Forget Me Too

Two

I couldn’t blame the alcohol.

How could I if I was sober and fully aware? Oh, how I wish I was drunk instead. One can dream. One can also end up on a guy’s bed in the morning.

“s**t!” My scream vibrates on the pillow I pressed my face on. I scream some more, matching it with punches on the pillows and kicks on the mattress.

How on this gloriously round Earth did I end up here? I know exactly the answer.

It’s like having a relapse. It’s bad. It’s freaking bad.

*

"Isn't that a good thing?" Greg asked, looking over my shoulder where the bar counter was. We're in the club, waiting for Archie—the guy he met last week.

They've been chatting for months and this was already the second meet-up. I didn't understand why he forced me to come with him. They seemed to be hitting it fine last time.

Okay, I didn't really know what happened last time because I disappeared to make out with someone in the men's bathroom—who was currently sitting by the bar counter and whom I am hiding from.

"Do you actually need me here? I mean you seem to be doing fine. You decided to meet again, right?"

Greg rolls his eyes. "Yes, you're the one who encouraged me to online date. Take responsibility. Besides, I can’t leave you to cry alone in your apartment while I go out for a date. I’m not that heartless."

No, I never encouraged anyone to do anything. All I did was tell him my moms met online. Who would have thought his old-fashioned ass would be astonished by that? And since the online dating and meet-up scene was new for both of them. I’m basically babysitting here.

"For your information, I will not be crying alone. I’m totally over him, duh.” I rolled my eyes.

My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend and I broke up three weeks ago. It was a mutual decision and even though we used to be so all over each other, all that was in the past. The relationship was already stale months earlier than the actual break-up. I’m pretty sure we’re both done with it.

"If you are then go do that hottie already," he said jokingly.

“Ew Greg! You’re disgusting!”

“What? You’re single now, anyway. Exploit your freedom, monopolize that man.”

“Oh my god, you’re absolutely f*****g gross!” I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed by his words. What the heck does monopolizing a man mean? That sounded so filthy.

“I’m cheering on you. What an ungrateful child,” he faked annoyance.

After I told him the little situation I had with Caleb, he was convinced that it all happened thanks to him. He took the credit of forcing me to come to the club last week as if that was something to be proud of.

“What's so bad with seeing him again?"

"Uh, everything?" I cried.

"Serious now. Do you not like him?" His tone changed and I’m a bit assured he was serious.

"It's not like that. He's really nice." I said, reminiscing how good Caleb’s lips tasted like and how nice his hair felt between my fingers and the shiver I felt every time he whispered in my ear. He did that a lot of times, even when we were alone in his car.

"So you like him." Greg examined me, the way he does to substances in his chem lab.

"No! I mean... I don't know." I'm purely devastated. I'm not the type to engage in s****l stuff before getting to know the person. So far, all my relationships have started with going on dates and exclusive relationships before getting laid. "I'm not into those kinds of things."

"What things? One night stand?"

"Greg!"

"What so bad about it?"

To be fair, we didn't even hook up last time. Almost. He asked if I wanted to go further. It took me by surprise, mostly because of him asking. I also had a brief internal debate between my drunken self and my sober self which ceased when he decided my silence was a ‘no’.

God, he was such a good person. Why can't he be an actual douchebag so I could distance myself with no struggle?

"All I'm saying is, you're definitely into him, and don't dare deny it," he said accusingly, pointing a finger at me. "He does seem like a good person. Just go for it."

I bit my lip. He had all the points right, it hurt my ego.

The thing was, sober or not, I doubted I could help myself if I saw him again. God forbid I jump him right there and then.

*

"Now, now, don't beat the innocent." A smug face welcomes me when I turn around after my silent rampage.

Caleb is leaning on the doorframe, looking incredibly fresh and equally annoying as ever. Somehow, he managed to sweet talk me into coming over, and here I am, naked on his bed. The details are unimportant. It will only fuel my self-hate train. Because yes, this was my decision. Yes, I had a choice and yes, I chose this. Why the hell did I? And why the heck don't I regret it?

"Get up, sleepyhead. I cooked breakfast."

I pay him a pointed look, waiting for him to say another word, or do another thing. He didn't. He smiles innocently, which I'm not certain if fake or not. Either way, I followed his words and get up—stand up. The sheets a.k.a. the sole cover I have, drop, revealing my stripped bare body. I also make sure my expression is stripped of any emotion.

Pure amusement paints on his face as he bites his lip. "God, you're unbelievable."

"Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment."

He walks to the closet while shaking his head, perhaps in disbelief. To be fair, I can't believe myself either.

"You’re too sexy, babe, unfortunately, as much as I want, that's not the breakfast I was talking about."

I catch the shirt he tossed and pull it over my head. It's big enough to cover down to half my thigh.

"Here." A tiny piece of cloth that he picked from the edge of the bed is in his outstretched hand. I take it, slipping it on both legs.

"Breakfast when you're done," he says, the innocent smile still plastered on his lips.

My middle finger automatically rises on his disappearing back.

Freshly cooked pancakes await me on the kitchen table. His apartment is the same as it was before, I maneuver around like it's the most natural thing. Staying longer might be a bad idea, but this will never, ever happen again, (I swear) might as well cherish it—the pancakes, I mean.

He's making coffee by the sink and is facing the wall. When he turns, his jerk face puts on a cocky smirk. "Nice fit."

I ignore him, focusing on the pancakes instead. I'm too hungry to argue or throw a tantrum. He could wait for that when I'm stuffed.

"Easy, tiger." A coffee mug push forward from across the table to me, followed by Caleb settling on the chair opposite to mine. He flashes a smile as bright as the sun.

I'm a rain person. Rainy days are more fun.

I also prefer eating quietly but my companion right here won't quit blabbering. "You know--"

"No."

I didn't fan the flames.

"-my mom told me that speaking while eating is utterly f*****g disrespectful."

She never really told me that. There were barely any rules growing up. I picked up manners naturally because, mind you, I actually am pretty damn decent human being. I may talk slander about one specific person, but that doesn't mean I'm like this to everyone.

"Well, my mother told me that chatting over a meal is a way to strengthen relationships. Isn’t that what we’re doing now?"

“Being disrespectful?” I take another bite as I stare at him, feigning innocence.

“Strengthening relationships,” he says matter-of-factly.

"What relationship?" My munching muffled the words and the grin I have, made it sound less intelligible. Though from the slow shrug he makes, I'm sure he caught it.

I take another piece of pancake.

"I was wrong."

Wrinkles on my forehead show up from the sudden confession. "Yeah." Zero knowledge of what he's on about, but admitting he's wrong? Hell yeah, you are.

"You don't know why, do you?"

I shrug without removing my gaze from the food. His cackle comes in the next second and I'm so glad he can't see my face because my lips involuntarily stretch to a smile upon hearing the sound. What's wrong with me?

"I was wrong. You haven't changed at all. You're still--" He fidgets the coffee mug, moving it from one hand to the other.

"Drop dead gorgeous?" I mask my anticipation with a grin. He sounded serious and that scared me a teeny tiny bit. It could be a comment on my astrology sign, and I wouldn't be able to accept any negative judgment. It's a critical spot.

"Yes," he chuckles, "and a hella good kisser."

Relief washes over me, but I didn't show.

"Is it good?"

"The making out? Yeah, sure." I say mindlessly before realizing he said 'is' and not 'was'. It's just that, we're on the topic of kissing, and my brain associated things with the subject.

My gaze alternates between the plate full of pancakes and the man who made them. A pang of embarrassment hit me.

"Oh, the pancakes?"

A nod from the grinning man across me is the response.

"It's fine."

An understatement. Caleb has always been a good cook, but this pancake? Pure delight. It has a balanced sweetness and softness that melts in your mouth. Good lord, it's exactly like making out. He doesn't need to know that part.

"Don't lie." He chuckles but his eyes are expectant. What a puppy.

"Do you need that validation so much?"

His pupils become two shades brighter, more rounded, and, oh god, he looks cute. Like a toddler waiting for his first 'very good' star stamp in kindergarten. I'm soft for kids.

"Fine," I say, acting defeated when, in fact, I'm more than willing to give the praise he's asking for.

"It's tasty, delicious, delectable, flavorsome, scrumptious, other synonyms of delicious. You should switch professions."

He laughs while I stuff my cheeks with more pieces of pancake.

"I'll think about it."

We finish the meal and I offer to do the dishes which he declined, saying he wouldn't let a guest do the work.

"Aw, such a gentleman."

"I am," he replies with equal sarcasm.

I stick my tongue out and move up from the chair.

I thought he would move out to some fancy high-rise condominium after their band blew up. It's been almost two years since I was last here and not one piece of furniture was moved from the positions I recall. I notice there are new guitars on the stand, but other than that, his place is still the basic musically-inclined bachelor's flat. Assuming all musically-inclined bachelors have a three-seater couch in the middle of the living room where a huge shelf full of vinyl records is mounted.

The clock on the wall reads 7:45, sending my pulse rate to a critical state. It's Saturday so I have a morning class at 9. Leaving now is already cutting late considering I have to stop by my apartment for very obvious reasons. I should have checked the time earlier before getting lured by food.

And as if that's not already worse, my shirt is nowhere to be found.

Not on the bed, not under the bed, not on the desk, the chair, not in the bathroom, not in the closet, nowhere in his bedroom. I march back to the kitchen in hopes of seeing my top (don't ask why) while scanning every corner of his flat for it.

"I can't find my top."

Caleb is busy wiping the table clean when I burst into the kitchen.

"Have you checked under the bed?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Not there."

"The bathroom?"

"Not there either. I have class at 9, I'm running late."

He probably sensed the hurry in my voice because he drops the tablecloth and start surveying the area. "s**t really? I can't drive you. I have a meeting in," he clicks his cellphone open, "15."

"No need, I just want my shirt."

"Uhm... Where did you take it off?"

"Where did you take it off?

Asshole wasted a second to grin. "I don't know, Vi. How about you uh... take something from my closet."

My forehead wrinkles in a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Seriously?" He wants me to wear his clothes home like we're in a random romance movie? Classic.

"You're late, right? Come on, pick a hoodie or something."

"Whatever."

After a minute of scrambling through his massive collection of clothing, I settle with what screams "I just hooked up but unfortunately lost my shirt along the process and now I'm borrowing the other party's clothes" the least—a plain gray hoodie.

Caleb Shin's hoodie smells fantastic. I wonder if I need to return it. I could probably sell it on eBay for ten times the original price. Or maybe open a bidding. See how far his crazy stans would go.

"You look nice." He's waiting at the door when I walk out of his bedroom.

I pause tying my hair to raise a finger.

"Yep. You're welcome," he chuckles, twisting the knob but keeping the door closed. "Sorry, I can't drive you."

"It's fine I'll take a cab."

"So, when can I see you again?"

I stop by the door and shoot a measured look. When he stares back without saying another word, I lean in to give him a peck, then place my hand over his on the doorknob. "Never."

I exit.

Halfway to the elevator, the door opens again. "Hey, how about my hoodie?"

I look over my shoulder to his peeking figure and say, "Carrier pigeon" a little louder so he can hear.

Did he think I'd meet him again to return one piece of garment? Nice try.

He chuckles and closes the door.