May 12, 2013 at 7 PM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

I have a surprise for you. Be over after work.

That was all he wrote. That was when the worrying started. The biggest problem with dating someone who makes a shit ton more money than you do is that when they decide to do something for you - take you out to dinner, buy you a gift, pay for you to travel - you can never reciprocate, at least not at the same magnitude.

'We agreed we weren't going to do this...'

The hours have inched dangerously by, like desperate snails oozing their way across a deserted freeway, feeling safe yet knowing that at any time, a truck could come hurtling around the corner and put an end to all of it. I click on another recommended video and a child's terrified screaming starts blaring out of my headphones at a disgustingly uncontrolled volume. I watch in distracted amusement as the scene replays to a drum beat and the dog pulls the four-year-old girl down flat on her face and proceeds to drag her across the driveway. Even watching other people's misery isn't enough to get my mind off of him and his cryptic e-mail. I watch yet another skateboarder lose his balance and sterilize himself on a railing, followed by a dumbass lady who put her dangly earrings down too close to a goat's face. I'll admit that that one got me; schadenfreude at its very best.

The distraction only lasts a moment, though. My phone chimes as my inbox loads another new e-mail and I snap back to the stress and dread of reality - he's running late tonight. I unlock the phone and glance at it just long enough to see that it's a YouTube upload notification before I lock it again and set it down. I can't tell if I'm relieved or annoyed that it isn't from him. I watch a little kid fly forward as the door his dad shut fails to pull out his loose tooth, and he promptly smacks his forehead on the closed door. The last video in the compilation is a young woman taking a bubble bath with her baby, its wide eyes focused on the unfamiliar camera. After a few seconds, the screen blurs out as she darts out of the tub to escape the now green-colored water, both her and the baby screaming. I look over at the sidebar and see that Lachlan's latest rage-filled Pixelmon video has been uploaded and I click on that next, for lack of anything better to do. I'm ten minutes into watching him yell and try to throw Great Balls at a quickly escaping Pidgeot when I hear the gentle rumble of the elevator at the end of the hall. I pause the video and put my computer on stand-by, rushing to pull the door shut behind me on my way to the front door. I look around me once again to make sure the apartment looks halfway decent. Close enough. He isn't my mom. I check out the peephole and see him walk up in front of the door, carefully shifting the pile of clothes over to one arm so he can ring the doorbell.

"Oh, hell no, bro. You did not just bring me old dress clothes as a present." I study him for a few seconds before I unlock the door, hoping to give him the impression that I haven't spent the last six hours waiting around for an argument to start. His face breaks into its usual infectious grin and I stand aside to beckon him and his handful of handouts inside.

'Do I really look that poor?'

'Wearing sweatpants like they're high fashion definitely doesn't help.' I glance down at my Approaching Nirvana t-shirt and relatively intact black sweatpants in annoyance at myself and my predictability before I join him in the living room. He rearranges the pile of grey and black plaid cloth and he looks way too happy about doing this for me to not be pissed off about it. He's still grinning his head off when he turns to me and I feel my heart sink at the thought of fighting with him, too; staying on Preston's bad side is stressful enough.

"You'll never guess what I found."

"Knowing you..." He's too excited to even roll his eyes at me.

"I found my baby." He flips the top of the old shirt to the side and a pair of bleary brown eyes is staring back at me. The black and brown puppy yawns and licks its nose, squinting in the lamp light as it sniffs around the stale-smelling apartment. "His name is Toby. He's an Australian Shepherd."

"Oh."

" 'Oh.' I had one of these guys when I was a kid and he was the smartest fucking dog I've ever seen. And you're going to be even smarter, huh, buddy?" His excitement spreads like wildfire to the ball of fur curled up against his chest, and Toby immediately starts squirming to get down. As soon as two of his feet hit the floor, he's off: running circles and figure eights through the length of the apartment, nipping at my bare ankles every time he rushes past. We sit against the back of the couch and watch, and at the five minute mark there is still no sign of stopping.

"So... When does the battery run out?"

"It, uh.... It doesn't."

---

May 13, 2013 at 12 AM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

"Come on, Toby! Come on! Let's go! Yeah, good boy!" The little panting fluff ball scampers after me as fast as his stubby little legs can carry him, which is surprisingly fast. I pretend to run outside on the patio to convince him to come out here with me, the chilly morning air raising goosebumps on my bare arms while his owner sleeps on, unaware of the struggle in the mostly-warm bed. As he starts running excited circles through the apartment again, I throw back my head and groan. I wish I would have grabbed a shirt on my way out here to deal with the soulful crying. He disappears out of sight for a few seconds and I take one nanosecond too long wondering if I had left the bedroom door open again. I peek inside and catch him watering the rug again, on a different corner this time. "Bro. You've nailed three of the corners now. The other one is under the couch. Can you give it up, please?" He waddles away a few steps and stops to shake, undoubtedly sending a handful of black, brown, and white quills fluttering up into the air.

'What was he thinking, getting a dog? He's never home. Wait... Did he bring him here to drop him off for the week? Oh, hell no.' I click the lock behind me in frustration after I close the sliding glass door, scooting my feet across the floor to walk so I don't step on any more squirrelly puppy feet. He bounces around me, snapping at my toes all the way to the kitchen as I go grab the carpet stain remover and a wad of paper towels for the third time. As soon as I kneel down, I have a faceful of warm tongue - and not the good kind. I try to swat at him lightly to get him away from the mess, but it's too late; he's already off running laps around the apartment again, ears flattened against his head, a wide grin on his face, and a wild excitement in his eyes. When I make it back to the couch to try to get some actual sleep after a full night of fun and games, it only takes him a couple of tries to find out how to bounce up and dig his dragon claws into my bare stomach.

"At least you're cute. You're lucky, you little demon." He flops down on my chest and curls up in a huge fluff ball, sad brown eyes locked on my face with worried little eyebrows wiggling up and down and soft breaths tickling my skin. I squint my eyes shut to trick him into going back to sleep for another half hour. His eyes finally drift closed and I hold in a deep sigh, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before his owner gets any more bright ideas.

---

May 13, 2013 at 12 PM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

"Happy birthday, Preston." She leans in the doorway and kisses me and I can already feel a big gooey streak of sparkly lip crap being smeared all over my face. Dangit, Hannah. Why do you always hafta look so pretty with all that make-up on? I'm not dumb enough to ask her to go wash it off, though... A whole week without any fighting? I'm not gonna be the one to kill the good mood. I'm pretty dumb but I'm not that dumb. She hands me a little orange paper gift bag with yellow tissue paper sticking up outta the top and I step back against the hall closet to let her in. This thing's pretty heavy, like a bowling ball. How'd she manage to get it to not rip?

"Uh, thanks."

"Aww, you're welcome. I told you I didn't forget your birthday. I just wanted to be here when you opened it." After a whole week of silent treatment and a week of on and off fighting, you woulda thought it wouldn't take her two whole weeks to find a couple hours to spend down here with me. I guess she's really not over the fight yet. Why can't she just let it go?

"Can I?" I point at the bag. She beams and gestures for us to go over to the couch and I start pulling the crinkled yellow paper out one piece at a time. There's a Five Guys gift card I notice is just enough money to feed both of us today. She's so selfless... And there's an Assassin's Creed IV t-shirt that looks awesome... except it's two sizes bigger than I wear. I try not to look annoyed that she thinks I'm a lot fatter than I actually am. Not gonna lie: it really hurts. And at the bottom... "What're these?"

"It's that really good apple cider beer I was telling you about." I look over at her and she shrugs, a not-so-innocent smile on her face. "You can buy alcohol at eighteen in Canada and they didn't bother checking the bag at customs. Not my fault your laws are uptight."

"But you're seventeen."

"My friend is twenty-eight. A bag of French fries goes a long way, I guess." She snorts in laughter when I pull the six-pack of brown bottles out of the bag and set it on the table then awkwardly check the bottom of the bag to make sure I got everything.

"Thanks, Hannah. And thanks for coming down to see me."

"You're welcome, sweetie. I'm glad you like it." She pulls me in for another kinda-sticky kiss and puts our foreheads together for a second. I wish things were like this more often instead of just for birthdays and when she's fighting with her parents. She opens her eyes again with a sneaky look on her face and she pulls away. "So... About those French fries..."

---

May 13, 2013 at 10 PM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

I can't stop laughing and I don't know why. It wasn't even that funny. She's laughing at me laughing, and I'm laughing at her laughing at me, and all we can do is laugh. And I only had two beers. I think? Maybe? Maybe it was three. I think it mighta been three. I dunno. Who cares? I down the rest of the third-ish bottle and she laughs again and takes the bottle away and puts it down on the table with a little glass clunk. Sounds like two bottles clicking together.

"Cheers, mate!" I laugh a little too loudly and knowing I'm annoying-drunk just makes me laugh again. No wonder Mom got so mad when she caught me drinkin' in high school. I can't even stand myself but it's too freakin' funny to stop! I can see her recording me on her phone and it'll probably end up on YouTube but who cares? It's not that bad. And if it is, the Bacca'll figure somethin' out. That's why he's the smart one and I'm the handsome one. I grab a lonely little bottle cap off the couch and my eyes somehow get caught on the ceiling fan and I have a new plan. "Wanna see a magic trick?" She guffaws and the phone falls down to her side in the kinda dark room and I dunno where it went. Her parents're gonna be pissed when she doesn't come home tonight. Worry about that tomorrow or next week or somethin'.

"No, but do you want to see one? I can show you a trick or two." The laughter bubbles up again, all nervous this time. Is it a real magic trick or is this something else? I don't understand girls. Is she gonna be mad about it tomorrow and not talk to me for a year? She has that evil little smile again like she's planning something. I shouldn't've said anything.

The little knitted sweater poncho thing she was wearing came off a long time ago, like as soon as we got home from the burger place. And now she's lifting up her tank top and her belly button's pierced with a teal blue-green diamond thing and - oh my God - that isn't a pattern on her bra. It's like see-through. I can't stop staring long enough to move and in half a second the silky padding's off, too, and half the size of her boobs is sitting on the end of the couch. Not gonna say it's too much of a let-down 'cause... I mean... Boobs. Look at 'em. They're so bouncy. She scoots in close again and we're kissing again and she's holding my hands but then my hands are holding the squishiness and I don't like it at as much as I thought I would. The way Kenny and Daka talked about it... I thought it'd be better? What was I expecting? I grab 'em a little more and squeeze and she gasps so I guess she likes it. Maybe I'll do something right in her eyes this time. I'm still trying to figure out how something can be so soft and so hard and pointy at the same time when she finishes unbuttoning my shirt and I don't really notice it. She's so quick I don't have time to react before my fly's down and her hand's fishing around in my pants. She's pumping and rubbing and pulling before I can even break the kiss.

"Just relax, Preston. I'm not going to hurt you."

"But we ca- Oooooh..."

"Just let me take care of you." The tension keeps growing and I can feel all my blood rush down there and I can't look. I know we shouldn't be doing this but it feels so good and I somehow don't care as much as I should right now. The little forever doesn't last as long as it should and I look up just long enough to see her ripping my jeans and boxers off my feet and now I just have socks on like a freaking weirdo. I reach down and throw those over by the TV and now her short shorts are sliding down and she's wearing a blue and black lacey thong and in like two seconds that's gone, too, and there's just bare pink skin and I feel gross and hairy and I'm looking at a naked girl in my living room, in my living room, me, and she sees me watching her and she puts her fingers in and rubs the inside for a second before she gets real close and starts kissing me again, then she grabs my hand and drags me back to my bedroom and I cringe when I feel her hand's still wet. That's gross. Wait does this mean...? But what'll happen if Mom finds out? What about Pastor Avery? I'm gonna be in so much crap and I don't know if I'm gonna... Do I hafta apologize for this, like to God and everyone, like get up in front of the church and tell-

"Give it to me, Preston. I need you." She's already scooting up by the pillows and pulling me after her and her legs are wide open and I can see everything and I don't wanna touch her, it's so slimey but I have to, right? That's what guys do. And I'm a guy so I hafta like it. I just have to get it in first. I can do this. I just hafta man up. I crawl up between her legs and I think maybe I don't wanna do this but she reaches down and slides it right in and that was way easier than I thought it'd be. Oh, crap. It's so wet it slips in on its own and now I'm inside her body and she's pulling me closer and it feels okay. It's so warm and stretchy and soft... I try to move and it feels like it's gonna slip back out but I need to hear her moan like that again and know she likes me, after all. Why else would she let me do this to her? It feels weirdly good but gross at the same time and nothing has ever felt like this before. It feels like I'm taking forever and I hate it and I feel like I'm not good enough but she's still gasping and moaning so I guess I'm not that bad? It feels like it's taking a lot longer than it usually does when it's just me. Maybe I'm drunker than I thought. And I'm pretty frickin' drunk right now. That's almost funny but I can't laugh right now or she'll kill me.

It's a relief when I finally finish. I take it back out as fast as I can and I slump on the bed next to her and try not to hear the little slurpy squishy noises she makes as she keeps rubbing down there. It's just... why does it have to be so wet? Are all girls like that? It's like gettin' it on with a drippy sponge and it's kinda sticky on my skin and my balls and my head as it dries and now I'm covered in slime trails. It's like she spit all over me with really thick spit. I don't think I liked it as much as I hoped I would...

What does that say about me?

Do all the other guys like that?

I bet Jerome has a load a fun with his stupid Bacca slurping.

Is this why Rob doesn't like girls?

Are guys all gooey and sticky like that?

"Mmm-mmmmm..." she grunts and she makes the whole bed shake when she finishes and I don't want her to touch me or my clean bed with her hands but she's already doing it. She puts her arms around me and moves right up against my side. I bet she falls asleep right away. But the alcohol's wearing off and I already feel guilty. I'm not gonna sleep much tonight.

I really screwed up.

Now what do I do?