Cheaters go to Hell - Ch. 03

All characters are over the age of 18.

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Chapter 3

I don't remember how I managed to get away from Macy the night before, but I'm pretty sure it involved me stuttering some half-baked excuse about needing to pee, and then sprinting out of the building.

As soon as I got back to my own room, I sent a hasty email to professor McFarland, telling him that a summer cold had crept up on me and that I was going to miss the rest of the week. I had to do whatever I could to avoid Macy.

On Thursday, I got a few texts from Clara telling me that she was still having a blast at the beach, and that she'd call me when she could. She didn't ask me why I had hung up on her the day before. I got the feeling that she probably didn't even remember. Instead, she kept sending me photos of herself in her bikini, like a little apology I guess. They were mostly basic ones, with the sunset in the background or whatever, and accompanying them were little texts like 'paradise!' and 'I'm so sunburned!'

Vainly, I hoped it was one of her girlfriends taking the photos, but I knew it was probably a frat guy.

Despite all that, I still saved them on my phone. I know it's pathetic, but what can I say? Those pictures were awesome.

But as I zoomed in on Clara's body, there was a split-second when the memory of Macy's bare midriff flashed across my mind instead. Like a little virus in my internal software; a glitch. But it only lasted a second.

I continued swiping through the photos one by one. After a while, my fascination with her curves began to give way to a more somber feeling: She looked so happy and vibrant, with the wind in her hair and the sun on her skin. I started missing her again. I wanted her to come home already.

Honestly, I thought the solution to everything would arrive with her return.

Like magic. Maybe we'd have another moment like New Year's, and I'd get to see that secret, uncertain side of her again. Maybe we'd get closer somehow, and when the new semester started, I would flaunt our renewed relationship to everyone. Especially to people like Macy and Brad.

So I let my imagination take control and pretty soon, that fantastical future I'd conjured up started to feel possible.

All I needed to do was to wait it out until Clara came home, and then everything would fall into place. It had to. Anyway, I felt like I had something to look forward to again.

"Stop humming, it's fuckin' annoying," Bradwick grumbled.

We were sitting on the couch playing Halo on the Xbox. My phone was on my lap and I'd just sent Clara a heart emoji in response to another of her photos. My thumbs flew across the joystick as I button-mashed the aliens to oblivion. I suddenly felt energized.

"Was I humming? Sorry," I said. "It's just that Clara's coming back next week."

Brad scoffed. "And you're happy about that?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm starting to get worried for you, man," Brad replied, ignoring my question.

I turned away from the screen to look at him. "Why?"

"Hey, pay attention! You're getting us killed!" he complained, shoving my face back toward the game.

I continued playing absentmindedly, but I was more interested in what Brad had to say. "Why shouldn't I be happy about my girlfriend coming home?" I repeated.

"Well, remember Tuesday night? You looked like you were about to have a heart attack when you suddenly bolted. Where'd you even go, anyway?"

"Uh, I just took a walk around campus," I lied.

Brad shook his head. "See? This thing with Clara is clearly messing you up, bro. You never used to 'take walks' around campus."

"Yeah," I said. "Well, I'm stressed out because she's not here."

"You're just telling yourself that. You know nothing's actually gonna change when she gets home. It'll just be the same shit, different toilet."

"We're gonna fix things."

Brad ignored me. "Ever since you got with her, it's like you turned into an anxiety machine. I swear you were way more chill last year."

"I'm not an anxiety machine," I said defensively. Right at that moment, a brute alien shot me in the head and killed me.

Brad waved at the screen, like my in-game death was a sign. "Dude, you're so deep in this shit that you can't even focus on the game anymore."

"Clara and I are gonna be fine."

He rolled his eyes at my familiar phrase. "Whatever, dude. Just know that I warned you."

***

Professor McFarland had sent me an email over the weekend warning me that if I missed any more classes, I'd have to retake the course next summer. Which meant that I couldn't use the fake cold excuse a second time. Which also meant that I couldn't avoid Macy anymore.

But that didn't mean I had to confront her directly.

I had a plan to evade her.

I arrived at the library fifteen minutes before class began. As always, the librarian at the front desk gave me the stink-eye when I walked in through the sliding doors; I still didn't know why she always looked so dissatisfied with me. Or maybe she just glared at everyone. Who knows.

When I got to the open area beyond the first row of bookshelves, I saw that the classroom chairs were still stacked up in the corner. Professor McFarland was quietly busying himself at the blackboard, erasing the previous class' chalk. I was the only student there, which was perfect. That meant I could choose my seat freely.

"Hello, professor," I said.

He turned around slowly, and peered over his wire-rimmed glasses. "Good morning, Mr. Heiberg. You're early today. I take it that you've recovered?"

For a second, I nearly forgot that I'd lied to him about being sick the week before. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine now," I said quickly.

"Hmm."

Professor McFarland went back to erasing the blackboard, and I stood there awkwardly.

"Should I set up the chairs?" I asked.

"That would be very helpful, thank you," the professor said.

So I started unstacking them, arranging them in the usual semi-circle formation. As I bustled about, Professor McFarland made an attempt at small talk.

"How are you enjoying the course so far?" he asked.

"It's okay," I said politely. "I hope I didn't miss too much."

"You'll be alright," he replied easily. "So long as you don't get distracted again."

It wasn't even as if he said the last part with a special significance, but I knew what he was talking about. I hadn't made a very good impression on him last time, when he'd caught me passing notes with Macy.

"I'm gonna sit somewhere else today, to make sure that doesn't happen," I told him.

He shrugged in that old man way. "Do what you must."

So when the other students filed into the library, I was already sitting in one of the middle seats, which was geometrically the furthest from where Macy usually sat at the edge. Slowly, the seats around me began to fill up, making it so that Macy couldn't sit next to me even if she wanted to. My plan was working flawlessly.

Still, I shifted nervously when I saw Macy come through the glass doors.

Today was one of the hottest days of June, with the Arizona sun piercing the cloudless sky and turning the campus into a scalding-hot baking pan. She was wearing a halter top with her hair tied up lazily on her head, leaving the nape of her neck and shoulders exposed. There was a warm pink blush to her usually pale skin, like the short walk from her dorm to the library had been enough to burn her a little. Her long, lithe legs were equally bare, as she was wearing the same daisy-dukes as last week.

"Think of Clara," I muttered to myself, averting my gaze. "She's coming home on Friday. Just stick it out until Friday."

As Macy walked past me on the way to her usual seat, she purposefully brushed her hip against my shoulder. As if to say, you might have a new seat, but you can't get away from me. Regardless, I remained stubbornly poker-faced, like she didn't even exist. What could she do from across the room, anyway?

Unfortunately, it turned out that there was a lot that she could do.

Professor McFarland wasn't even five minutes into his lecture when Macy yawned theatrically, throwing her arms up above her head and causing her top to ride up her torso. I couldn't help but notice the piercing on her belly button again, the same one I'd noticed at her dorm. And there was something so... feminine about her. She was thin, yes, but somehow, even the sharp angle of her elbows seemed girlish.

To make matters worse, Macy's happily bouncing leg was enough to tell me that she'd caught me staring again. I wanted to kick myself in the shin -- I'd promised myself not to look at her, but all it had taken was a fake yawn to make me break my vow.

A few minutes later, Professor McFarland paused his lecture and asked the students to discuss a random passage with the people sitting next to us. I was paired up with a skinny, freckled guy named Jayden, who seemed like he was actually interested in the subject of anti-colonialist literature. I felt bad for him because I was having a hard time giving a shit about anything he was saying to me and my eyes kept drifting across the room, gluing themselves to Macy.

Her discussion partner was a broad-shouldered guy with shaggy brown hair and a bit of roundness around his belly. I think his name was Carlos. And to say that Macy was talking to him would be an understatement. She was practically on top of him, leaning over his shoulder to look at his notes as she nodded along with whatever he was saying. Carlos, for his part, looked like he was about to explode -- Macy's slender chest was rubbing all up against his back through her thin halter top, and I could already imagine what she smelled like to him: that intoxicating mixture of cigarettes and grass.

Somehow, Macy felt my gaze again (how did she always do that?) and she locked eyes with me. She arched an intrepid eyebrow, and went right back to fawning over Carlos.

It was obviously a performance. I knew that. But a dark feeling stirred somewhere inside me, and it felt worryingly close to jealousy.

"Hey, are you even listening?"

Jayden's whiny voice snapped me out of it.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" I asked, turning in my seat to look at him.

He rolled his eyes. "You seriously need to stop making it so obvious."

"Making what obvious?"

"You've been shooting lasers at that weird chick all day," he said, gesturing at Macy.

I felt my ears go hot. "That's because she keeps--"

"And by the way, I would seriously reconsider if I were you," he added, cutting me off. "I've heard some crazy shit about her."

I paused. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Macy was still leaning against Carlos' shoulder. "What kinda crazy shit?" I asked.

"First of all, I heard some other girls calling her a homewrecker. Apparently she's got a record of going after dudes who are already taken. She's a serial cheater."

"Oh."

Well, that made a lot of sense.

"Not to mention all the stuff about her family. I think her dad's in jail and her mom's dead or something, and she lives with her brother in a trailer park. The only reason she even got into college is because she landed a scholarship and--"

But before I could hear the rest, Professor McFarland interrupted his little rant. "Who wants to share what they talked about with their partners?"

Jayden looked like he wanted to say more about Macy, but he clammed up as soon as the professor called the class back together.

Inevitably, I found myself watching Macy again.

She'd peeled herself off of Carlos and was sitting normally, her slim legs crossed under her desk as usual. She was leaning her cheek against her palm, looking bored. I could tell she wasn't really listening to the class either.

But then I looked at what her other hand was doing. Her fingers were lazily tracing her sharp collarbone, going back and forth along the bony ridge. But as I watched, I realized that she was moving lower and lower down her chest, at an almost imperceptible rate. Eventually, her purple nails reached the neckband of her shirt. She slipped them under the thin fabric. My mouth went as dry as sandpaper.

I couldn't even pretend to look away as she slowly kneaded the top curve of her breast under her shirt. The audacity of it caught my breath. She was just feeling herself, right there in the middle of class. An impromptu massage, just for the sake of it.

And while she did, she was staring right back at me.

Her lips, painted a darker shade of red than usual, moved silently.

"Keep watching," she mouthed.

I glanced around nervously. Nobody else had noticed. Her top was plunging deeper now. Her legs bounced slowly and rhythmically, in the same way a cat swishes its tail back and forth. I was starting to feel warm, and I wished they would turn up the air-conditioning. There was a hypnotic effect about the way Macy felt herself up so casually.

Then, she suddenly stopped and dropped her hand. Surreptitiously, she raised a single finger under her desk so that only I could see it. My eyes tracked the direction of her finger. She smiled devilishly, and I realized she was pointing straight at the rising tent in my jeans.

I felt my blood pulse, a single loud thump through my entire body.

I immediately scrunched forward in my seat, like I'd been whipped. I covered my pants with my forearms.

"Um!" I said, louder than I'd intended.

Professor McFarland and the rest of the class turned to look at me, startled. I saw Macy trying to suppress a snicker.

"I need to use the bathroom," I announced, my voice cracking.

I didn't even wait for the professor to reply. I just stood up, did a full 180-degree turn, military style, and power-walked straight to the men's room at the back of the library. I threw open the bathroom door and ran up to the sink. I splashed cold water on my face.

Macy had caught me getting hard. For her. In class.

"Think of Clara," I muttered to myself, trying to force my dick down over my jeans. "Clara, Clara, Clara."

I yanked my phone out of my back pocket and scrolled frantically. It didn't take long for me to find what I was looking for: The bikini photos of Clara I'd saved on my phone. I stared and stared at the pictures, trying to force a factory reset on myself. I zoomed in on Clara's face, framed by her perfectly curled blonde hair. It was familiar. Classically beautiful. My girlfriend.

But involuntarily, the memory of Macy wormed its way back into my consciousness. Her phantom image floated in my mind's eye, complete with all the smallest details. She didn't have Clara's figure, not by a long shot. But still, the contrast between her wasp-thin torso and the soft, supple mounds of her chest made my mouth water, and holy Hell, her legs were something else entirely -- any model would kill to have a pair even half as nice. It was all too much. I was about to short-circuit.

Desperately, I tried to pull my focus back to Clara. A seedy, insidious voice echoed in my head, trying to get me to think of Macy instead.

I leaned my hands against the sink, breathing heavily as the two sides threatened to tear me in half.

Then I peered at my reflection in the mirror and saw that Macy was standing right behind me.

My heart nearly popped out of my chest as I wheeled on her. "What the hell?"

"Heya," she replied casually.

"This is the men's bathroom--" I began to say.

She ignored me and stepped up close, getting up in my personal space. I noticed that she was actually a little taller than me; we'd never stood close enough for me to realize it until now. I could smell the cigarettes on her lips.

Before I could stop her, she plucked my phone out of my hand. She raised an eyebrow as she saw the photos of Clara.

"And here I thought you were running off to spank the monkey after my little show," she said. "But instead you're looking at pictures of someone else. Is this your girlfriend?"

I nodded dumbly. "Now gimme my phone back."

But Macy held it out of my reach as she continued to swipe through the photos, whistling appreciatively at times. "Damn. She's quite the looker, huh? No offense, but she's way outta your league."

"That's none of your business," I growled.

I was still hard, and the fact that we were now together in the bathroom wasn't helping.

"So where is she right now?" Macy asked.

"She's at the beach... with her friends."

"Friends, huh? Why didn't you go with them?"

"She didn't want me--" I began, but I stopped mid-sentence before I embarrassed myself. "I don't have to stand here and get interrogated by you," I said.

I tried to snatch my phone from her, but she stopped me with a sharp finger against my chest, forcing me back toward the sink.

"But you want to," she said confidently.

I swatted her hand away. "No, I don't."

She flicked her eyes downward, at my bulge. "Yes, you do."

Heat rose to my cheeks.

"You know, I'm almost flattered that you were comparing me to her," she continued. "I guess I really got you going, huh? Not that I had to do much."

Macy leaned in close. My eyes drifted down her halter top. The fluorescent bathroom lights cast her chest in shadow, and I could only make out the silhouette of what I really wanted to see.

"See? Even after I called you out, you still can't keep your eyes off me," she whispered.

I shook my head, more violently than I needed to, like I was trying to wring her out of my mind. "I don't want you. You're-- you're messed up," I scathed.

She recoiled immediately, like I'd burned her skin.

I gulped. "Jayden told me about you. This is a thing you do, isn't it?" I said, gesturing between me and her. "You go after guys with girlfriends and try to fuck everything up. You're a homewrecker."

As I spoke, Macy's eyes narrowed, like a snake.

"Only people who are fucked in the head would do some shit like that," I spat.

Maybe I'd gone overboard. This was, by far, the most insulting, cruel thing I'd ever said to anyone, and I was saying it to a girl I barely knew. But insulting and cruel were two concepts that I'd gotten pretty familiar with during my time with Clara.

Macy stood as still as a statue.

"So what do you suggest I do instead?" Macy asked, her voice dangerously quiet. Her playfulness had dissolved.

"You should find a guy without a girlfriend, like a normal person!" I said.

"But how will I know that they really want me unless they choose me over someone important to them? Cheating is the only proof of anything real."

"What? That's -- that's the most illogical thing I've ever heard."

"So? Am I wrong?"

I sputtered, baffled by how twisted her argument was.

"But fine," Macy continued, "you caught me: Maybe I am messed up, like you said."

She leaned in again, slower than before, like she recognized me as prey that can fight back, but still prey nonetheless.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you still want me."

"I... I don't want you," I said weakly.

She thrust my phone back in my palm and held it up to my face, forcing me to look at Clara's bikini photo again.

"Then prove it to me. Don't you dare look away from your girlfriend," she said.

At first I didn't know what she was talking about. But then, standing in front of me, she began to loosen the knot at her neck, causing her top to go slack. The thin fabric slowly slipped off of her slender shoulders, and she pulled it over her head easily. Underneath was a lacy black bra, more ornate and delicate than Clara's bright red bikini top. Macy wasn't stacked; that was another difference between the two girls. But there was something alluring about how her modest tits sat in their cups.

I strained to keep my focus on my phone. On Clara.

But the twitch in my eye was involuntary.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw how the cold air of the bathroom was making goosebumps appear on Macy's chest and tummy. God there was so much skin.

"Keep your eyes on your phone, perv," Macy ordered.

I tried to listen.

But she had no intention of making it easy for me. Her Daisy-Dukes were the next to go. She hooked her finger in the belt-loop and dragged them down her legs, which seemed to go on forever. When she stood back up, I saw that she was wearing a matching set of black panties. The waistband tugged on the crests of her hips, making the fabric dig into her, creating little lumps.

Compared to Macy, the picture of Clara somehow began to look artificial, like it was a cutscene from a videogame.

Macy stuck her hip out, striking a pose identical to the one in the photo. Her thumbs slipped under the waistband, lowering them dangerously. I eyed the v shape of her crotch. She was shaved down there. So smooth. So close to being visible.

I couldn't look away.

Macy's waifish frame had less weight to it than Clara's. My eyes traced the subtle, feminine curves of her body with desperate attention: The gap between her thighs, the way her waist cinched around her taut tummy, the gentle arc of her calf.

"You fail," Macy stated.

"I--" my jaw moved, but all I could do was stare. My hand was getting sore from how tightly I was squeezing my phone.

"Shameless pervert" Macy drawled. But despite her insult, she looked pleased. No, she looked ecstatic. Like she was getting off on this.

She writhed under my gaze and ran her hands over herself, the way you might do to a beautiful car.

But as suddenly as it began, she decided that it was time to stop. Having gotten what she wanted, she picked her clothes off the ground and put them back on efficiently. Fully clothed again, she planted a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Bad boy," she whispered. "Tell your girlfriend I said hi."

Then, without another word she walked out of the bathroom, leaving me there with my heart thumping in my ears, and my dick throbbing.

Five seconds later, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from an unknown number.

I opened the notification.

It was a photo: A selfie of Macy walking back to class. I recognized the bookshelves around her as the ones right next to where I usually sat. She was yanking the top of her halter down, revealing those perfect little humps again. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth lewdly. A victory pose.

See u in class. the text read underneath.

_____

Comments are always appreciated.