Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [102]
Nothing that had happened between Marcus and me was real.
I sprinted away—but not far or fast enough. Christ, I wish I hadn’t taken the fall that wrecked my leg.
"Jessica, listen to me for a second!" he yelled, grabbing my arm.
"Why should I?" I screamed, trying to pull away. "This whole thing was fixed from start to finish! You’re no better than Hy!"
"Come on, Darlene!"
"Don’t call me that! I’m tired of being a joke. I’m tired of being played."
"I know!" he said, gripping my arm tighter. "That’s what I was trying to tell you. I don’t want my relationship with you to be a game."
I was all ice and silence.
"Jessica, don’t you see?" He cupped my chin in his hand.
"See what?" I said, thawing with the warmth of his touch.
"You are the one who changed my life."
NONONONONONONONONNOONOONOONNONO!
Why did Marcus have to say that? Why? WHY? None of the girls he’s messed with wanted to be just another donut. They—we—all wanted to be the one who changed his life. The one who made him forget all the other girls who came before. He was telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, not because he meant it, but because he knew I wanted to hear it. What had made all our conversations so wonderful was their weirdness. Saying this, the "perfect" thing, ruined everything. Everything.
"Did you hear what I said?" he said again, now softly brushing my hair behind my ears with the very tips of his fingers.
"Fuck you."
"What?" he asked, eyes blinking madly.
I had never said Fuck you straight to someone’s face before. All forms of the word fuck are way overused—kids said Fuck you like it was What’s up? I always thought that if I ever were to say it, I would have to hate that person with a genocidal fury.
And that’s how much I hated Marcus at that moment.
"You heard me, Krispy. Fuck you."
He pulled his hands away from my hair, like he’d been electrocuted. I took off, and he didn’t try to catch me.
I ran all the way home, until my barely mended bones screamed in pain. I bolted up to my bedroom, unplugged the phone, and sobbed until I was sore, until I felt as though I’d twisted my body tight like a wet towel and wrung myself dry of tears.
Marcus and I didn’t have a connection.
One big mind game. Like Hy.
Like Cal, but way worse because I was about to peel off my panties.
How could I be such a moron?
How could I have jeopardized my friendship with Hope for THIS?
I played my conversations with Marcus over and over in my head. After hours of mental rewinding and fast-forwarding, one question kept repeating itself—first as a whisper, then louder—until I clamped my hands over my ears, vainly trying to shut it up:
Doesn’t his confession prove that he cares more about me than the others?
Others chimed in, no matter how hard I tried to drown them out:
Wasn’t it true that we didn’t really know each other then?
Didn’t we talk about things I’d never discussed with Hope?
Hadn’t I eavesdropped on him and Len Levy?
Maybe it’s not too late for us …
I was still floundering in a maelstrom of love, lust, and loathing when I felt an ache in my abdomen. I went to the bathroom, pulled down my tights, and saw the blood in my underpants.
Blood.
BLOOD!
Blood where there hadn’t been blood in over a year. My period made its comeback on the very night I’d planned to have sex. With Marcus.
Jesus Christ.
I’ve been laughing ever since this discovery—hard, loud, and crazy—because this is way too bizarre to be just a coincidence.
Is it a message from the higher power that controls synchronicity? Is it another one of my body’s built-in emergency anti-sex mechanisms? Is it a sign of the Y2K+1 apocalypse? Like the one doomsdayers predicted for last New Year’s Eve? Maybe my world is coming to an end a year later than I expected.
Or maybe, just maybe it means something else entirely. No matter what