Chapter 22: Bouncing Back

All of the blood drained from Cheryl’s face.

“What did you just say? You’re fucking scared of me?”

Megan nodded.

“What the fuck, Megan? We’ve been best friends for, what, 15 years now? And we’ve lived together for two years? And suddenly you try to tell me you’re afraid of me? Fuck this! And fuck you, too.”

She started to get up and walk away. Megan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back down onto the couch.

“Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” Megan said. She was only slightly more in control of her emotions than Cheryl was. “You storm into my fucking bedroom just as I am falling asleep, and you literally drag me out here in front of your boyfriend in my fucking underwear, and you say that the three of us have to talk, and you swear at me and shout at me for a bit, and then you think you can just leave? Who says you’re the one who gets to do all the fucking talking? Do you want to listen to me, and see if we can fix this, or would you rather just throw away everything that we’ve been to each other since we met on the playground that first day of grade 1? Cause if you leave now, I think you’re making your fucking choice.”

Cheryl relaxed, at least a bit.

“OK, I’m listening. Go for it. What do you want to tell me?”

I interrupted.

“Would this go better if I left for a bit?”

“No!” Cheryl said, firmly.

Megan took a deep breath.

“I agree with Cheryl, John. This is about you, too. I think you should stay.”

She swallowed and gathered her thoughts for a minute before she continued. Her voice was much calmer now.

“OK, so this all started two weeks ago, when you and I were driving back to Toronto for reading week. You told me about your plan to give John a weekend he would never forget, a weekend where you were his sex slave, satisfying all his perverted wishes and making all his little fantasies come true. You said you wanted to do that to pay him back for taking such good care of you when you were wasted. I don’t remember which one of us it was that first mentioned the idea of me joining in, and it doesn’t matter. It’s done now. And I don’t regret it - really. It was a hell of a lot of fun. But the fact remains that part of the reason we’re where we are now is because we did what we did last weekend.

“I knew it was just for a weekend. Honestly, I did. But I didn’t expect it to be as fun as it was. The sex over the weekend was easily some of the best sex I have ever had with anyone. I’m fine with it not happening again - really, I am - but it changed how I feel about John. It’s hard to go from having fantastic sex with a guy one day to not feeling comfortable even hugging him the next day. And I don’t feel comfortable hugging him, because I’m afraid of doing something that looks like I want to get back into bed with him.

“Do you remember what you said to John the other night at his place, when we first told him we were going to be his slaves for the weekend? He asked you if he had heard you correctly - if you had really told him he could fuck your best friend. And you said yes, that was what you had said - but only for the weekend. After Sunday night, he was yours and yours alone. And you told him that if you caught him making a move on me after that ... well, I don’t remember exactly what you said you’d do, but it was a threat.

“And that’s why I’d hate myself if anything I did somehow turned into a wedge between you guys. I don’t know where the line is - the line between what I can do and what I can’t. I know what kinds of things are likely ok, and I know what kinds of things are really not ok - and I would never do any of those things, and I know that he wouldn’t either - but I don’t know exactly where the dividing line is.

“But I do know that regardless of whether John and I crossed that line or not, there are things that might make it look like we were crossing it, or like we wanted to cross it, even if we didn’t. Like what happened the other day after school. My shoulder was killing me. John saw me wincing and started to massage it. It felt really good, right away. The pain eased. And I know that he didn’t mean it to be sexual, but yes, it did give me a pretty good feeling somewhere other than my shoulder. I felt my body relaxing, and I leaned back into John’s body a bit ... and then I thought of what that would look like if you walked into the kitchen at that moment, and I was in his arms. And so I pulled away, and made John go and sit, and I stayed on the other side of the kitchen until you came home.

“And then the next night, John texted while you were at evening class and asked if he could come and study here. I said sure. He buzzed and I let him in and went to open the apartment door, and suddenly I became aware of what I was wearing. I’d planned on being alone, and wanted to be comfy, so I had gotten out of the clothes I’d worn to class and just had on an old tank top and a pair of exercise shorts. And I as I walked back to the livingroom with John following me, I thought, great, what will this look like if Cheryl comes home early, and I’m alone with her boyfriend, and I’m barely wearing anything, and I’m sitting there with my nipples sticking out and a fucking cameltoe. So I went and put on other clothes before I came back to sit with him. But that was awkward, too, because then I thought John likely took that to mean that I was feeling weirded out by him, or that I didn’t want him to see my legs or anything. And I was too embarrassed to talk to him, and he didn’t say anything to me, and we just sat there, like idiots, for hours. I’ve never felt more uncomfortable in my life. I was sitting there with a guy who could actually be fun to hang out with, as a friend. But it was miserable. For both of us.

“Cheryl, I need to be honest with you. If John belonged to anyone but you, I’d be doing everything I could right now to lure him away so I could have him for myself. But he does belong to you. And that means I would never do that. I’d never try to get him to dump you for me.

“Besides, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Someday, I want a man who will look at me like that. But I know that John will never, ever look at me like he looks at you. Because I’m not you. You two are perfect for each other. Anyone who sees you together can see that, even after less than a month.

“And that is why I am so afraid of you seeing us and thinking we’re doing something. You are my best friend, and I am terrified of messing up the best relationship you have ever had. And I am terrified of what you would do to me if I did mess it up. I don’t know what to do about all this. But we have to do something. We can’t go on this way. I can’t handle it. I really can’t.”

By now, Megan was in tears. Cheryl pulled her close and held her, and I leaned in and put my arms around both of them. No one said anything for several minutes. Then Megan stopped sobbing, and straightened up, and we all sat back again.

Cheryl was the first to speak. And she wasn’t shouting any more.

“Megan, I am so sorry I was bitchy to you tonight. You didn’t deserve it. And John, I am so sorry that I didn’t listen to you about the keys.” She turned to Megan. “I had a set of keys to our apartment made for him. He wouldn’t take them. He said I had to talk to you first, that he didn’t want keys to your home without you saying it was ok. He was right - I needed to talk to you first.