open, and friends of mine passed by, peering into my room with horrifying looks on their face. I remained as calm as I could. And when Molly came by, she could only stare at Dustin’s chest.
 
And he reached over and stuck a cigarette in my mouth and lit it for me. I breathed in the smoke. It tasted awful, sticky and sweet, but I could get used to it. Dustin was wrong. People do change. And so next to him I smoked by first cigarette, proving that to him.


© Copyright 2020 TheCamelKid. All rights reserved.

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