Chapter 4: You tell me that you need me

So exactly three hours after I just sat there telling you how great my life was, my life started to royally suck. And I mean suck. It's never been quite so bad.

Rachel and I sat on my bed. I was, of course, sobbing. She tried to comfort me ... but it wasn't working.

I told her the entire story, not that there was really much of a story to tell. My boyfriend had gotten head from Natalie ... the bitch from Hunter. What could you do?

My phone started ringing, his ring. Good ole fucking William Tell Overture. I ignored the call, and watched the "1 Missed Call" flash on the front screen. It was a flip phone. I opened it then snapped it shut, to make the alert go away. It vibrated a few minutes later to tell me that I had a Voice Mail. I ignored that too.

"But why would he do this Rachel?"

"Lauren, I have no idea. This has to be some mistake ... talk to him, at least hear him out..."

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" I sighed, she looked upset. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to take this out on you, but really, what am I supposed to do? He's the last person I want to talk to right now..."

I started crying, and she wrapped her arms around me, letting me drench her with my tears.

I heard some splashing in the pool. It was two in the morning. I had turned the party over to Paul, and the rest of our group. I wasn't speaking to Luke, I didn't even know if he was still there, except for the fact that everyone in our group kept popping up and telling me that he was looking for me.

I went out onto my balcony. A bunch of people were swimming around ... apparently people had worn bathing suits (haha of course they did, this is Beverly Hills ... people walk down the street in bikini tops! I mean ... not really, but you get it... ).

I ran my eyes over the crowd, and finally spotted Luke by the diving board.

He was staring up at me. I looked around, I couldn't find Natalie. She was a rising sophomore, while we were rising seniors. She was young ... she didn't know what she was doing ... she was trying to get him to like her the only way she knew how...

What the fuck? Why am I making excuses for this brat? She broke up my perfect relationship with my perfect boyfriend!

Then it dawned on me ... what if it wasn't her fault? What if it was Luke's idea?

So I locked myself in my room. People who were leaving the party were looking for me to say thanks for throwing it, but got Rachel's "thanks for coming, have a great summer!" in response to "where's Lauren?"

I had changed into boxers and a tank top, and was crying to my mother in her huge king size bed. She and Dad had gotten home a half hour ago, and she was angry at Luke. She had really liked him as a guy for me, because he had done all the right things ... gotten my number, asked me out, answered her questions (she's protective, she weeds out the wimpy ones by who gets freaked out by it ... thank god that's only a few!) with an ease and skill that wooed her, and he was, of course, very good looking. Now she hated him.

It was actually priceless. We lay there on her bed, eating Oreos and drinking some milk. She was comforting me the way all mothers do ... with the whole "you're amazing, any guy would be luck to have you," "there are more fish in the sea," "he wasn't worth your time" ... all that stuff.

"But he was ... he was perfect..." was my response to the "he wasn't worth your time."

"Honey ... no guy is worth your time who treats you like that. That is unacceptable. You deserve hundreds of times better!"

"Mom ... don't..."

She just hugged me to her, "I love you sweetie. No matter what the guys think, or who comes in and out of your life, you will always have our love."

I had to manage a half-smile for her. "Thanks mom."

I curled up into a ball, and licked the icing off an Oreo.

Rachel came in eventually, and joined us in the Oreo feast. I swear, she was like my sister. Our parents were practically each other's parents ... we knew every about each other ... we shared clothes, stories, and makeup ... we had an unbelievable relationship.