15. Accepted

"Look what that bitch did to my back!"
I looked up from unpacking my suitcase to see a 20-something-year-old girl come flying into the apartment, throw her purse onto the couch, and turn her back to Cole, lifting her shirt all the way up to her bra strap. I poked my head out the door to see if I could catch a glance. I wanted to know what the bitch did (not that I knew who the bitch was, or who this girl was in my new living room).
I saw a shiny red scrape, about 4 inches long and an inch or two wide, stretching across the right side of the middle of her back.
"What happened??" Cole asked as he bent down for a closer look.
"Well, I was in the middle of hooking up with John when his girlfriend busts in! She freaked out, pushed me off the loft, and knocked John out cold! I had to hide in the bathroom while she tried to bash the door in. That bitch is crazy!"
She noticed me standing in the doorway, an eager look on my face, waiting to hear more.
"Oh, hi." She said.
Cole laughed and said, "Whitney, this is Maleah, your new roommate. Maleah, meet Whitney."
"Oh, hey!" Maleah said. A big smile spread across her face.
Damn. She was gorgeous. I didn't want a gorgeous roommate (unless it happened to be male, and Maleah was definitely NOT male.) She was Puerto Rican, thin, tan, and had a funky style I knew I'd never be able to pull off. I wanted to hate her.
It was a three bedroom apartment, and I started to wonder about the third roommate. Would it be another beautiful girl I probably wouldn't get along with?
I got my answer later that night. I came home from a trip to Kmart for some necessities, and I heard the shower running. I assumed it was Maleah because Cole had already headed a few doors down to his new apartment. I was hanging my shoe rack on my door when I saw movement in the living room. I swung my door open and saw a startled half naked man standing in the living room. He was only wearing a towel, and his smooth, muscular body had that fresh-out-of-the-shower glisten. I wanted to reach out and touch him. His dark brown hair was cut close, and his big brown eyes looked at me in complete confusion.
"You must be my third roommate," I said, stepping into the living room and holding my hand out to him.
"Oh, so you're in Cole's room? I'm Tristan." I was surprised to hear such a thick French accent come out of his mouth. He let go of his towel to shake my hand. I tried to use mind powers to make the towel drop to the floor. No such luck.
As he walked into his room I snuck a glance at his backside. The towel was stretched tight against his perfect ass. Life was good.
Maleah and I became instant best friends. We spent our Saturday nights clubbing at NYC hot spots and our Sundays recovering over brunch and nine cups of coffee each at Wai or Yaffa Cafe. She introduced me to all of her friends, and everyone accepted me without a second thought.

I don't think Tristan liked to wear clothes, because nine times out of 10 he was only in a towel. Not that I'm complaining.
Two weeks after I moved in, we acquired a third roommate. The day he moved in he asked if I could do his makeup and if he could borrow my heels.
There was nothing like NYC. Was I really ready to leave it for a better job in Texas?

14. Sweet Little Lies

Was I interested in the job? I don't know. Yes, I told the editor I was interested; that's just the way we play the game. I liked living in New York, but did I have my heart set on living there? No. Unlike most journalists, NYC was never my goal. It may be the magazine capital of the U.S., but I didn't care. I loved Texas. I remember one time when I was a junior in college, I was in the Big Apple for a group trip to tour magazines. I was with one of my best friends, mentors, and previous editor, Gayle. I distinctly remember we were standing in Central Park, drinking coffee on a bridge, when she looked at me and said, "I don't want to live here. I'd be perfectly happy working at a big-city magazine in Texas. This isn't for me."
I took a look around. The trees were turning from green to gold, and I could hear the wind whistling through them. But behind that I heard the taxis honking, bringing me back to reality.
"Me neither." I said, and meant it.

So, how did I end up there? I graduated. All throughout college we were told if we did everything right, set ourselves apart, went above and beyond, we'd get hired before or soon after we walked across the stage. Well, that was bullshit if I ever heard it. I graduated Summa cum Laude, I had three national magazine internships on my resume and a handful of local ones. I applied for every magazine job in Texas. I had multiple interviews and pored over lengthy edit tests until my brain was fried. And guess what I ended up doing? I became a nanny. Three days a week I'd take care of the cutest little 3-month-old baby girl, and she was absolutely precious. Yes, I spent $80,000 on that journalism degree, and I was going to pay it back changing one diaper at a time. I really couldn't complain though. While the baby slept I'd get to read Laurell K. Hamilton books while doing crunches in the ab lounger with crappy daytime TV playing in the background. "So this is what it's like to be a graduate," I thought to myself.
Three months into my nanny career I received an interesting phone call.
"Hi, Whitney, I'm calling to see if you're still interested in the internship you applied for at our national women's health magazine."
"Of course I am!" I had no idea what internship she was talking about.
"Well, we looked over your resume and clips, and we love what we see! I'd like to set up a phone interview with an editor. You do know that the job is in New York, right?"
"Sure do. I actually have a place up there already, just looking for an excuse to move in." The lies just kept on flowing.
"Great! Let's set up a call with a senior editor named Lucia tomorrow at 2."
"Looking forward to it!"
I hung up and searched through my past sent emails, trying to figure out what the hell I was getting myself into. After all the Texas magazines rejected me, I started applying to anything and everything, whether I had heard of the publication or not. I found the email in my sent mailbox. I had applied for this job three months ago.
The phone interview with Lucia went well. I lied again about my apartment in the city and my strong desire to move there. I just really wanted to see if I'd get an offer.
A few days later the phone rang again. I got the offer. I'd work 40 hours per week at $10 an hour for 6 months. Did I accept? Oh, and could I start in two weeks? I suddenly saw it as an adventure, a challenge. Living in New York City making only $10 an hour? Let's do it!
I now faced two very big problems. I had two weeks to sell my car, my baby, my pride and joy. I loved that car. The other problem: My imaginary apartment wasn't going to come out of thin air. I wouldn't have the money to put a deposit on an apartment until my car sold. I was in quite a predicament.
I was supposed to start work Aug. 11, 2009. My car sold on Aug. 9. I jumped on a plane on the 10th and landed in LaGuardia, homeless. For some reason, I wasn't scared. I knew Craig and his mighty mighty list had my back. I hopped on Craigslist at the airport and looked for temporary housing, available that day. I found three options. I called the first one. The voice on the other end sounded friendly and encouraging.
"If you don't like it, you can always drop your bags off here and then go look at your other two options. That way you won't have to lug your bags around."
What a sweet offer. Could be a serial killer.
My taxi pulled onto Saint Marks Place, between 1st and A, and I fell in love. I didn't care if I was about to get murdered. I'd die happy. The weather was beautiful, everyone seemed to be outside, eating at an outdoor cafe or drinking on the patio of the bar. I got out of the cab and called Cole, the friendly potential serial killer.
"I'll be right down!"
I was so overwhelmed with the atmosphere on that street that I didn't think about what my last words might be.
"Whitney?"
I turned around to see an attractive blond guy with a welcoming smile holding his hand out to mine. Well, he sure didn't look like a murderer.
"That'd be me. Nice to meet you, Cole." We shook hands and I immediately wondered if he had a girlfriend.
He carried both of my bags up to the top of the fifth floor walk up before I could make it to the third carrying only my purse, wheezing and coughing. The apartment was located directly above a charming Irish bar. Awesome, I could get shitfaced and then just crawl back up to my apartment. When I finally made it to the fifth floor, red-faced and bent over at the waist, I walked inside the apartment and was pleasantly surprised. It was colorful. So colorful. The kitchen and living room shared an exposed brick wall, and the living room was painted with bright green and darker green stripes. An old antique couch sat on one side of the living room and a black leather chair on the other. A flatscreen TV hung nicely from a nail in the exposed brick. I believed this is what one might call luxury in NYC.
"And this is my room, soon to be your room if you decide to stay." While I hoped that was an invitation for a slumber party for two, I knew he'd be sleeping in his new apartment, a few doors down. I looked around the room. There was a full-size bed taking up three-fourths of the room, then there was a dresser and a closet that might fit one shoe and a jacket. One wall was painted dark crimson, and there was just enough room to walk from the door to the closet with a thin pathway between the bed and the wall.
"I'll take it."

10. Why I usually don't trust men

So, in my last post I ended by telling you I know nothing about love. More or less, it just confuses the shit out of me. After only a month of talking to Cayden, I was having feelings I hadn't had in a long time, but wouldn't admit to it. I've been in love before. And explaining that story to you might help you understand why I'm very skeptical about love (Oh, and I have some SERIOUS trust issues). So here's the story



I met Casey my freshman year of college. We dated my sophomore and junior years. And shit hit the fan my senior year. And when I say shit hit the fan, I mean the fan was on high and the shit was hurled at top speeds.
From the beginning we had an odd relationship. He had a girlfriend who went to another school, although he tried to tell me he didn't. We'd hang out a lot, flirt like crazy, but I wouldn't let him touch me if he had a girlfriend. Then the hanging out turned into sleepovers, where we'd cuddle, but all no-no parts were off limits and NO kissing was allowed. Now, I know I shouldn't have had a boy sleeping in my bed if he had a girlfriend, whether we were kissing or not, so feel free to judge me here.
One night I was at a black light party. Everyone was drawing on each other with highlighters so we all looked like glowing tribal freaks. Casey called, he was on his way over. He and his girlfriend had broken up. I was finally going to get to kiss him. The tension had been building for months and months through those sleepovers, and I just couldn't wait to finally let my guard down. Sure, he was bad news and I knew it. That was part of the appeal. My friends didn't like him, because they knew it, too. So I knew we were going to have to sneak this make out session. As soon as he walked in, one of the guys grabbed him and started drawing tribal signs all over his face.
I snuck off to the bathroom.
Casey followed soon after.
As soon as the door shut behind him we were all over each other. Kissing lips, necks. Kissing hard. Groping, anything and everything. It was such a rush to finally kiss him. I'd stared at that mouth, his perfectly straight white teeth standing out against his smooth dark brown skin. And oh those dimples.
"Casey? Where'd you go?" we heard someone yell from the living room.
We pulled away. Couldn't let anyone catch us.
"I'll go out first, then you come out later. To be continued," I said as I kissed him one more time, harder than before. I casually walked back out to the party like nothing had happened. A few people were looking at me really strange. Were they on to me?
"Oh my god, Whitney!!"
My friends came rushing toward me. Then Casey came out and I suddenly knew what had gone terribly wrong. There wasn't a blacklight in the bathroom, so we completely forgot about the highlighter. I didn't have any on my face before I went to the bathroom, and now my face and neck were covered with smeared highlighter to match his. So much for being discrete.
Casey slept in my bed at least 6 nights a week. He'd show up with roses or chocolate now and then. He helped take care of my roommate when she had 9 too many shots on her birthday. He went as my date to my sister's wedding, slept in bed with me at my parents house, bonded with my family. Sounds like the perfect relationship, right? Wrong. He was also dating at least three other people and sleeping with countless others. How did I know this? He told me. We had a very honest relationship, if a relationship is what you'd call it. He obviously wasn't in a place to commit, so we both dated other people. I was still a big ol' virgin at the time, so I wasn't having sex with him while he was sleeping with all of these other girls (give me a little bit of credit) But over those years he became one of my best friends. And for some unexplainable reason, I fell in love. Even though he said multiple times, "If you really knew me, you wouldn't like me." Can anyone say RED FLAG?? But love makes you do crazy things. Instead of running for the hills, I was intrigued. I wanted to know what it was he didn't want me to know. I had to know. Which brings me to the day of the shit fanning.
Casey invited me to a party at his place. He also invited Katie. I'd always wanted to meet Katie, because I knew she was one of his best friends (aside from being a friend with benefits). I know, I know, you think I'm crazy for wanting to meet a girl who was sleeping with the guy I was in love with. Casey introduced us in the kitchen. She had long dark brown hair and brown eyes, like me, but unlike me she was like 5'2" and probably wore a size zero, but her boobs were bigger. Go figure. She was adorable. We got to chatting and I noticed Casey kept a close eye on us. After five minutes of talking I learn that she thinks she's his one and only and had been for the past three years. HOLY SHIT. Casey always told me she knew about all the other girls the same way I did.
Crap. What do I do?? What's the nicest way of saying, "Umm, your boyfriend sleeps in my bed every night. Oh, and FYI, he's banged at least 5 other chicks that I could name off the top of my head right, and more if I sat down to think about it." I was so shocked, I didn't know how to react. She saw it in my face.
"Is something wrong?"
Should I keep my mouth shut? Take it out on Casey later and make him tell her? No, this was girl code. You have to tell. I wanted to throw up.
She followed me into his laundry room and shut the doors. I unloaded. Told her that her dear Casey isn't at all who she thinks he is. I left a lot of the details out, because there's really no reason to add salt to the wound. The wound being her broken heart. Her face filled with shock, anger, disgust, and then, finally, sympathy.
"So, he hits you, too?" She asked quietly.
What? Did I hear her right? He HITS her?
"Excuse me?"
"Oh never mind. It's nothing. Forget I said anything."
I could tell she was truly scared.
"Did you say he hits you?"
She finally broke down and told me everything. He'd kicked her, held her up against the wall by her neck, kicked her in the ribs.
Now I really thought I was going to throw up. I couldn't picture Casey hurting a fly. Sure, he had a bit of a temper and a problem with authority, but I could NEVER picture him hitting a girl. He had never once raised his hand to me. Never.
I just kept shaking my head over and over again.
I thought I was going to throw up.
"Oh my god. We have to get away from him. You can't let him do that."
I gave her my phone number and told her to call me after the party. I was going to help her. She needed help. We snuck out of the laundry room and I grabbed my purse, heading for the door. Casey stopped me at the door.
"Leaving without a goodnight kiss?"
I could tell he was wondering what Katie and I talked about. I had to make him think everything was still cool with us. Otherwise he'd figure it out, and then who knows what he'd do to Katie tonight.
"Of course not," I said, as I forced myself to kiss him for the last time.
I told him to have fun at the party and call me tomorrow. Boy did I have words for him.