Okay, so, I could have had a job right out of high school in my stepfather's church—Grace Fellowship of Norfolk. Amos is the pastor and the salary he offered me—my bribe to stay home—was nothing to frown upon.

I'm not opposed to working there, someday. But I'd want to do more than answer the phones, bored and longing for some handsome, affluent, securely straight, non-violent, relatively normal, devout Christian to sweep me off my feet.

Easier said than found. No boy in my age bracket has ever had more than a few checks in the required boxes. Unless someone new and amazing walks through Grace Fellowship doors—like Christ himself—I'll have to lower "our" standards.

I'm actually not that picky about culture or lifestyle, but my parents are. To make everyone happy, we'll have to compromise somewhere, and for me, this starts with a normal college experience. If I ever accept a job at Grace Fellowship, I'd like to be a counselor of some sort, and I'd need a Psych degree for that.

It could be worse. I'm sure there are more challenging degrees to obtain. At Winchester University, however, the first-year curriculum is designed to weed out anyone who isn't both smart and hardworking. There's so much material to review, in class and on our own time, and the tests are tricky. There's not just "right" or "wrong" but degrees of rightness. Choose the best answer, and so forth...

I bombed the first quiz in my Intro class—our only grade so far—and it was eye-opening. I learned a lot from this mistake, but was it enough?

After clicking "submit" on the midterm, I gather my stuff. About half of the class has left already. I'm usually one of the last to finish, so I take this as a good sign.

I leave class smiling. The test wasn't as bad as I expected. It's my last class of the day, too. And it's Friday, finally. The worst week of my life isn't over, but the class part is, and it's like a little nip of salvation.

My smile fades when I see Hadlee, my cheer captain. She's hard on the freshmen, regardless of their talent and dedication. She also thinks her "advice" is gospel and should be heeded accordingly.

Her eyes widen when she sees me—this isn't just a random encounter in the hall—and she's carrying a cheap bouquet of flowers. "Wow, Sam. I barely recognized you." This is not a compliment, I realize, as she takes in the sloppy bun and scans down to my well-loved flip-flops and peeling pedicure.   

I'm wearing an oversized Winchester U hoodie and black leggings that aren't skin-tight. I didn't have the time or inclination to do much with my hair, and I skipped the contacts, too. Because of the purple half-moon under my eye, the nerdy black glasses are a must anyway.

I don't want anyone's attention or sympathy. I just want to move on and blend in today.

Only the fanatical exist in "cheerleader mode" at all times, and they aren't always well received. So, I try not to let Hadlee get to me. She has enough power over me as it is.

She attempts to hand me the flowers. "These are for you."

"Aw, Hadlee, that's so sweet. You shouldn't have," I say, making no move to take them from her.

She rolls her eyes and gets a little more forceful. "They're from Ted."

"I know who they're from. You can tell him that I don't want them." I stroll past her, hoping that'll be the end of it. Knowing Hadlee, it won't be, but for a second, it's nice to pretend.

"He's a mess, Sam..." As expected, she's quick and persistent, and moves a pace ahead of me. She pleads Ted's case while walking backwards through the busy hallway. "You don't have to take him back, but can you at least accept his apology? He can't play tonight in the state he's in. And we need this win."

You know the saying the customer is always right? Well, in my world, the football player is always right.

We have our own grueling workouts and get injured as often as the football players do. Pressure is exerted. Expectations are high. "Team Spirit" can slip into dark territory sometimes. And still, we're supposed to massage their male egos, tiptoe around their tempers, give them what they want, or suffer the consequences. It's usually just exclusion and character assassination.

Even with a black eye, even if I'm honest about it, I'm not sure I'll avoid the cold shoulders or gossip. Obviously, I did something to deserve it.

Hadlee is just the messenger, and not a very observant one at that, and I'm doing everything I can to avoid her scrutiny. She hasn't noticed my eye, and I'd like to keep it that way until I figure out what to tell people. For that reason, I accept the flowers with a sigh. "Fine. Thanks. See you tonight."

She'll never have to know where they end up. On my way to the parking lot, I drop them in the nearest wastebasket. I like flowers and all, but I don't need to be reminded of what I did to "earn" them.

It's actually a nice day for mid-October, and with a flower-free bounce to my step, I veer toward my car and pull out my key fob.

"You didn't like the flowers?"

I whirl around, gasping. The keys drop from my hand.

Ted is squeezing between two bumpers—the car next to mine and the car in front of it.

The guy is huge. How did I not see him coming?

"What flowers?" While I crouch down to retrieve my keys, he closes in on me. He leaves no room to spare. My head is practically at his groin. I snap back to my feet, but it's probably not quick enough. I'm sure his mind has already dipped into the gutter, and that's assuming it had any further to fall.

"The ones you threw away?" He leans against my car door, his voice icily cool and calm, except when he says away. A ripple of emotion shreds it apart.

I shudder in response. If he's been following me, just out of view, I can't lie my way out of this. I'm a terrible liar, regardless.

"I'm sorry," I emit. I don't owe him anything, but still, the apology comes out of me like an exhale. It's a biological process fueled by a beating heart and a will to survive.

"I'm sorry," he bursts out, reaching for my face in what's supposed to be a concerned and affectionate gesture.

It's strange and unnerving to see a "grown man" cry. It does evoke some pity, but my fear and disgust do a good job canceling it out.

I take a step toward my only escape route. A car is backing out of the next aisle, and another one is waiting to pass by. Even if I wanted to run, even if I could outrun him, it's not safe for me to dart out between cars right now.

He could pursue me. I expect him to, but he stays where he is—blocking my door. "I was drunk. It won't ever happen again."

I find that hard to believe. The hitting, maybe. But the drinking, never...

"It's not like we were at a party. You were drinking from the bottle while I was trying to break up with you. You had no desire to take me seriously. You either have a problem, or I'm your problem. Either way, it's not gonna work. It's over, Ted. I'm sorry. Please leave me alone." I stare at him until he takes a step back.

He throws his hands up in a sarcastic surrender and gives me just enough room to try for the door. I have to decide if I'm willing to get that close to him.

There's an SUV beside me and a full row of cars facing mine. Yes, it's broad daylight in a busy parking lot, but if he wanted to beat the crap out of me, more conclusively this time, he could get away with it, pretty much unseen.

He lets me open my car door. "Are you going to run home to your roommate? Maybe that's why you don't want to see me anymore. What the fuck is he, anyway?"

While I slip into my seat, he holds onto my door with a shaking fist that demands an answer.

"This has nothing to do with him. He's the property manager." As for Ted's final question, I choose not to answer, because, honestly, I have no idea.

"You traipse over there on a Thursday night, barely a penny to your name, and that freak takes you in. Goes out of his way to protect you. It all seems a little suspicious if you ask me."

Okay, he has a point, but not in the way he's insinuating.

"Well, no one asked you. Now let me go or I'll tell everyone what happened and why I wanted to break up with you in the first place!"

"If you do that, you'll regret it." He slams my door. As I push the lock button, he gives me a creepy wave goodbye.

I back out of my spot, keeping my eyes behind me. By the time I shift into drive, he's nowhere to be seen.

All things considered, that went rather well. There's his vague threat to worry about, but my eyes still work, my teeth are still in my head, and I've managed to keep my blood in my veins. Plus, it's over. In his mind too, which is important.

And that means I'm single again. I'm free. Halle-effing-lujah!