Walking Disaster

“I don’t want you to change.”

“Then tell me what to do. Tell me and I’ll do it,” I pleaded.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she asked.

I frowned, unsure what she would do. “Sure.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, handing it to her.

She fingered the buttons for a moment, and then dialed, closing her eyes as she waited.

“I’m sorry for calling you so early,” she stammered, “but this couldn’t wait. I . . . can’t go to dinner with you on Wednesday.”

She had called Parker. My hands trembled with apprehension, wondering if she was going to ask him to pick her up—to save her—or something else.

She continued, “I can’t see you at all, actually. I’m . . . pretty sure I’m in love with Travis.”

My whole world stopped. I tried to replay her words over. Had I heard them correctly? Did she really just say what I thought she had, or was it just wishful thinking?

Abby handed the phone back to me, and then reluctantly peered up into my eyes.

“He hung up,” she said with a frown.

“You love me?”

“It’s the tattoos,” she said, flippant and shrugging, as if she hadn’t just said the one thing I’d ever wanted to hear.

Pigeon loved me.

A wide smile stretched across my face. “Come home with me,” I said, enveloping her in my arms.

Abby’s eyebrows shot up. “You said all that to get me in bed? I must have made quite an impression.”

“The only thing I’m thinking about right now is holding you in my arms all night.”

“Let’s go.”

I didn’t hesitate. Once Abby was securely on the back of my bike, I raced home, taking every shortcut, rushing every yellow light, and weaving in and out of the little traffic there was at that time of the morning.

When we reached the apartment, turning off the engine and lifting Abby into my arms seemed simultaneous.

She giggled against my lips as I fumbled with the bolt lock on the front door. When I set her down and closed the door behind us, I let out a long, relieved sigh.

“It hasn’t seemed like home since you left,” I said, kissing her again.

Toto scampered down the hall and wagged his shaggy tail, pawing at Abby’s legs. He’d missed her almost as much as I had.

Shepley’s bed squeaked, and then his feet stomped across the floor. His door flew open as he squinted from the light. “Fuck no, Trav, you’re not pulling this shit! You’re in love with Ab . . .”—his eyes focused and he recognized his mistake—“by. Hey, Abby.”

“Hey, Shep,” Abby said with an amused smile, setting Toto on the floor.

Before Shepley could ask questions, I pulled Abby down the hall. We crashed into each other. I hadn’t planned on anything but having her next to me in the bed, but she yanked my shirt up and over my head with intention. I helped her with her jacket, and then she stripped off her sweater and tank top. There was no questioning the look in her eyes, and I wasn’t about to argue.

Soon we were both completely naked, and the small voice inside of me wanting to savor the moment and take things slow was easily overpowered by Abby’s desperate kisses and the soft hums she made whenever I touched her pretty much anywhere.

I lowered her to the mattress, and her hand shot out toward the nightstand. Instantly, I remembered my unceremonious breaking of the fishbowl of condoms to pledge my intended celibacy.

“Shit,” I said, panting. “I got rid of them.”

“What? All of them?”

“I thought you didn’t . . . if I wasn’t with you, I wasn’t going to need them.”

“You’re kidding me!” she said, letting her head fall against the headboard in frustration.

I leaned down, breathing hard, resting my forehead against her chest. “Consider yourself the opposite of a foregone conclusion.”

The next moments were a blur. Abby did some weird counting, concluding that she couldn’t get pregnant that particular week, and before I knew it, I was inside of her, feeling every part of her against every part of me. I had never been with a girl without that thin sheath of latex, but apparently a fraction of a millimeter made a lot of difference. Every movement created equally overpowering conflicting feelings: delaying the inevitable, or giving in because it felt so f**king good.

When Abby’s hips rose against mine, and her uncontrolled groans and whimpers escalated to a loud, satisfied cry, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Abby,” I whispered, desperate. “I need a . . . I need to . . .”

“Don’t stop,” she begged. Her fingernails dug into my back.

I rocked into her again one last time. I must have been loud, because Abby’s hand flew up to my mouth. I closed my eyes, letting everything go, feeling my eyebrows press together while my body convulsed and stiffened. Breathing hard, I looked into Abby’s eyes. Wearing only a tired, satisfied smile, she peered up at me, waiting for something. I kissed her over and over, and then cupped each side of her face with my hands, kissing her again, this time more tenderly.

Abby’s breathing slowed, and she sighed. I leaned my body to the side, relaxing next to her, and then pulled her against me. She rested her cheek against my chest, her hair cascading down my arm. I kissed her forehead once more, locking my fingers together at the small of her back.

“Don’t leave this time, okay? I wanna wake up just like this in the morning.”

Abby kissed my chest, but didn’t look up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

THAT MORNING, LYING WITH THE WOMAN I LOVED, A SILENT promise was formed in my head. I was going to be a better man for her, someone she deserved. No more flying off the handle. No more temper tantrums, or violent outbursts.

Every time I pressed my lips against her skin, waiting for her to wake up, I repeated that promise in my mind.

Dealing with life outside the apartment while trying to stay true to that promise proved to be a struggle. For the first time, I not only gave a shit about someone, but I was also desperate to keep them. Feelings of overprotection and jealousy chipped away at the oath I’d made just a few hours before.

By lunchtime, Chris Jenks had pissed me off and I regressed. Abby was thankfully patient and forgiving, even when I threatened Parker not twenty minutes later.

Abby had proved more than once that she could accept me for who I was, but I didn’t want to be the violent ass**le everyone was used to. Mixing my rages with these new feelings of jealousy was more difficult to control than I could have imagined.

I resorted to avoiding situations that could throw me into a rage, and remaining oblivious to the knowledge that not only was Abby insanely hot, every dick on campus was curious how she had tamed the one man they thought would never settle down. It seemed they were all waiting for me to f**k up so they could try her out, which only made me more agitated and cantankerous.

To keep my mind occupied, I focused on making it clear to the coeds that I was off the market, which had pissed off half the school’s female population.

Walking into the Red with Abby on Halloween, I noticed that the sharp, late fall air didn’t hinder the number of women wearing an array of slutty costumes. I hugged my girlfriend to my side, grateful that she wasn’t one to dress up as Prostitute Barbie, or a football-player-slash-transvestite-whore, which meant that the number of threats I would have to make for staring at her tits or worrying about her bending over would be kept to a minimum.