Chapter 4: Georgia

The professors at the university were much different than the teachers at my high school. The university professors were impersonal and aloof, never looking any student in the eye and always speaking with a lofty tone of exaltation. The schoolwork was harder and a heavier load, leaving me with several sleepless nights in the first half of the semester as I tried to get used to the new routine. My advisor had convinced me to major in education and minor in French so that I could teach French but also other subjects if I wanted to.

While I found that making friends was still not my forte in college, Georgia and I had become closer. After a few weeks of her talking to me almost constantly even though I managed to only get a few words in, I found that she wasn't so bad. She was a social butterfly to say the least and constantly had other girls in our room when I was trying to work. When she wasn't getting in from a party in the middle of the night, she was snoring so loud that even the room next to us left complaints.

Eventually, I settled in and learned to sleep with the pillow over my ears to get sound rest. Sharing a room never proved easier, though. Georgia had a habit of letting her items stray to my side of the room, and by Christmas break, I felt like I had been pushed to the very far corner of the room.

A diligent student, I managed to keep my head down and make perfect grades in all my courses. Georgia had done well enough to not fail, and she decided that a celebration was in order. Never had I been to a party or even dreamed of the idea. The mere thought of being in a room full of strangers with the inclination to talk to one another made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Unfortunately, Georgia's stubborn attitude and my innate meekness prevented me from declining the demand guised as an offer to attend a party that was being held at a student's off-campus apartment.

It was a chillier Louisiana December, but the air was still humid as Georgia walked me out of campus towards the party which was a few blocks away. The night was cloudy and dark, and a cool breeze brought goosebumps on my skin as my heart paced faster in my chest with each step closer to the event. Georgia blabbered on, having opted to wear one of her best dresses complemented with a full face of makeup. Georgia had tried several times to lure me into the culture of wearing makeup, and I had let her "fix" my face a few times, but my interests were so much farther than red lipstick.

The apartment building was nestled on the outskirts of downtown, and the noisy green light of the lobby met my senses as Georgia rushed me inside. I tried to keep up with her on the sage-painted stairwell, her long red hair flowing down her back in front of me and wafting a sweet apple scent into my nostrils that kept me from passing out as we winded several flights of stairs before exiting off into a hallway.

The sound of muffled music and mingling voices filled my ears as Georgia led me to a door at the end of the hallway, and by the sound coming from the other side of the door, I knew we had definitively reached the party. The collar of my dress started to strangle me, my pale fingers gently clawing at the fabric in desperation to breathe as Georgia knocked boldly on the door.

The suspended moments of waiting for someone to answer the door felt like a long stretch of an anxious lifetime thinning out before my eyes. My lack of experience formulated expectations that were filled with fearful assumptions and nervous nightmares. What would happen on the other side of that door? Who would I meet? What would be said?

Finally, the door swung open. A boy with dark, gelled hair came into focus, and behind him was the blurred background of what looked to me like a million different bodies. His eyes landed on Georgia, and the already casual smile on his face turned into a grin as he leaned his elbow against the open door and his other arm on the frame, and I watched Georgia giggle at his demeanor.

"I knew you'd be coming sooner or later," the boy said deviously, and I noticed the specks of a mustache on his upper lip.

A shriek of giggles burst out of Georgia as she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his square shoulders and leaning up on her toes to peck his cheek. The apple scent of her perfume was gone from my nostrils now, replaced with the stench of cigarettes that emanated from the apartment like a smog.

Georgia had many boyfriends in our first semester, and after a while all the names blended together. My best guess was that this guy was John or Timothy, based in the fact that his shoulders were muscular like a linebacker's and Georgia had recently expressed interest in attending football games.

Georgie slipped out of his hold, some of her hair catching on his black sweater. I felt like a ghost at first, and I think the guy might have swooped Georgia into the party and slammed the door in my face if it weren't for Georgia turning to me and allowing his eyes to follow hers.

My eyes glanced between Georgia's freckles and the guy's speckled mustache as she spoke, "Tim, this is my roommate, Becca."

Tim's dark eyes glanced me over, and he even took the effort in making sure the perfect swirl of black hair that hung over his forehead bounced as he looked me up and down.

"Oh, yea, Georgia's told me about you. You're the studier, right?" He smiled at me, but something in my stomach told me that the smile was not a nice one by the way his chuckle felt more like a scoff, but mostly by the way Georgia slapped his shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"Come on," she said softer, taking my wrist and pulling me inside the apartment.

As soon as I was fully immersed in the party, Georgia had already recognized a group of girls across the room and ran to them. I could hear Tim close the door behind me, and now my collar was burning a line into my throat.

Rock music was playing from somewhere within the apartment, but I mostly could only hear all the people talking. There were more people in the room than there was oxygen to breathe, and before I could take another step, Georgia appeared again holding two glasses with dark liquid in them.

"Here," she said and shoved the glass into my hand. "Drink—you'll feel better."

I was too ashamed to say that I had never taken a drink in my life except for when Greg and I would sneak into his mother's liquor cabinet and dip our tongues into the wine bottles and pretend to be drunk. The thought of him made my gut wrench. For that reason, I had tried my best to not think of him all semester. For that reason, the reminder made my chest hurt.

Georgia noticed my hesitance to take a drink, so she held hers up towards me. "Cheers. We'll drink it together."

"All of it?"

"Why not?" She shrugged, and I knew that there was no way of reasoning myself out of Georgia's demand. I meekly raised my glass, and she clinked mine hard with hers, and then instantly brought the glass to her lips and drank. Not expecting it to happen so fast, I threw my inhibition to the side and forced the glass to my lips, feeling the alcohol burn at my tongue and throat as I swallowed it down. It burned its way into my stomach as I continued downing the full glass, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut. The urge to vomit came quickly to me, but the need to make Georgia think well of me was stronger. There was something about being out of her spotlight of criticism that made me follow her every command. I enjoyed the times that she approved of me, like when she said my eyelashes were pretty, and when she said how smart I was, and when she had trusted my lips enough to apply her lipstick on me and then onto herself right afterwards.

Finally, the cup was empty. I took it away from my lips and lowered my head, catching my breath and wiping my mouth as my stomach burned. My face screwed up as the true flavor of the liquor hit me all at once, and when I looked back up to Georgia, she was staring at me with wide eyes, holding her glass which was still full except for the small sip she had taken from it.

"Oh, my God," she chuckled in disbelief, and my cheeks started to burn from how warm my body felt and also from my confusion. "I was only joking!"

"Oh," I whispered, which brought an itch to my throat that made cough. She took my glass out of my hand and set it down on a table nearby, coming back to grab my shoulder as I forced myself to stop coughing.

"Jesus, Becca, you're a real champ. Come on, let's go meet some people before you forget everybody."

Meet people, I did. I met several girls who all mostly ignored me and only talked to Georgia, and I met several guys who gave me looks that made the liquor want to come back up. Georgia forced more drinks into my hand, not realizing that every drink I took would get me twice drunker than her. I don't remember much from that night, but I do remember the end of the party.

Georgia was off somewhere with Tim, and I was sitting on a really soft couch next to a guy who had sparked interest in me. He was wearing a white button-up, and I remember him asking for my name. I believe that I did tell him but must have forgotten to ask his name. It apparently did not offend him, because he kept sitting closer to me on this couch. The male species was something that I knew little of mostly because I never cared that much about it.

I remember the music slowing down. I remember couples pairing together to dance and some disappearing somewhere else together. I remember the guy's hand holding mine tight as he led me to a bedroom. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed and feeling the mattress springs poke me, and the weight of him sitting close beside me. I remember him handing me another drink and continuing to talk about things I didn't understand. I remember feeling like I couldn't breathe and trying to scoot away, but his arm around my waist kept me close against him. I remember that his hand was first on my knee, and then on my upper thigh. I remember him asking me if I was a virgin. I remember my body feeling heavier than my own strength, and my vision blurry and doubled. I remember the feeling of something being very, very wrong, and I remember the relief that washed over me when the bedroom door, which I had not even realized he had closed, opened.

Georgia's voice rang in my ears, but I could not see her. "What are you doing?!" She grabbed me and pulled me off the bed, catching me when I lost my balance. I could feel her hand pulling the skirt of my dress back down.

Tim ran into the room after her, and I could hear him talking angrily to the guy who had been with me. I was walking, but I couldn't feel my feet moving as Georgia helped me out of the apartment. I wasn't drunk enough to not feel a thousand eyes on me.

The next thing I remember is Georgia gently helping me lay down on my bed in our room. The cold air from the walk home had sobered me enough to hear her aggravatedly sigh as she finally released herself from my weight.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, and suddenly I could feel the hot tears streaming down my face. I was slouching against the headboard, my legs halfway off the bed.

Georgia was about to turn away, but she stopped suddenly, her eyes looking at me. I could see Georgia's criticism in them, and it stabbed me right through the heart. Quickly, they softened, and she gave a different kind of sigh as she took my legs and lifted them properly onto the bed so that she could sit beside me.

"It's not your fault," she said, taking my hand in hers. "No one likes that guy because he always does that to girls at parties. He gets them drunk and takes them away. I keep telling Tim to stop inviting him to these things, but they're real good friends and all."

There was a lump in my throat bulging painfully in the confines of my esophagus. I weakly squeezed Georgia's hands that were cradling mine. "He asked me if I was a virgin."

Georgia tensed up, but I was too drunk to control what I was saying. I was too drunk to control the feelings and thoughts that had been inside me for a very long time—the feelings and thoughts that I had subconsciously pushed down after what had happened to Greg.

I kept blabbering. "I am a virgin. There were some boys in high school that wanted to, but I never... I didn't want to. I still don't."

Georgia's eyes grew concerned as I started to cry harder. She leaned forward suddenly, taking my face in her hand. "Becca, did he... touch you?"

I shook my head, because although I was drunk, I was absolutely certain that Georgia had stormed into the room at the right time by a number of milliseconds.

She sighed for the third time, this time in relief. She was still close to me, and it seemed as if she were about to say something, but my mouth opened again, out of my control.

"I don't like boys," I sobbed.

Georgia's eyebrows sewed together before they eased, and she chuckled. "I don't like boys, either. They're stupid and vile, and altogether useless."

"But you like Tim."

Georgia smiled a little. "Well, yeah, I like Tim more than I've liked any other boys."

"Georgia, I don't like boys. I could never like Tim. I could never like him."

I was crying so hard now and not making much sense that I think Georgia barely understood what I was saying. She was looking at me with such concern, and her hand was gently stroking my hot face. Her hand was so soft and so nice, and all I could smell was her sweet apple perfume. The room was dark except for the streetlight outside the window which cast an orange light across her face. My fascination with Georgia's obvious beauty was something I had always categorized as envy. I told myself that I longed to be as pretty as her, that I was only jealous. Now, under the influence of the drinks and the tears and the desperate, pathetic feeling of being completely lost and unguided from all the things that had happened that year, my subconscious was taking control.

I kissed Georgia. She was already so close that I barely moved. Something changed deep inside me when my lips met hers. A flower bud in my chest bloomed to reveal its petals, and in that instant, I knew it would never go back to the way it was. It would never un-blossom.

Georgia froze when I kissed her. I certainly had no idea what I was doing, so I froze, too, and we were like that for a fleeting moment before her hand on my cheek moved to my jaw and pushed my face away, keeping it under her hold.

I looked up at the shock on her face. There were so many emotions running through her that her eyes turned different shades of color all in a matter of seconds. Her eyes looked at my lips. Maybe she also was a little drunk. Maybe it was because we were alone in our room, and it was dark, and she felt bad because I was crying. For whatever reason, she kissed me again. She kissed me with hesitance and shame, keeping my face rigid under her hand. She kissed me harder, her hand slipping past my ear so that her fingers tangled in my hair. She held me tight as she kissed me hard, and I was limp as a fish against her, forgetting to keep breathing. Her other hand gripped my shoulder to keep me pinned against the headboard, as if I was only a doll that she was experimenting on. She didn't want me to move, and she hardly allowed me to kiss back. I had kissed her first, so this was my doing, and she had permission to kiss me until my lips started to hurt and I couldn't breathe. Georgia was smart that way. I didn't realize this in that moment, but now I know. Georgia was always so deceptive.

There was disgrace and anger in her hand that squeezed my shoulder, her thumb pressing hard into my flesh. I think that the pain forced a squeak out of me, and the noise that I made reminded her that I was alive, that she was kissing me, and that I was a girl. She flew off me like a bat.

Now she was standing away from the bed, the streetlight no longer casting across her. Her face was barely visible in the shadows of the dark room, but I could still read it. She stared at me with wide green eyes, looking almost horrified.

She didn't say another word. She closed the blinds, leaving the room in total darkness, and I heard her get into her own bed.

Although my mind and heart were racing, the alcohol in my system took me straight to sleep. By the next morning, I woke up to find that Georgia was not in the room. It was not unusual for her to be nowhere to be found in the mornings, so it didn't faze me. I had almost forgotten about everything that happened the previous night until I went to the washroom and showered, finding the shape of purple fingertips bruised into the bone of my shoulder. Everything came rushing back to me.

That day was also the first day of Christmas break. I packed my things and went home at noon, not seeing Georgia before I left. When I came back a couple weeks later, I found that the other half of the room was completely empty, and Georgia's name was scratched off the paper on the door. That was considered mercy.