Scars of My Past(6)

By: D. C. Renee

You’d think I would have gotten away when I went to college, right? But some things were so beaten into you that you didn’t question them. When I was told I was attending a college nearby and living at home, I did. It also didn’t help I was expected to stay local and be the hometown hero. I had let myself down enough; I didn’t want to let my town down either.

I’m sure if the town knew what I’d gone through, they would have told me to run far, far away a long time ago. But they didn’t know that part of me. They only knew what I showed them, and what I showed them was cockiness. I gave off an air of superiority around my friends, classmates, pretty much anyone who wasn’t at home. I’d heard girls whispering, “Alpha,” when they didn’t realize I could hear them. I took it; I owned it.

In reality, it was the way I coped with the secrets that made me a coward at home. It was a shield I’d created, a persona that differed completely from the scared little boy I couldn’t seem to shake free of.

I took my frustrations out by having sex … a lot of sex. Girls threw themselves at me, and I was okay with that. More than okay with that. I loved it.

It was my outlet, my way to be in control of at least some part of my life.

I didn’t do attachments. The girls I slept with weren’t the kind I’d ever settle down with. They were the kind who wanted a night with the likes of me. They knew the score, but if they were delusional enough to think they could catch me after that, then that was on them. I didn’t feel guilty about their false sentiments. And the girls who might have caught my attention? Well, I wasn’t worthy. Not with the filth I carried deep in my heart. And if I didn’t believe that, I still wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to learn my secrets. They were mine and mine alone. I wasn’t letting anyone in because then I’d have to let them into everything … everything that was a part of me. And I had too many ugly things that were a part of me.

One day, it all stopped. It was the single most satisfying and horrific day of my life. It was done, over with, and I was relieved. But then others knew. They understood what I’d gone through. I think I went through at least some of the stages of grief after that, which was understandable. A part of me died; a part of my life was now exposed and rotting with exposure to fresh air. I just wanted it all to go away.

I tried to continue the life I’d built. I tried to be the guy everyone knew me to be. I partied, I played, I continued my schooling, but I couldn’t stay there anymore. There were too many memories and too many unknowns. I needed to get away, get as far away as I could.

I contacted every school I thought I might have a chance of getting into and sent videos, mailed letters, and made countless phone calls.

And now, it had finally paid off.

Just a few more months and I’d be away from it all. I’d be in sunny Southern California where dreams were made and wishes came true. I just hoped it’d be that way for me.




CAM AND I DIDN’T speak during class because the teacher lectured the entire time. While I wrote notes down like it was a sport, he jotted down a few bullet points. If it wasn’t for the keen attention he was giving our professor, I would have thought he didn’t care.

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” I told Cam as I gathered my things and waited for him to move down to the aisle so I could head out.

“Yeah,” he responded before making his way out of the class. I had made it about one step out the door when I heard him call out to me. “Hey, Genevieve.”

I turned and saw him take a couple of steps toward me. “Yeah?” I asked.

“I couldn’t help but notice the kind of notes you take in class.”

“I hate reading the book,” I responded, feeling the need to justify why I had scribbled down everything the teacher said. Cam hadn’t even said it accusingly, but I felt a little embarrassed.

“Yeah, I get it,” he said as he nodded as if he understood. He probably did. Actually, most college students probably feel the same way. “Well, I thought maybe we could exchange numbers so that if either one of us misses a class or something, we could find out from each other.”

“You totally just want a copy of my notes,” I said with a smile. I only half-teased since I was sure it was mostly true.

“All right, that too,” he said with a smirk. “But really, I’m a good study partner to have, so it’ll be like an even exchange.”

I wanted to say, “Who says I need a study partner?” but honestly, I knew I wouldn’t mind getting together with him to go over class notes. His expression said he wasn’t used to asking girls for help ... or maybe he wasn’t used to asking anyone for help. So I took pity on him.

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