January 11th – 7:46 P.M.
I’ve finally unpacked all of my clothing. Arranging everything properly and ironing where necessary will have to become tomorrow’s activity. I’m exhausted and horrifically jetlagged. At least I have things where they’re meant to be. I’m glad that we still get a grace period before classes start, even with the changing academic calendar.
I was told countless times over the holidays that the spring semester of one’s Junior year would be the most stressful. I firmly intend to make it my simplest yet. Advanced PoliSci and Business courses should be as easy as breathing. Prof. Merino says I’m on my way to valedictorian at this rate. I’m not surprised.
Lovelace is moving in tomorrow afternoon. I don’t understand why he refuses to leave more things in the dorm over the holidays so he could fly instead of drive. It would save him days of travel, and I know full well that he doesn’t touch half of the trinkets he painstakingly places and replaces each semester. I suppose the empty dorm is nice, even though we have more privacy now. I have our on-campus pseudo-apartment to myself for almost a full day.
If the last few semesters are anything to go on, he’ll expect me to help him unpack and rearrange… because God forbid Frey Lovelace keeps to himself for more than two minutes. He’s lucky I’m “generous” by nature.
Valence never liked the dining hall. It was far too noisy and crowded for his introverted tastes. It was somewhat quiet, since campus was still only half-populated, and he took that as a blessing. He fiddled absently with the ruby bracelet on his left wrist, staring down at his chef salad with disdain.
“If you didn’t want it, you shouldn’t have gotten it,” Frey laughed from his seat across from him. He reached out and plucked an exposed piece of hard-boiled egg from Valence’s dish.
“I had lunch four hours ago. I’m still full.”
Frey shrugged and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like More for me! as he pulled the plate to his side of the table. “Why’d you come along if you didn’t want to eat?”
Valence couldn’t stop himself from sighing. The question hung in the air, answered by the expressions on their faces. Frey was talking– no, complaining– to Valence about how hungry he was the entire time he was unpacking. After the two finished, Frey had grabbed him by the hand and all but dragged him across campus to the dining hall. He was even “kind” enough to make a show out of using an extra meal point since Valence wasn’t on a plan this semester.
“You have no shame, Lovelace,” he said.
Frey stabbed his fork into the salad. “Am I supposed to?”
Another question unanswered.
“How was the flight?” Frey asked after a few minutes.
“As horrible as ever. Yours?”
“Oh, my drive?” he chuckled, putting theatrical emphasis on the word. “I was having the time of my life. Maybe one of these breaks you should come back to Florida with me, songbird.”
“I’d rather put lemon juice in my eyes,” Valence felt the smile creeping onto his lips and forced his face back into a neutral expression. “than be in a car with you for longer than an hour.”
“You love me, really!”
“I most certainly do not.”
February 14th – 9:15 P.M.
I believe I’ve underestimated the “punch” of high-level classes. I wouldn’t say I’m completely in over my head, since I am still taking some 100-level classes to fill requirements, but my PoliSci and Business classes alone cost me almost twenty hours a week. I know that napkin math means almost nothing, but that’s eighty hours so far. My planner has quickly become my best friend again. I wasn’t expecting to rely on it so heavily this semester, but I barely have a choice. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to maintain both my academic and social life.
My health appears to be caught in the crossfire as well. I haven’t developed any sickness yet (knock on wood) but I have been getting less sleep. I can thank Lovelace for that. He seems to be just as overwhelmed as I am, and yet he still makes time to bring his dates home. He seems to have a natural talent for finding the loudest person in any given situation and tormenting me with the cacophony the two of them make. It’s absolutely ridiculous. He knows perfectly well that these walls are thin as paper– we’ve had entire, perfectly understood conversations while being separated by them– and yet he seems to insist on making as much noise as humanly possible. I couldn’t drown out that “lovemaking music” (Lovelace’s disgusting words) if I tried.
I wouldn’t be as upset if he did it at any other time. Our afternoons are perfectly staggered. Surely he’s capable of finding someone to engage with on a Tuesday afternoon, or even any time when I’m out of the dorm. He knows my schedule– there have been days where I walked out of class to see him waiting for me. Why does he seem incapable of basic courtesy? Some of us are trying to sleep.
Valence couldn’t turn his music up any louder, but he kept pressing the volume up button on his phone in a desperate attempt to make the placebo effect kick in. This was the tenth day in a row that Frey had brought a partner back. Valence would almost be impressed if he didn’t feel so sick to his stomach.
“What about your roommate?”
The feminine voice floated through in the agonizing seconds between songs. At least this one has the decency to be concerned.
“He sleeps like a rock. C’mon, dove, take that off alre–”
Parlor jazz cut the words short. Valence rolled over in bed to stare up at the ceiling, his arms loosely at his sides.
He slowly became aware of the way his stomach was churning. It took a handful of songs, a few twists and turns in bed, but he was unmistakably nauseous. It made him pause for a moment, eyes again fixed to the dark ceiling. He had every right to be disgusted at this moment. His roommate, who he shares a wall with, was actively having sex while Valence was trying to sleep. His roommate, who he is technically friends with and converses with on a daily basis, has been having sex with a different person every day for over a week. His roommate, who will look him in the eye tomorrow as if nothing happened, is some kind of midnight nymphomaniac freak with a callous disregard for others’ sleep. Valence had every right to be angry at that, did he not?
Anger. That was the right emotion for the situation. It had to be. That was the only explanation for how sick he felt. Yes, he felt so nauseated by the very idea that he was almost certain he would vomit if he moved too quickly. That was the proper response to the situation, of course. It had to be. There could be no other explanation. He wouldn’t look for another.
The woman cried out Frey’s name. Valence put his hands over his ears.
March 3rd – 7:03 A.M.
7:30 – Morning routine
8:00 – Run
8:30 – Breakfast
9:00 – Study for Business 320 quiz (First half)
10:00 – PoliSci 401
11:30 – Meet w/ Prof. Merino
12:20 – Lunch
1:00 – Read Atlas Shrugged (Part 2, Chapter 8)
2:30 – Art 105 (Photography lab)
4:00 – Finish PoliSci 401 essay
5:00 – Study for Business 320 quiz (Second half)
6:30 – Work on History 103 project (Surface-level research)
7:00 – Chess club meeting
8:15 – Night routine Celebration Dinner w/ Lovelace
March 3rd – 10:18 P.M.
I would prefer a birthday that wasn’t overshadowed by work and classes. This semester is truly putting me through the ringer. I was fully prepared to give up on celebrating today at all. To my utter surprise, Lovelace decided that course of action was unacceptable, and demanded that we go out to dinner after Chess club. I told him that I would agree if I lost our game.
I cannot believe I lost.
For all his faults, Lovelace can be a good friend. The dinner and conversation flowed easily. He convinced me into a wine pairing– he told me it would “fit my aesthetic” or some drivel. I suppose it was quite fun to get my ID handed back to me with a smile and a Happy 21st birthday!
For some reason, I can’t shake the way Lovelace was looking at me. It was contemplative, almost upset. It wasn’t pity or shame, and I spent the silent moments trying to puzzle it out. I couldn’t find any hint.
The wine wasn’t fully unpleasant. It started out awful, like choking back medicine, but it mellowed out into a tartness that almost reminded me of black cherry. I admit, the flavor was enhanced by my meal. I guess I can chalk it up to the fact that Lovelace has a few months of experience under his belt when it comes to alcohol.
The last thing Valence needed was less sleep. The last full month of the semester was always a crunch, and there was nothing worse than being sleep deprived and stressed. Unfortunately, Frey relieved his stress by bringing home a new person every few days and “making noise” all night, keeping his long-suffering roommate up in the process.
Valence stood in front of the coffee maker, groggily pressing at the buttons. He heard a door opening behind him, then slowly closing. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the chess club members staring back at him like a deer in headlights. The man was in a gray tank top and matching sweatpants, his hair a mess and his neck covered in bitemarks and small red spots. Valence bit back a noise of disgust.
“Oh, uh, h– hey, Haiz.”
He fought to keep his voice level. “Good morning, Bennet. Please get out of my dorm.”
Bennet laughed nervously and was out within the minute. It took almost thirty more for Frey to show his face, enough time that Valence had settled comfortably at the table, finishing up yesterday’s crossword.
“You don’t have any decency, Lovelace,” Valence said pointedly before taking a sip from his second cup of coffee.
“G’mornin’ to you too, songbird,” Frey laughed back.
“I mean it. Do you know how many nights of sleep I’ve lost because of your… your…!” He waved his hand vaguely, reluctant to say the words.
“Oh, you could hear it?” Frey walked past the table and into the kitchen. Valence caught a glimpse of the apologetic look in his eye, but it just made him sigh.
“Of course I could. I’ve been hearing it for weeks. You’re a filthy liar, by the way.” He paused to write the word inflict into a column in the crossword. “Couldn’t you find any other time to do all that?”
“I do.”
His stomach twisted against his will at the very thought. He found himself muttering “Disgusting.”
“Sorry, Vay,” Frey said, sounding almost sincere. “I’ll keep the noise down.”
Valence sucked in a breath, closing his eyes to stop his vision from wavering. “Thank you.”
April 8th – 11:51 P.M.
I’ve never met anyone as antithetical to me as Frey Lovelace. He’s a slobish, carefree brute. He’s an untrained animal. He takes the phrase “go with the flow” and applies it to everything without reason or logic. The only reason I still allow him to inflict himself upon me is because I have no interest in finding another person to live with.
Even so, he has a grace to him that I can’t figure out. Perhaps “charm” is a more apt word. What is it about him? His features are mostly plain, save for his blue eyes. His personality is grating. His voice is acceptable. I can’t believe it. He disgusts me. He should disgust me. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why he doesn’t.
Charisma can only take one so far. Lovelace has to be lucky, that’s all. He’s managed to fly by the seat of his pants. He’s got a pair of wax wings. I can’t understand how he operates. I’m getting near the point of desperation trying to figure him out. What am I missing?
There was a knock on his door. Valence snapped his journal shut, slipping it into the first drawer of his desk with a practiced motion. He usually wasn’t concerned with hiding it, but today the action was involuntary.
“Lovelace?”
“The one and only. Can I come in?”
Valence moved from his chair to his bed and gave a disinterested noise of agreement. Frey opened the door and stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, tugging absently at the hem of his dark blue t-shirt. “I, um, got you something.”
He stepped inside the small room and let the door shut behind him. He held out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “You said you liked that stuff from your birthday, and I feel bad for keeping you up so much.”
Valence raised an eyebrow. “And your solution is to keep me up for longer with alcohol?”
“No, I just figured…” Frey trailed off, setting everything down on Valence’s desk. “Just– Humor me, songbird? I’m trying to apologize.”
He looked Frey up and down, then rolled his eyes. “Alright, but not too much. I have my 8 A.M. tomorrow, after all.”
A half hour later, Valence had savored one glass of wine and downed four more, and Frey had opened the window to smoke a cigarette. At least, it seemed like a cigarette– he knew that Frey experimented with cannabis– but Valence’s head already felt like it was full of cotton and he didn’t feel like asking or getting up from his spot on the bed. Whatever it was, Frey put it out on the windowsill before moving back to the desk to pour himself another glass.
“More, songbird?”
Valence shook his head, leaning back to put his head against the wall. Frey repeated the question, turning to look at him this time. He, in turn, repeated his gesture, and the other chuckled. “Don’t feel like talking?”
“I’ll say something stupid,” he mumbled out.
“People say stupid things all the time. It’s part of life.”
Valence waved his hand vaguely.
Frey drank down the wine like it was water. He turned back to face him with cheeks flushed red. Their eyes met. There it was again; That same unhappy look he had given Valence dozens of times over the past month. It was all in the eyes.
“Why do you look at me like that?”
“Like what?” Frey asked, almost knowingly.
He ignored the question entirely and made a motion for Frey to come closer. He set down his empty glass and complied, joining Valence on the bed. He asked again, “Like what, songbird?”
Valence leaned in closer, studying the other’s face. Deep blue eyes that glimmered like sapphires in the dim light from the window. Full, pink lips, parted slightly from just having spoken. Cheeks flushed red from the wine and the proximity. Black bangs just barely brushing against long eyelashes.
“Careful now, songbird,” Frey warned gently, his voice almost at a whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to–”
He pressed his lips against Frey’s without a thought to spare. The feeling was cold and foreign, sending his stomach twisting into queasy knots. He tried not to care. Before he knew it, he found himself straddling Frey’s hips, his hands on those red-hot cheeks, lips crashing against his skin over and over and over again. It was all too warm. Frey’s hands were sliding up his thighs. It was all too much. Valence felt his fingers tangle into the other’s hair. He felt nauseous.
“H– Hey, hey, wait, hold on–”
He pulled back, vision swimming from the alcohol, the lack of air, the knots and butterflies dancing in his stomach.
“Don’t get me wrong, this is great, I’m so down, I just–” He sucked in a breath. “Do you actually want this, Valence?”
The words cut through the haze and fog in his mind for just a second. He blinked down at Frey, chest rising and falling despite his deer-in-headlights stare. He was so nauseated. He was going to throw up. He couldn’t show weakness. Lovelace was looking at him like he was prey.
Quietly, almost inaudibly, Valence laughed. “Don’t you dare ask me that again.”
Frey grabbed him by the hips and flipped their position.
April 10th – 1:43 A.M.
Lovelace operates like an animal. It wouldn’t be an issue if it were simply in his habits, but habits will force themselves into the way one conducts himself in conversation. Lovelace has no manners, poise, or elegance. He says every thought that forms in his brain without pausing to think about the implications or the consequences. I make a point to avoid empty, dull-witted debates, and yet he just keeps pulling me in over and over again. He makes a fine acquaintance, but I would never consider taking it further. He takes far too many partners as it is.
Even so, last night I found myself in a wine-drunk stupor, kissing him like I needed his air more than my own. Lovelace kisses with tongue and teeth, in the same blunt fashion with which he does everything. He tasted like burnt herbs. Neither of us seemed to have the good sense to stop, and so we kept pushing the boundaries. He seemed so intent to stake his claim, to force me into the mattress, to take what he believed was his.
I felt as though I couldn’t take in my own air. There was something horrible in the way his weight felt on top of me. I distinctly remember enjoying myself. I can’t imagine how. I have no interest in being his. I have no interest in his lips. I never did, even when they were against my skin. I know I was drunk. He was drunk, too. He was drunk and high. He was worse than I was. He still had the common sense to ask me if I wanted it. We could have stopped. Even impaired, he would have stopped. We hadn’t lost all our wits.
He asked me if I wanted it. I told him yes. Was I lying? I can’t remember my own tone. Should I be angry? Did he lie to me? There’s no point in anger, is there? I feel ill. Am I fooling myself? Should we have stopped? I didn’t stop him. He didn’t stop me.
I don’t even know if I wanted to stop.
Valence stared at Frey from across the chessboard. They were seated next to the window, and the sun was casting golden hues and shadows while it set. Neither of them said a word. There was no timer and no stakes. It was just a simple test of wits; a silent clash of passions.
Frey broke the silence as he pushed his bishop out to capture a knight. “You’ve been avoiding me, songbird.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Just thought you’d appreciate the reminder.”
Valence paused, scanning the board. He saw an opening and seized a rook. “I don’t enjoy what we did.”
“Then let’s not do it again.” Frey moved a pawn forward.
He sucked in a breath and matched the play. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me, Vay.”
They both paused, and Valence shook his head. “I don’t think I understand either.”
Frey shrugged, and took the pawn with his knight.
“I– I just feel so… disgusting,” he confessed, hand wavering over the pieces. “It was physically fine, I just– I feel like you’ve put a curse on me.”
“So let’s not do it again,” Frey said again, more firmly this time. “Nothing wrong with not liking it.”
Valence bit at his lip, then silently pushed his queen out to take a bishop.
“We can still be roommates, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not.”
“Sorry for giving you a bad–”
“Please, Lovelace, shut up.”
May 5th – 5:28 P.M.
I have to be utterly insane. I’ve been far past the point of saving for nearly a month. My finals just finished, thank God. I’m almost out of here– I just have to pack and survive a few more days. I spent two weeks doing a poor imitation of a hermit, and it must have scrambled my brain. I just can’t stand to look him in the eye right now.
I’ve ruined something, haven’t I? He called me by my name today. Not songbird, not even Vay, just a plain Valence. Was it my fault? No, it couldn’t have been. He was the one that got me drunk. He encouraged me. Why did I do it? I didn’t even enjoy it. It’s all his fault. He ruined everything. God, why didn’t I stop? Why didn’t he stop me? I feel sick. I feel dizzy. I’m going to vomit. I can’t do this.
I still can’t wash away the way his skin felt against mine. I can’t believe there are moments where I don’t want to.
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