Gwen’s POV
When I was in high school, I liked this guy. Matthew Simpson. Matthew was…well, he was that boy most girls had a crush on at some point. Him having a lot of options didn’t help my case.
It also didn’t help that he was from the wrong side of the tracks. Or rather, I was the one from the wrong side of the tracks.
I think my crush on him got serious when I was around fifteen. As the school semesters came and went, I became resigned to the fact that he would never notice me. Not that I expected him to. He was from a good family–read wealthy–and he was smart too. He was also the best player on the school basketball team.
In short, he had it all. And boys who have it all don’t exactly pay attention to girls like me. Girls who barely pass their tests, girls who are on the teachers’ shit-list for being a little too far off the mark of what model students should be. Girls who don’t exactly have the best fashion sense.
So I was certain I would forever be a speck in his peripheral–if I even made it that close. That was until he kissed me in senior year.
I was working as a barmaid in a bar in the dingy part of town when he showed up. It was the last place I expected to run into our school’s golden boy. It shocked me even further when he took a seat at the corner and ordered a drink. I was sure he didn’t recognise me when I was taking his order. It affirmed my suspicion that he didn’t even know I existed even if we shared a couple of classes. But when I got back with his drink, he asked,
“Aren’t you that girl who always sits in the back in Math?”
He might not have known my name, but at least he knew of my existence, it appeared. I could only nod.
“You work here?” he asked, looking around the place.
Another nod. Was he going to tell everybody at school? Not that I cared what the students thought of me. There were already several rumours going around about my sketchy background, but I had learned to tune out the noises. It was the school administration I was worried about.
“You could get expelled,” he said.
“So could you,” I told him. Even though I knew nobody would dare expel him. Regardless, I could imagine what people finding out that he drank at shady bars in the wrong side of town could do to his spotless reputation.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “You can’t tell anyone about me either.”
“Deal,” I said. I went ahead with my work night and he left after a couple of drinks. When we crossed paths at school, he acted like he didn’t know me. I did the same.
He appeared at the bar for the second time two weeks later. When I served his drink, he asked whether I could hang out with him when I had a break. The request surprised me–and sent my heart thundering in my chest. I told him yes instantly.
When my break came along, he said he wanted to have a smoke. I had no idea he smoked. Probably nobody did. I was starting to question everything I thought I knew about him. Anyway, I led him to the back of the bar. There was an empty alley where we kept the dumpsters. I leaned against the wall beside him while he lit a cigarette and smoked for a while.
“Fuck, this place is shitty,” he said, looking down the alley as he dropped his half-smoked cigarette and crushed it beneath his boots.
Yeah, well… “What are you doing here?” I asked him.
I had wondered about that since the night he first came to the bar.
“I had something to do in the area,” he said, looking down at me.
“Something?” What could Matthew Simpson have to do in this side of town?
“Yeah.”
I nodded. I guessed I wasn’t going to get more than that. That was fine. I was content enough to be standing there, next to my long-time crush. Most girls weren’t as lucky.
That was when he kissed me. One moment, we were standing there, next to each other, leaning against the wall. The next moment, he turned to me, pressed a hand to my shoulder, and leaned down to kiss me.
It caught me by surprise. I had no idea where it was coming from, but when my brain caught up to what was happening many seconds later, I let it happen. I kissed him back with everything I had. And when his hands went places, I let him. If it was not for my break time ending and the fear of my boss withholding my pay if I was even a minute late, I probably would have let him go all the way.
But I did soon enough, anyway.
Three days later at school, he cornered me and brought me to a janitor’s closet. When he kissed me, the shame and anger that had accumulated over the past three days–because he had continued ignoring me at school even after what happened in the alley–evaporated. He was carrying a condom–as if he was sure I wasn’t going to say no. I didn’t, and he took my virginity in the janitor’s closet. When we were done, he said he was surprised I was a virgin. It stung a little, but the endorphins that were running amok in my body soothed the sting.
Those same endorphins must have been the same reason I agreed when he said he wanted to keep the thing between us–he called it ‘the thing’–secret. We were going to keep acting like we didn’t know each other at school, but we were going to keep having sex. Or maybe the endorphins weren’t entirely to blame. I must have been one dense teenager.
It didn’t take long before I was drowning in jealousy. When he wasn’t getting in my pants, Matthew Simpson was busy being the perfect golden boy. He still had his share of admirers, and once or twice, stories of girls fighting over him surfaced. On the night of the first game of the season that year–the first game I attended in my high school career–Betty Walters kissed him in the middle of the court after the game ended in a win and everybody was celebrating. I saw it clearly–as so did many others–because my eyes had been stuck on him all night.
That’s when the knot that had been forming in my stomach tightened.
By the next Monday, the news had spread. Matthew Simpson and Betty Walters were dating. It took everything I had not to approach him in Math and ask whether it was true. But I didn’t have to wait for long.
When we met in the janitor’s closet later that evening, he told me that he was just with Betty for show, that it was nothing serious. Our thing continued. Every time I saw him with Betty at his side, my jealousy grew to new bounds.
So one day when he showed up at the bar and we slipped to the back, I told him I didn’t like seeing him with her.
He said, “It’s not like you’re my girlfriend. It shouldn’t bother you.”
So I poured my heart out and told him that I liked him and wanted to be his only girl.
He scoffed and said I was insane if I thought he could ever date someone like me.
I barely held my tears back as I asked why he slept with me.
“I wanted to fuck, and you were available. Plus, you look better in that skirt than most girls at school. I just didn’t realise it sooner because of all that trash you wear to school.”
Needless to say, that was the death of my crush and our ‘thing’. It was a long time before I got over the shame I felt at letting him use me like that.
You must wonder why I’m suddenly thinking about my failed high school fling.
That feeling I felt whenever I saw Betty Walters with Matthew?
It’s back, it’s bigger, and it’s absolutely ugly.
Since that time in high school, I never found myself in a position where I was sick with jealousy because the person I wanted was looking elsewhere. Or because someone else was showing a little too much interest in my person. Definitely not because my mate was catching up with an old friend.
Who even gets jealous over something like that?
When did I become this low of a person?
I tried not to do anything drastic–like sit in his lap–every time I saw Mari’s eyes focused on him while we were sitting in the VIP section. Or every time she smiled at him while narrating some story about their adventures as kids.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but there was something in the way she looked at him that I didn’t like. It reminded me of how I would watch Matthew from my spot at the back of the class. I would probably feel less shitty about feeling like this if she wasn’t my sister. Scratch that. If she wasn’t my sister, I probably would have crawled on Stefan’s lap ages ago.
My restraint ended when we went to the dance floor and I spied her watching him. I took my dance moves to another level–one that had Stefan breathing heavily in my ear. The shame hit me soon after and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
My sister has been nothing but nice and open since she showed up at our house. She was glad to see me. She is happy to be reunited with her childhood friend. I’m the one who clearly hasn’t gotten over my insecurities regarding how I ended up with Stefan, and that’s why I’m having such ugly thoughts.
I wish I could switch them off.
He is mine. He is my mate. We are bonded to each other. Shouldn’t that be enough to settle my mind?
What do I care who is giving him the eye–real or imagined? I should only care about Stefan and what he thinks of me. Of us.
Maybe if I focus on that, I can get past this ridiculous jealousy.