Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (5 page)

I see Nate pull into the parking lot, so I head downstairs to meet him at the car.

"Ready to go?" he asks as he opens my door for me.

"Yep, let’s do this."

He jogs around to his side of the car and we head off.

"So, hard ciders and soup bowls for you, right?"

"You remembered, how sweet," I say, almost sarcastically.

For some strange reason, he sounded too sincere.

A muscle in his jaw tightens. "You look really nice today, I really dig your outfit. You have the whole Bohemian thing going on."

I look down at my light-brown, loose-knit sweater. The top is only partially buttoned, so you can see my band tee underneath, and I haphazardly threw on a pair of jeans. I didn't really consider the look Bohemian. I don't think about things like clothes too much. Maybe my colorful and handmade cross-body purse Grandpa Joe brought me back from his cruise to Jamaica contributed to his observation. I don't think Nate has ever commented on my clothes before.
Weird
.

"Thanks, I wasn't trying to go for any specific look. I kind of throw clothes together I think might match," I explain.

"Well, whatever you do, you look good," he comments.

"Thanks, I appreciate the compliment." I give him a half smile.

I've always thought I sucked at fashion.

"No problem, I should tell you more often," he adds.

"Not necessary, really," I insist.

I'm trying to cut the conversation off fast. It's beginning to make me uncomfortable.

"So, are any of your friends meeting us there?" I wonder.

"Nah, I thought it could be just you and me today." He shrugs his shoulders and gives no more thought to it.

A part of me was hoping there would be more people. I don't know what, but something about Nate is off. Every few seconds he takes his eyes off the road to glance at me. He doesn't say anything, but the crease in his forehead makes me believe something is on his mind.

"Wow, the parking lot is packed," he exclaims as we pull up to a makeshift lot far into the meadow. "I think we're going have quite a long walk to the entrance. I hope that’s okay."

"Yeah, fine with me. No worries, I need the work out anyways," I joke.

The walk is longer than I anticipated. As we walk, I actually start to have a hard time breathing. I even end up wheezing. The entire pathway is up hill. I am clearly out of shape.

"Are you doing okay over there?" Nate nudges my shoulder and taunts.

"Yeah … I. … will … be … fine," I manage to get each breathy word out.

"We're almost there, and the first thing I'll do is get you that cider I promised, okay?"

"Sounds … good," I pant.

He plasters a smile on his face and we meander our way toward the entrance.

As we approach the gate, a girl in an authentic, era-appropriate costume takes our tickets.

"Ah, thank goodness," I boast, "I don't think I could have walked much further."

Once we're inside, I sit down at one of the picnic tables by the Ye Old Bar to catch my breath. Meanwhile, Nate rushes off to get drinks.

While I sit there waiting, I feel a sharp stinging pain in my right arm. "
Ahh
, shit-son-of-a-mother-fricker-
frick
!"

I forgot the one thing I hated about the festival—the friggen bees. Early October in Michigan is the worst when it comes to bees, and a cardboard village in the middle of a meadow with people eating and drinking is a magnet for them.

I'm rubbing my muscle in the spot the bee stung when Nate sets my drink in front of me. He sits beside me, incognizant and unconcerned. He doesn't notice I'm hurting at the moment. I don't know why he's so distracted.

Also weird, is how he sat right next to me on the bench instead of across from me, maybe so we can hear each other talk over the awful, old-fashioned, band?

"So, you've mentioned your brother plays?"

"Huh? Plays … what?" My lips purse unintentionally, and I raise a brow in query.

"You know, guitar," he prompts.

"Oh, yeah. He's surprisingly good, for being self-taught."

"I would play with him, you know," he offers. "I'm always up for a jam session."

Nate has never been around my family. I'm not ready for something so official.

"What a nice offer, I'll let him know." I force a smile.

I down my first cider relatively fast, because I need to use it as a pain reliever for the sting. Before I know it, I have another drink sitting in front of me. Nate's on the ball. I didn't even notice him go to get another round.

After my second drink, we start talking and laughing about something else, I don't even remember what, and I am starting to feel pretty good. Three drinks in, I'm relaxed and ready to go enjoy the rest of the festival. We stop at any booths interesting looking. I like the one with the homemade candles. They smell yummy.
Yep, I am definitely buzzed.

I wander all around and enjoy the energy. The Renaissance Festival emulates my favorite historical period of time, and I'm in love with the ambience. These places are specifically designed for social odd balls like me.

Especially if you get into the hidden innuendos underneath of the surface. With the alcohol, night time theatrics, and of course, the women wearing period appropriate clothing with the exception of boob spillage, this family friendly fair is all rather erotic.

We pass a few pirates and a princess. I find myself focusing an unusual amount of energy dissecting their costumes. I am fascinated with the detail.

The next booth we come to looks like a metal worker. Nate stops abruptly in front of me. Not paying attention to my surroundings, I run right into the back of him.

"Ugh." I rub at my nose that's been smashed by a shoulder blade.

"Wait here. One of my buddies is up there, he works with metal. I'm going to go say hi."

He bolts before I get a chance to respond.

"Okie doke, don't mind me. I'll just be over heeere," I say to no one and point my finger around to nowhere specific. "Looking at the guy with the old, weird, instrument thingy," I babble on to myself. I mosey over toward a fast gathering crowd on the pathway for ye old troubadour.

A few seconds—or minutes, because at this point I have no concept of time—goes by when I quiver at the sound of a breathy voice behind me. He's too close, and I feel his warm breath on my ear when he whispers, "I got you something." It's Nate, and he seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

He hands me a rose made of metal. The piece is beautiful, and I can tell a lot of work went into making it. I don't know what to say to the unexpected gesture.

"Um, I don't know what to say."
Way to be eloquent.
"Thank you, but you really didn't have to."

"Sure I did, a beautiful rose for a beautiful girl. It's only right."

I'm sure I'm flushed, from a combination of the alcohol and the compliment.

"I think I have had too much to drink, I should eat something. How about those meat sticks you wanted? We could go get one of each kind!" I exclaim, trying to redirect where this is going.

"Sure, but first I want to show you something."

He grabs my hand and all but drags me in a direction off the pathway. We come to a long wall of porta potties which, non-surprisingly, have long lines.

"Um … Nate, I don't have to pee, but thanks for assuming after my drinks and all I would. That was considerate."

I look at our connected hands as he continues to fiercely drag me in their direction.

"Yeah, I guess that would have been smart, huh? But no, that's not what I was getting at."

"Then where are we—" Before I can finish the question, I am being pushed through an open doorway.

I look around to get my bearings. We're in some shack the festival is using for a handicap/family bathroom. What a good idea, actually. I can't picture the porta potties are good for either of those situations.

No one seems to notice the shack is a restroom and available.
We should let a few families waiting by the portas know; it wouldn't be fair if I took it and I really didn't need to go..

My mind has to do a double take when Nate walks in behind me and shuts the door.

"Nate, what are—"

"Shhhh."

Realization dawns on me when I see the heated expression on his face.

"No. What? Nate, this is not what I had—" My words are cut short as I get pushed against the sink. I feel his hands grab my waist before my shirt is yanked up.

"Ouch. Nate, that hurt. Seriously stop."

"Come on, Bee, you know we both need each other right now. I knew if I got you to loosen up a bit." He starts to kiss me brash and hard.

I push him back, but my weak force doesn't do much against his weight. He doesn't notice my reluctance, and my movements are getting him even more worked up. We've kissed before, kissing isn't new, but his staunch aggressiveness is.

He picks me up and sets me on the cheap plastic sink. I don't even want to know how dirty the surface is. This one-step-up from a porta potty is abominable.

"Put me—" I get interrupted when he lands on my mouth again.

"Put … me … down …" I'm striving to get each word out.

"It's okay, what we're doing is okay," he tries to assure me.

My buzz immediately wears off. No, he has flat out killed it, and I'm starting to get pissed. This is not what today was supposed to be about.

I feel the drag of his hand pull on my pants button; the sound of my zipper tearing open sends me into full on panic-mode. I can't let my first time happen against my will and in a porta potty. I start trying harder to fight his hands off, in an attempt to do my pants back up, but it's dark, and I can't see what I'm doing. I break my face free from his mouth's assault long enough to quickly look down and find my button. I'm trying to fix my pants when I take note of his boner sticking right out the top of his waist band.

Nate knows me enough to know I'm a virgin, and I will probably stay that way until I get my shit together. What the fuck is he thinking?

His determination is merciless as he makes no effort to slowdown, despite my struggling. As his disregard for my protests continue, I start to truly feel scared. For the first time I really let myself think about the reality of becoming a college statistic. The terror of such a thought overcomes me, and I bite his lip as hard as I can. The taste of his blood violates my tongue, and with much more force than before, I give him one last shove.

"Ouch. Son-of-a-bitch. Really, Rigbee? Was that fucking necessary?" His face twists.

"Well, apparently it was! What the hell are you thinking, Nate? You know." I cry. "You know better; you know me better than to …" I fail to finish my sentence as I try to fight the tears my body desperately wants to release.

"I … I figured if you loosened up a bit you might want to—"

"Well, I
don’t
," I rage.

"No. Fucking. Shit," he spits out at me.

The anger he directs at me is asinine, causing me to think it stems from something deeper.

"What is really going on here, what are you doing? This isn't like you."

Finally, awareness comes over him as the color drains from his face. He drops his head low and slightly shakes it side to side. The guilt and disappointment is apparent in his expression. He abruptly turns around and storms out, slamming the door behind him. I'm left here alone, in the gross bathroom, to analyze the startling incident that has just taken place.

I'm taking my time in here before I have to face whatever waits for me out there. I'm hesitant to, but I take a look at myself in the plastic, fogged-up mirror. I have to. My face is flushed, and my glazed eyes are red and puffy. I wince at my reflection. I feel one coming, so I do what I do best and squeeze my eyes shut, take a pill and a few deep breaths, and pull myself together.

After I am calm enough to breath normal, I slowly walk out. Though I'm fine now, I can't stop myself from keeping my eyes on the ground and my head low. I don't know why I feel shameful; the situation was not my fault and I know so, but part of me wishes I could have been that girl for him.

There is nothing wrong with a little bathroom fun between two consenting adults, I just wasn't ready to consent. I feel like my issues are the problem in the way. I know Nate is not the one, but I've always wondered, if I didn't have these problems could I have fun with guys who don't necessarily have to be the one?

I won't ever know. If I can't have sex with a guy like Nate, a guy I actually feel—scratch that,
felt
comfortable around, will I ever be able to? When I walk to our picnic table I see that my bread bowl of soup is waiting for me with a bottle of water, and a very apologetic looking Nate.

"I'm sor—" I begin, before I get cut off.

"Don't you fucking dare turn my mistake into something you can use against yourself, the problem was all me. I know how you are, Bee, and I ignored it on purpose for my own selfishness. I am so sorry."

"Why? Why did you do that to me? Why did you even want to do that, with me of all people?"

A deep rooted sadness clouds his features.

"Jill is dating some guy. I just found out. I got pissed at myself for thinking she was coming back and I snapped. I thought maybe if I … Well, you know. And as for your last question, I am not dignifying such a stupid question with a response. You're too hard on yourself and any guy who ends up with you will be damned lucky."

"I can't be that girl for you," I whisper to him.

I close my wet eyes in an attempt to fight back tears.

"I know," he whispers back.

"I don't think …" I start with a choke. "I don't think we should hang out outside of school anymore. I didn't mean to give you the impression—"

"You didn't." He lets out a groan. "Fuck," he pauses. "You've always been honest with me. I'm such an asshole for taking advantage of you when my own shit started to fall apart. But, I agree. I don't think we should hang out, either." His own eyes begin welling up.

Wow, I was not expecting his response. I should have, but hearing him agree with me still hurt.