Chapter Three: I Hate Not Understanding You

Being questioned by the police about the dead body found in your wrecked apartment is really not as exciting as it sounds. We spend what seems like hours just sitting and waiting on the floor in our building's mangy 'lobby', dodging the neighbours' morbidly curious questions until someone from the NYPD comes along to talk with us.

The questions go in circles, we repeat ourselves about twelve times until they're satisfied and let us go.

It's nearly 9:00 PM when Georgia, looking fragile and shivery, goes to spend the night at her friend's place while Shawn and I take our groceries and walk the three blocks to my mom's apartment.

My mom's a tenure professor at Columbia. It's nice that I don't pay tuition to go to college and that's also basically the main reason why I'd like to continue in Columbia for med-school as well. After my dad died, we were supposed to live in this apartment together.

But then Aunt Jenny happened.

My mom and her sister are like glue. When Jenny suddenly got divorced, mom thought it was a good idea they'd live together.

Jenny hates me and I honestly hate her back. As strange as it sounds, I think she begrudges my existence because she never had kids of her own and I took so much of my mom's attention away. Jenny also hated my dad, she hates her ex-husband, she hates her parents, she hates her job, she hates New York, she hates the government - she hates everything except herself and my mom.

That's right. Jenny is basically an older, grumpier, pathetic, alcoholic version of me. She even has the same ginger hair I do.

Seeing her is always enlightening. Sophie Green - you must not become that.

"Well, at least you brought something nice to look at," Jenny drawls when we enter the apartment and she sees Shawn. We both throw the grocery bags on the floor at our feet, shaking out our arms to get the blood circulation going.

Both Jenny and my mom make it no secret that they appreciate young male beauty. They're the best versions of themselves when he's around.

Actually, I'm not much different.

"Hi Jenny," Shawn says with a goofy grin. He used to call her Mrs. Levi, but she insisted that they'll be on first-name basis. I don't think he loves it when middle-aged women fawn over him but it's his own curse to deal with.

My mom hurries out of her bedroom in bunny slippers. "Aw honey, are you okay?" she runs up to me to give me a hug.

"I'm fine, you?" Oh, right, I forgot that a normal person would feel distraught after seeing a gruesomely dead body in their bedroom.

"Shawnie, how're you feeling?"

Shawn shrugs his shoulders. "Like I'm in a movie," he says with a chuckle.

"Mom, is it okay if Shawn stayed here for a few days?"

"Sure," Jenny butts. "But where will you stay?"

"Here?"

"Where will he sleep?" Jenny asks.

I exchange a glance with Shawn. The only sofa in the living room is way too small for him. He has mid-terms coming up. "In my room," I say.

"Oh." My mom looks between Shawn and me. "You're back together?"

"Uh," Shawn says.

"No," I reply simply.

Jenny snorts.

"O-kay," mom says with wide eyes.

It's not worth mentioning to her that half the week Shawn either falls asleep in my room or I fall asleep in his. Every girl has her guilty little pleasure, mine is sleeping with Shawn in the same bed. "Don't worry, mom. It's not as weird as you think."

Shawn clears his throat and begins taking our grocery bags to the kitchen.

"If you say so," mom says, following Shawn with her eyes. "Why'd you bring groceries?"

"They were supposed to be for our apartment," I say.

"Have you eaten?"

"No," Shawn and I say together.

"We're starving," I add.

***

I take a shower after Shawn does and get a nice purple hoodie and yoga pants from my mom. I usually do my laundry here on weekends, so I've got odds and ends of my clothes in my room and even two of Shawn's T-shirts got mixed up with my laundry.

As I walk from the bathroom to my room, pink-cheeked and smelling like soap, my mom calls me from the dimly lit living room where she's sitting alone reading a book. I curl in next to her on the small love-seat and she puts her book down so she could pinch my cheek.

"You live so close and I feel like I barely see you," she says in that nostalgic voice that mothers use.

"I barely see myself, mom."

"Did you get the MCat score yet?"

"At the end of this week."

"Nervous?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm really good with multiple choice."

"You get that from me," mom says with a suggestive smile. "So, what's going on with you two?"

"With Shawn?"

"You're like a married couple."

I roll my shoulders. "We don't have sex."

"Like most married couples." My mom loves to make theories and prove them.

"It's going to be over by the fall," I say flatly. "Shawn'll probably get into graduate school somewhere else and I don't even know where I'll be."

Geographical distance is the killer of friendships. Like my best friend Esmeralda. Even though she's also studying in the city, we became similar to virtual friends. We text each other nearly every day but we hardly ever speak on the phone and we meet like maybe once in two months now.

Sometimes, I really miss how things were when we were younger. Until the age of eighteen, when my dad died, I was only gaining new things and experiences. I was becoming more than just me. Then the people and things that I knew broke away from me, taking pieces of my soul with them.

My dad died, Landon broke my heart, my mom chose Jenny over me and Esmeralda drifted away into her new beautiful life of art and girls.

It's not surprising that I cling to Shawn the way I do. Come fall, even this last link to my old life will be gone. I'll be free of the old me and I won't have to think about what it will feel like to be completely without him.

I yawn. "I'm going to bed," I say and begin rising.

"Maybe you shouldn't let it end, sweetie," mom muses quietly.

I give her an inquiring look.

"Just saying," she goes on, "there's a difference between being independent to being completely alone."

I know what my mom is talking about, and it isn't me. She's talking about herself and her loneliness. I give her a hug and we don't say anything for a while.

***

Shawn's already in my bed when I get to my room. He's texting with someone and doesn't say anything as I get into bed beside him, connecting my phone to the charger next to the bed. I turn off the lamp on my side and settle down with my back to him.

After a moment, I hear him put down his phone, turning off the light and feel his hand slide over my waist. "You sly girl," he whispers in my ear. "I could've slept on the sofa."

I turn over to face him, grinning. 'Ulterior motives' should be my middle name. "And what would I get out of that, exactly?"

"What are you getting out of this?" he asks, as if he doesn't know.

I edge closer, until I'm almost pressed against him. "I'm getting... horny."

"Fee..." he says, not like he doesn't want to, but like he's trying to reason with me. As if there's a part of me that's reasonable. "With your mom and aunt here? If this is anything like our place the walls are paper..."

I let my hand trace the length of his torso, my palm stopping to rest at the side of his butt. "Do I look like I care?" We don't have sex with each other as long as we're roommates, but here the rules don't apply. The same thing happened when I came to visit the Hendersons over the summer. We were at it for three days as if we could never stop. Somehow, in the distorted logic in Shawn's mind, this is a game changer.

The two other times we had sex during college did happen in the apartment - but those were special occasions.

He tries to assume an irritated expression, but it doesn't work. His eyes go from my eyes, to my lips, and down to my neck before he smirks. "No."

He kisses me.

Whenever Shawn and I kiss we're like two people who have gone through a desert without food or water for weeks and have finally found an oasis. It's a wet, hot, dirty, desperate mess. His teeth nip my bottom lip, my nails dig into the hard muscles of his biceps. We can barely gasp for air against each other's mouths. Our tongues warring, our bodies come crashing together with a force that's both painful and riveting. Then there's the battle against pieces of clothing that get in the way and...

Before either one of us could second guess, shivering with desire, we're off into our wild world of madness. I don't know why, but whenever we have sex, there's a moment when I feel like I'm being completely swept out of myself and then a second later my eyes are wet and I'm tasting the salt of my own tears.

It always ends with us together, completely synchronised. He holds me close and we drift to sleep. I'd like to once see things from his eyes and understand what the hell is going through his head and how he could ever say no to an experience this perfect.