Kara As soon as I got home from campus, I made a beeline for the bathroom. But this time, it wasn't to take a dump. I sat in the empty bathtub, still fully clothed. Chin on my knees, hands on my neck. I stared at the yellowed spots I couldn't get rid of no matter how hard I scrubbed the surface of the tub, and let my mind wander. It was quiet except for the drip, drip, drip from the faucet. And if I really listened to it, I could hear the creepy grandmother clock in the living room ticking heavily. It needed to be adjusted again or, in my opinion, thrown out, but my dad loved to hoard junk—useful junk, according to him—so it stayed. In the back of my mind I was thinking that if only my childhood friend Damon was here, the dripping and the heavy ticking would have been taken cared of already. He was a pretty good handyman, among other things. But he wasn't here. His last text said he was somewhere in British Columbia. Doing only God knows what. My eyes hesitantly travelled up from my feet to the other end of the tub, where I had placed my cellphone. It mocked me with its dark screen. I narrowed my eyes at it, like it was my archenemy. I should turn it off. Why didn't I? Was I actually waiting for him to call? And oh God. He smelled my butt burp. My loud butt burp. I slapped my face with my hands, covering mostly my mouth, and screamed. Torture. This felt like torture. And to think that I was fantasizing about him just a few minutes ago before he saw me in the hallway outside of the bathroom... or heard me inside the bathroom... Shit. Why would he ask for my name? And my number? He couldn't possibly be interested in me... right? But the bigger question was why the hell did I give him both? I thought of the way he'd asked for my name. Like a whisper. Like a secret he wanted to know. His voice held just a little hint of desperation. Tell me. Tell me your name. Please. How could I have refused that? I snapped my eyes shut. Why? Why did he want to know? He had sounded so cocky by the time he'd asked for my number, so confident, so in charge. And why the hell not? He probably thought, this girl is easy. Easy! Me? Easy? Ha! The thought made me itchy. I wanted to punch and kick something... preferably his gorgeous face. Cam. That was his name. I heard her say it. And there was my answer. I could have refused that because he was making out—scratch that—going to do the dirty salami with his girlfriend in the fuck bathroom just a few minutes before he'd asked for my number. So he thought he could cheat behind his girlfriend's back with me, didn't he? I gritted my teeth. That made me angry. Cheaters were on my black list. My mother was one after all. She ran away with a vacuum salesman, leaving my dad to raise two kids by himself. Good riddance if you asked me. I glanced at my socks. I had made a small angry hole pulling at the toe. These were my favorite cat socks. One more thing to add to his black list. I was feeling anger, and that was fine, but there was something else too. Disappointment. I leaned back against the tub, glaring up at the ceiling. A lot of idiots cheated on their partners. It wasn't a surprise. So why was I disappointed that someone I had no idea even existed until today was a cheater? Why? I had never seen or heard of him before. Granted, it was a huge college, but someone as attractive as he is was bound to be one of the hot topics on campus. Also, I had taken more than a year off. Of course, I wouldn't be updated. Maybe he was a transfer student. Or a freshman. I shook my head at the absurdity of that. He wasn't freshman material. He was huge. And tall. I was taller than most girls or guys I know, but he was taller. That alone would've gotten my attention. It was like finding a beautiful pair of shoes in my size at the store. I was size eleven and it was almost always they didn't carry my size. So naturally I had to take a closer look. I had to check it out, touch it, try it on for size. That was it! That was why I gave him my name and number. That was why I was disappointed. The shoes didn't fit. Total huge disappointment. Satisfied with my conclusion, I grabbed my phone and got out of the tub, ready to put it all behind me. An image of him standing beside me, his head leaning closer to mine, his skin almost touching mine appeared in my mind. My heart started to beat faster at the thought. Now I was not only angry at him, but at myself for still thinking about him. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. I refused to think about him for one more second and if he disturbed my peace again, I would release the Kraken! I dare him to call me! My phone rang. "Sumbitchmotherfuck!" I screamed. I scrubbed my face, gripped my hair. Was it him calling? I thought for a second of throwing my phone, but then it might break. I still had a few months on this plan and I wasn't going to pay for repairs or a new phone. He wasn't worth it. Heart hammering in my chest, I closed my eyes so I didn't have to see who was calling. I let it ring and vibrate in my hand for a second, gripping it in my palm and fingers—savouring a kind of sick pleasure from my misery, taunting myself of the possibility that maybe it was him calling, and maybe I would answer it. And say what exactly? Maybe I'd give him a piece of my mind, haw baw dat? Annoyed with myself, I opened my hand, let my phone slide to the sink before I stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind me. This was all his fault. That lying, cheating baboon. The doorbell rang. "Forfucksakes." I let out a loud breath and dragged my feet to the door. "Do I need to sell my soul to get some peace and serenity on this Earth or what?"