Lust and Love

     “It's not a war zone, it’s a f*****g party!” I hear my best friend chastising me through my cellphone. She's so loud, I have to hold the phone away from my ear to keep my eardrum intact.      “You always do this Olivia! You say you’ll come and then when it’s time to go, you make up an excuse not to.” She isn’t wrong. I’ve been doing this for years now, failing to cope with my anxiety of social situations.      “Don’t you want to have fun?” She’s trying to convince me. “I know you have social phobias, but isn’t the next step for you to embrace your fears?” She sounds like my therapist. I figure now is the right time to interject.      “I’m just not feeling all that well." I make my voice sound groggy, trying to imitate being sick.      “Bull shit.” I hear her sigh in frustration. “That’s it, I’m coming over and dragging you out of that apartment-if it’s the last thing I do.” This last bit was said relatively quietly, so I know she’s serious.      “No, Elle, really! Let’s just try ano-" I try to stall her long enough for her to get tired of trying to convince me, but I hear the chime of a disconnected call.      “Fuck.” I say to myself, still idiotically holding the phone to my ear. I pull it away and furiously start typing a message to Elle, begging her not to come. I’m tired, I’m sick, I’m just in the mood to stay at home. No replies to any of them.      As the end of the call nears the ten-minute mark, I pull myself up from my bed and run to check the lock on the door. Maybe I’ll just hide out and pretend I’m not home. Yes, I’d rather do that than spend my evening surrounded by a bunch of people getting wasted and competing for mates. Especially Elle’s type of friends. Rich and Elite. More like snobby and loaded.      I run to the shower and turn it on, knowing that the hot water will be soothing for my stress. And it gives me a good excuse for not answering the door. I’m not a totally shut-in. Just when it counts. I like to spend my time off reading, baking, or watching TV. I also like to spend my time doing all of these things. . . alone. That’s just how I prefer it. That’s how I’ve always preferred it. Sure, it makes things like finding a partner hard, but who needs another person in their life anyway?      I still go to work, the grocery store, and sometimes even the movies. Honestly, with the difference between me and Elle’s lifestyles, I’m not even sure why we’re still friends. Or why she still talks to me after all of the times I’ve stood her up.      Just as a gnawing feeling of guilt hits the pit of my stomach, I hear a noise from behind the shower curtain. “I didn’t have anything of mine that would fit you, so we’ll just have to look through your closet.” The closeness of Elle’s voice startles me so much that I jerk around wildly, screaming at the top of my lungs. The lack of bath mat sees me falling straight down in the tub, whacking my spine quite nicely on the tap, and landing flat on my ass. The curtain moves to the side, and I see Elle standing over me.      “Ah, you’re clean! Perfect.”      “How the f**k did you get in here?” I launch my question at her from where I’m huddled on the bed. My towel is wrapped tightly around me, concealing the extra pounds I’ve put on since we met. I’m very uncomfortable being this close to complete nudity in front of others, and my ass hurts.      “The extra key from when I helped you move in.” She answers this easily, but is distracted by the clothes she’s now pulling from my closet.      “I don’t remember giving you a key.” I say, pointedly.      “You were wasted that night, so you don’t remember a lot of things.” She laughs her charming laugh and continues to paw through my stuff. I still remember that long night of hugging the toilet.      “It was only because you made me drink!” I taste the disgusting swill of bile, remembering the night.      “I didn’t pour it down your throat! I only suggested that we christen the place. And maybe let off a little steam. Speaking of which. . .” She holds up a little black dress and makes an inquiring face at me. “Look at this steamy little number! Perfect for tonight.”      “I bought that online in a moment of weakness. It probably doesn’t even fit. I’ve never tried it on.”      “Well, now you can.” She dances over to me, her crystal, blue eyes sparkling. She is the picture of perfect. It seems almost effortless for her. Even in oversized t-shirts and sweats, she shines. Tonight, she looks fabulous. Her white designer gown, accompanied by a thin chain adorning her neck, makes the thought of my frumpy body in the short black dress feel disgusting.      Before I know it, I’m standing next to her in the mirror, hair curled and makeup plastered on. The dress looks more horrible on me than I ever could have imagined. I pull at the hem, feeling like my ham-like legs are melting out from underneath it.      “Stop tugging at it!” She smacks my hand like a mother would correct a child. “You look beautiful.”      “Are you sure you can see enough of my v****a?” It sounds like a joke, but I’m highly concerned.      “It’s not even as short as mine, and you can’t see my v****a, can you?”      “I dunno, let me check.” She laughs at me and swats me away, as I feign looking at her dress hem.      “It’s a party, and it’s going to be fun. Don’t worry what other people think. Stay with me, drink a few drinks, and have a good time.”      “I think I’m just gonna stay home. Just text me, and it’ll be like I’m right there with you!” I head for the bathroom to wipe off my makeup, but she grabs me by the arm and pulls me back.      “No, no, no, no, no!” She tugs me through the living room in the direction of the door. “I’m not going to let you wreck this for yourself. You’re going, and you’re going to have a good time.”      “MOTHERFUCKER.” I keep repeating the curse in my head. My stomach feels sick, and my heart is pounding in my chest. Elle’s driver is taking waaaay too many turns for my stomach.      “You’re not going to throw up. You’re not going to throw up.” I try to calm myself out loud.      “It’s going to be fine, Olivia.” Elle reaches over and pulls me close. She snuggles her head against mine, and I can smell the scent of her perfume, light and floral. Damn, she even smells perfect.      “How exactly is this helping me?” I lash out, letting my anxiety get the better of me.      “You’re coping. This is something you need to do.” Her voice sounds rather clinical. “You need to push your boundaries. Or else you’ll stay locked up in your apartment for the rest of your life.”      “I like being locked up in my apartment. Away from people.”      “Away from people? Or away from their judgment?” She studies my face, but I say nothing. “By the way, it’s not even their judgment you’re afraid of is it? It’s just the things you tell yourself they’re thinking about you.” I make a small noise to brush off what she’s saying, but in reality, it’s the truth. I don’t have much time for soul-searching because Elle has an announcement.      “We’re here!”      I force myself to look out the window.      “MOTHERFUCKER. . .” I gasp in amazement.