The following is an excerpt; It still needs to be edited CHAPTER I

Erica
I can see it in people's expressions when they first meet me, she explained to me on a warm and sunny day in New Jersey, in their minds, they are trying to figure out where I get my accent from. The answer? From the land of the Rangers and J.R. Her name was Erica. A Texas girl, born and raised, she still possessed a slight drawl and a laid back attitude. The occasional y'all still found its way to into her speech. A Houston Texans decal adorned her Physics notebook. And a Big Texan Steakhouse magnet was affixed to the mini-fridge in her dorm. It had been quite a transition from her hometown of Arlington, Texas to the small and sleepy town of Matawan, New Jersey. Her father's job had forced her to rip up the roots she had planted in the soil of the Lone Star state and move some two thousand miles across the country at the age of fifteen. I once asked her how she handled such a change. She thought for a moment before replying, with a lot of tears and a lot of homesickness. I had met her right after she had moved to Matawan through my good friend, Amanda. (More on her later). Erica struck me as a quiet, shy, but very polite girl, bright and intelligent. Her accent was especially fascinating to me. I had never met a pure Texan before, much less one who was as easy on the eyes as her. Over the course of the next three years, I got to know Erica on my occasional summer trips up to the town which had a hand in inspiring Steven Spielberg's Jaws. It was not long before she opened up, showing the incredibly delightful and wonderful person she was. Even through a long-distance and rather trying relationship which lasted for two-and-a-half years, she constantly remained in the back of my thoughts. Before any of that began, Amanda would often playfully urge me to start a relationship with her. I was reluctant. At the time, I knew that a relationship would most likely spoil the tender and meaningful friendship we shared. How I wish I had kept that train of thought... In the fall of 2011, Erica, as well as Amanda and a few others friends I knew from Matawan, began attending Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey. I decided to visit them not long after the beginning of the first semester. As soon as I stepped off the train at the Amtrak station, I was more than pleased to see that Erica was there waiting for me. (Thank God, I got off at the right stop.) She hugged me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Ian! I can't believe you're here, she exclaimed, still embracing me, I'm so happy you came to visit! So am I, I replied, you look great, Erica! (Why did I say that? Ian, you idiot. You freaking idiot. You just made it sound like you're only here for eye candy.) Awh, thank you, she replied, smiling and flashing her immaculately white teeth, so do you. And you smell nice (Well alright...) We walked together along the sidewalks towards the dorms, catching up with each other, as the skies above grew cloudy and a light rain began to fall. I tried to pay attention to the conversation, but it had been a while since I had seen her and I suppose I had forgotten how attracted to her I truly was.

(God, her eyes are gorgeous. Her whole face is gorgeous. She's gorgeous. I really should be listening to what she's saying but, damn, she is gorgeous. And that accent is so freakin' attractive. But we're only frien...uh oh. She just asked me something. Err....) When we arrived at her dorm room, the familiar pastel white walls and economy furniture of every dorm room of every university in America greeted my eyes. A flag of Texas hung proudly from a two by four, painted white, nailed to the wall. There were the usual kitsch items of a college student: a Rutgers hoodie slung across the back of the desk chair, plastic Rubbermaid containers filled with morsels, and a Macbook sitting closed on the desk, a decal proclaiming YOU AIN'T GOT SHIT ON A TEXAS GIRL in hot pink script letters covering the Apple logo. Needless to say, it was clear where her room ended and where her roommate's began. Make yourself at home, she said, clearing off a few Special-K bar wrappers from her desk, and, by the way, Kayley is staying in Amy's room for the weekend (who's Amy? Do I know her? I don't think I know her.), so she says you can use her bed. (I haven't slept in another girl's bed since my ex. I wonder how she's doing. I hope she's happy. She deserves to be happy.) Amanda should be stopping by later, she added, she gets done classes around three. How's she been? I asked, laying my backpack down on Kayley's bed. (Goodness, Kayley really has a thing for the color green.) She's been alright, Erica responded, kinda stressed out lately though, mostly because of her change in major. Really? That's hard to believe. She's such a level headed person. I know, but switching from biochem to business is a pretty big change. Suddenly, Erica wrapped her arms around me in an embrace, I missed you. Missed you too, I replied. (Good god, this girl is gorgeous. But we're only friends. Remember that, Ian.) Yeah-heah you guys, a voice said from the dorm hallway. The voice belonged to Eric Russo. Like Erica, he was a transplant to Matawan, having hailed from the sunny beaches of Southern California. I only knew him casually as he had moved to the area only a little more than a year before. If there was anything to be said about him right off the bat, though, it was that he was the stereotypical image of a So Cal guy. His attitude even more laid-back than Erica's. Even as the weather began to cool and the leaves began to turn, he sported a bright yellow designer t-shirt, a pair of board-shorts and a pair of black flip flops. Don't waste any time, huh, Erica? he asked sardonically, twirling a key-filled lanyard around his fingers. Shut up, she replied, you're so mean to me all the time. I'm gonna tell Sam that her boyfriend is being a jerk! He laughed; she smiled. So how have you been, dude? he asked me, shaking my hand. Decent, I answered, how you liking it here? It's nice. Cold, though. Definitely not like winters back home and it-- He quickly unholstered his phone, glancing down at it before putting it back, a slight smirk appearing on his face at the message.

--yeah, so...where are you going now? You still at West Chester? (I feel like we've had this conversation before and, honestly, I'm getting a little tired of explaining this to people.) Nah, I responded, I'm at Penn State Brandywine for the semester just finishing up some pre-requisites before heading off to the University of the Sciences in Philadelphia. What do you wanna do there? Major in Pharmacology, minor in Toxicology. Damn dude, sounds rough, he remarked, still twirling, raveling and unraveling the lanyard around his fingers, good luck with that. Yeah, gonna be a lot of sleepless nights, I added, but I'm looking forward to it. Well glad to hear that you're back on track. He checked his phone again, unholstering it from his pocket. Shit....Kaitlyn....what is it now? he muttered to himself. She still mad at Ian? Erica asked, lying on her stomach on the bed, propping herself up with her elbows. What? When he called her a whore? That was an ACCIDENT, I insisted, but c'mon guys, six boyfriends in two months? AND she slept with all of-- I cut myself off when I noticed Erica shaking her head. Eric grinned. Anyway guys, I gotta go, he excused himself, but I'll catch the two of you later. He strode out into the dorm hallway, still twirling the lanyard around his fingers and noisily chewing away at a piece of gum. The rest of the day was spent catching up with old friends, including Amanda. Ordinarily, she was a perky and bubbly girl. She was always in good spirits and was always willing to lend an ear or a crying shoulder if needed. Being a positive force in the world was her true passion, right above her hair and her appearance. But this weekend, it was apparent that stress had taken a heavy toll on her. She was still trying to preserve what was left of her unfounded optimism, but I could tell that she was losing it. She rarely smiled, her eyes were tired and strained, and her temper was much shorter. Normally, she greeted me with a hug and a light kiss on the cheek, an ancient relic of the days when I had been interested in a relationship with her years ago. This time, however, she gave me nothing more than a weak smile and a hey, Ian. At least once during that first day, I made a light-hearted remark about the way her hair was tied. Instead of laughing and taking a jesting stab back at me like usual, she disdainfully rolled her eyes with no smile or chuckle forthcoming. It concerned me that she was losing her benevolence and her playfulness; she was all that I could think about as I laid down to sleep on that first night. (Great. I'm not gonna be able to enjoy this trip if she's unhappy. I don't like it when she's unhappy. Was it something I did? I'm pretty sure it was something I did....God, why can't she just be happy? Maybe I should talk to her or text her about it...) The following morning, I awoke with a shiver at five AM sharp. Little did I know that by the end of the day, I would make what I consider to be one of the biggest mistakes in my life up to this point. (Why is that window open? Who would do that? Why would you leave a window open? Damn. I'm cold. Did Amanda text me back? Nope. Didn't think she would. I really hope she's not mad at me...) Ian... Erica groggily addressed me from her bed where she was laying on her side, Ian...you okay? Yeah, I'm fine, I answered quietly, just cold. Does this window close? What windo--Oh, right. No. It doesn't. It's jammed or something.

With that, she turned over and drifted asleep once more. I climbed out of bed, my bare feet landing on the cold tile floor, and shambled over to Erica's desk where I gingerly put in my contacts and downed several daily pills with a warm bottle of water. My eyes came to a framed photograph of her, presumably at her prom and wearing a magnificent white and powder blue gown, a tall and jock-type looking fellow with his hands on her waist from behind. (She is freaking gorgeous. But we're only friends.) Later that morning, after breakfast, I caught up with Amanda. It was not a comfortable conversation, but it was one I felt I needed to have with her. I felt like I owed it to her to just be there and listen to her just as she had done countless times with me. She had a lot of inner demons to release and it seemed that she had held these in all throughout her freshman year and all throughout the summer. Her light and airy personality was genuine enough, but, especially towards the latter half of the summer, it had become a facade to hide the pain and stress she was experiencing. But by the end, I felt as though she had relieved some of that pressure, and I could already tell that some of her trademark emotional buoyancy was returning. When I took a jovial stab at her for something (I cannot remember what that was, exactly), she reminded me that my back was still probably healing and that she could easily undo that process. That was Amanda: a sweetheart with a sardonic twist. By the way, Ian, she said, before leaving to go meet a friend for lunch, Erica talks about you all the time. You should...explore that...I think she really likes you. I was surprised, to say the least. I am not exactly the type of guy who is on the minds of girls in that way. Never have been, never expect to be. It was rather flattering to hear that a girl like Erica had been thinking about me. I suppose I had denied myself the feelings I had for her. She was, as I have mentioned before, absolutely gorgeous and just a wonderful person, but I never expected that she would have thought of me in a relationship-sense. But where to go from here? Somewhere in my brain, my conscience was telling me: Ian...come on now. You remember what happened the last time you tried a long distance relationship? And don't even think about doing ANYTHING with Erica unless you're ready to commit to one. Don't even think about it, mister. Stop right there. Perhaps it should speak louder next time. It is far more likely, however, that I should have taken more time to listen. That evening was a blur. Through some thought process (which I still have no clue about to this day), I decided to try asking her how she felt about me. If that passed through the first round of inspections, then a kiss would be in order. If that passed....well, we would see where things went. Erica, I said, as we walked back into the room from dinner, umm...can I ask you something? Sure, she replied cheerfully, anything. What's on your mind? I experienced the stereotypical and cliche signs of nervousness and anxiousness around a pretty girl. My heart was racing and I could hear it loudly thumping away in my ears. In the seconds before I asked my question, I must have considered backing out of the topic at least three or four times, but it was something that I just needed to know. Do you...like me? I stammered, like....I don't know...like-like me? Are we just friends...I mean, not that we're more than that now, but... I trailed off, realizing that I was going further with the question than I needed to, a hallmark of my dialect whenever I am in an uncomfortable situation. She turned around abruptly. Where did that come from? Nowhere, I replied, not wanting to reveal my source lest the answer was no. Ian.... she urged me, narrowing her eyes and smirking, come on. (Just tell her what she wants to know, Ian.)

I could tell that I was not going to get a definitive answer unless I gave her one. Fine, I conceded, Amanda mentioned something this morning while we were talking. She smiled, once again flashing her incorrupt teeth. Well, yeah....yeah, of course I like-like you, she answered with certainty and nowhere near the levels of awkwardness I was showing, I thought you knew that. I mean, I thought it was mutual. It was at this point I realized that I had been staring at her feet the entire time, so I drew my eyes up to hers, yeah, I...I mean, I don't know, I had an...I mean...I had an idea, I guess. It was at this point that the trail of mistakes truly began (although it could be argued that visiting Rutgers was the distant first mistake of the whole affair.) She cocked her head slightly to the right, a narrow smile in her expression, her eyes filled with a look that I had never seen before in the time I had known her. So....what-- I began, but before I could finish, she leaned in, closed her eyes, and kissed me tenderly on the lips. (Is this really happening right now? This kinda thing doesn't happen to me...it just does not happen.) As she kissed me, she reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small and flat square package. It was pretty clear what that was and it was also perfectly clear that she had been planning this for quite some time. (At this point, I can surmise that my conscience was screaming: IAN! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! IAN, NO! YOU DON'T WANNA DO THIS! NOT WITH HER! YOU'RE NOT EMOTIONALLY READY TO DO THIS AGAIN! YOU ARE AN IDIOT IF YOU CONTINUE WITH THIS! MARK MY WORDS!) (I do, however, remember thinking: Am I really about to do this with her? Is she really about to become the second person with whom I have sex?) But I foolishly let the events unfold as they did. In due time, I was on top of her, grasping the sheets above her shoulders tightly between my outstretched fingers. Some number of minutes later, her eyes widened and she let out a sound of pure ecstasy. With the deed done, I relinquished my hold and settled down beside her. What I was about to say to her was probably the most imprudent thing I could have said in that circumstance. Erica, I blurted out, still breathing heavily, Erica....I love you. (My conscience, still being drowned out: YOU FUCKING IDIOT! YOU LYING SACK OF SHIT! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?! WHYY?! WHAT HAPPENED TO JUST FRIENDS?!) She turned on her side, propping herself up on her elbow. Love you too, Ian, she replied, giggling, and pecking me lightly on the cheek, so happy we're gonna be together. Even at THAT point, when she had CLEARLY laid out what her interpretation of our situation was, I failed to process how conflicting our ideas were and how big of a mistake I had just made. Sleep came easily to me that night as I retired to Kayley's bed on the other side of the room. Early the next morning, a Sunday, I packed up my stuff and prepared to walk back to the station to catch an early train home. Before I left, Erica gave me a photograph of herself and scribbled on the back: This weekend was amazing. I love you, Erica as well as a personal undergarment. I said my goodbyes to the others as well as some new friends I had picked up during my weekend stay and headed off down the sidewalk towards the train station.

The next couple of months were filled with text messages, Skype video chats, etc., all from Erica and all touting how great our relationship was going to be. It had long since occurred to me how badly I had screwed up. Now, I had another issue: how to tell her that I was not interested in a relationship without hurting her and AFTER we had done what we did together? Ultimately, it boiled down to the simple fact that I needed to tell her straight up, but with as soft of an edge as possible. Needless to say, it did not go well. I cannot remember the last time I had seen someone so livid and so angry. I cannot remember the last time anybody told me that I was truly a terrible person. She sent me scores of enraged and scornful messages conveying how hurt she was and how hurt she wanted me to be. One particularly vivid text stated: oh hey ian, why don't you just go tell kayley you like her, fuck her, and then bail out on her? Or how about amanda? Or any of the other people you pretend to care about? It's not like anybody actually cares about you in return anyway so why should it matter? Fuck you ian. Go to hell. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit annoyed that she was trying to get me to my own boiling point But my conscience consistently kept me in check (and I ACTUALLY listened): Ian, she's angry because you screwed up. It's just that simple. You screwed up and you live with it. During the weeks that followed, I was losing my appetite (and subsequently losing weight), losing sleep, and losing my mind with guilt. Normally once-a-month migraines multiplied to five or six every week. The whole sordid affair became all I could think about. And I could not count the number of times I apologized. Dozens and dozens of times, I repeated the words I'm sorry. Sometime in mid-November, I received a text from Amanda reminding me that I had promised to come visit again that weekend. She assured me that I could stay with her (I was originally slated to stay with Erica). What she could not assure me of was that my path would not cross with Erica's; in fact, it was very likely considering that both she and Amanda lived on the same floor. Any logical person (who had somehow found himself or herself in this position in the first place) would have graciously declined the visit. But through some idiotic thought process, I found myself walking on the same sidewalks towards the same dorm that very Friday. This time, obviously, I was alone. Indeed, I encountered Erica twice that evening. The second time was probably the most awkward; we passed each other while walking in opposite directions down a narrow hallway. There were no words exchanged or even fleeting glances. We just simply passed by each other as if we had never met. The next morning, myself, Amanda, and Eric (as well as a couple of other people from the floors just above) walked to the main dining hall for breakfast. Erica was also there, but I was expecting that she would just give me the cold shoulder like she had the previous night. Throughout the meal, I was able to pick up bits and pieces of verbal cheap shots and snide remarks that Erica was making about me. Not once did she speak directly to me, but she spoke in a way so that I heard, loud and clear, that I was not welcome at that table or, it seemed, at Rutgers as a whole. Twenty minutes had passed, and I was fuming inside. All of the stress and anxiety, all of the guilt and the anger at myself was nearing its breaking point. Someone at the far end of the table, across from Erica, finished telling off her story with the words, --and, I don't know, they completely screwed me over. Without hesitation and with a sneering tone mixed in with her accent, Erica added, Well, then you should avoid Ian. He's all about screwing people over. I lost it. I stood up and, without a care for where I was, started screaming at her, ERICA! I AM GETTING REALLY FUCKING TIRED OF YOU BEING SO MEAN TO ME! I SCREWED UP BUT I HAVE APOLOGIZED COUNTLESS TIMES! I HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT REMORSEFUL AND SORROWFUL FOR WHAT I DID TO YOU! I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP! I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO EAT! I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO LOOK AT ANYTHING WHICH REMINDS ME OF YOU WITHOUT WANTING TO CRY! SO I DON'T CARE

WHETHER YOU FORGIVE ME OR NOT, BUT FUCKING GROW UP AND SHOW SOME FUCKING CLAS-- I stopped, for it was at that point that I realized Amanda had been tugging on my arm to get my attention. I looked up to see that every pair of eyes in that dining hall was staring directly at me. Some hundred and ten heads all turned and looked at this Asian kid who was flipping out at a poor innocent girl for no good reason. I looked at Erica, glaring back at me with her eyes narrowed, the smug smile which she had carried all throughout the meal was gone from her face. It was, without a doubt, one of the most embarrassing and humbling moments of my life so far and certainly not one that I would ever want to repeat. Amanda, I said, putting out my hand and suddenly feeling choked up, Amanda, can I....can I have the room key. She placed it into my palm and, with that, I exited the dining hall and walked towards the dorms. In the silence of the dorm room, I shut the door behind me, closed my eyes, and leaned my back up against it as I started to cry. I was a little over two and a half hours away from home in a place where I felt so unwelcome and so unwanted. I figured that it would be best if I just left as quietly as I had when I arrived. After a few minutes, I packed up what few possessions I had brought along and silently departed, dropping off the room key at the front desk in the lobby. Weary from the day's events, I slept through most of the train ride. Before I drifted off, though, I answered a text from Amanda which asked: where'd you go?. My response was short and concise: I went to the train station. I'm going home.