Title: All Things Considered
Rating: Strong M
Warning(s): Mentions of Sex, Actual sex much later on, Adult situations, Pregnancy and further warnings to be revealed later. I'll change it according to each chapter if need be.
Summary: It was bad enough not remembering my first time having sex. Even worse that, it was that Asshole that took it. Even worse, that little pink line on that stupid test. And the worst part? Asshole wants to do the noble thing and marry me. What the hell is wrong with the world?
Disclaimer: Olive and Mark, as well as the other characters and this plot, are mine, and you can't have them. ^_^
"C'mon, Olive, aren't you even going to dress up?"
Amy asks me as she spreads lip gloss over her full lips and adjusts the under wire of her bra. We went to high school together, and the summer between Senior year of high school and freshman year of college she'd grown. Well, in the chest department. She was only a B cup, barely, but she went out of her way to make them look even better.
It was a little bit irritating, really. The medium sized perky ones were the type guys liked the best anyway, especially coupled with being skinny. Those two things she had in the bag.
I did a survey on it in Junior yea of high school.
No that guys don't like all boobs in general anyway, but…still. Usually they have a preference. But I guess I can't talk. I've been verging on D-cup since Freshman year, but that hasn't exactly given me a repertoire with the guys.
Maybe it's the glasses or the flat mousy brown hair, or my complete disinterest in them.
But, either way, I'm just fine with my sports bra and panties that don't match my bra at all, a t-shirt and jeans. Amy, however, is getting all dolled up. For a frat party. And she's dragging me along with her. First one of the year after all, and she doesn't want to go alone. Which is smart, I suppose. It's our sophomore year, one would think that she'd be a little more comfortable with going alone.
I think she just hates me.
"Remind me why I'm friends with you again?" I ask, slouched against the arm of the cushy faux-leather armchair my legs draped over the other side of it, my sketchers dangling. God, I love this chair. It is the most comfortable thing in the history of the world, ever.
"Because you secretly hold a lesbian crush on me."
"Oh right." I snort, raking my fingers through the fine strands of my hair with a sigh, "Of course."
"Oh come on. It's Friday night, you can't have that much homework," Amy casts a glance at me over her shoulder with a pout. "It's the third week of the semester…are your teachers that sadistic?"
"This isn't high school anymore, Amy, and I'm not taking Ceramics, Drawing, Marine Biology and Photography 2," I reply with a scoff, because three art classes and a science with the most laid back teacher in the school wasn't exactly a full load. I, on the other hand, have English Literature, European Literature, Speech Class, and Sociology, but she doesn't exactly understand the difference there. "And besides, you know parties aren't my scene anyway."
"I think you need to get drunk at least once before things get serious."
"I don't debate that," I mutter, straightening my grey, oval rimmed glasses to fix the glare of her hello-kitty lamp (which, admittedly, I find adorable) before just taking them off and cleaning them off on my T-shirt. "I debate the make up and the idiot fraternity guys. Omega Omega is the worst of them."
"If by 'worst' you mean 'best'."
"I don't." Even blurry Amy is pretty.
I begin to slide my glasses on my nose but she snatches them away and I glare halfheartedly. It's hard to glower properly when the object of the heat of my stare is a fuzz ball of lavender and bleach blond.
"What?" I mutter in a snappy tone, crossing my arms over my chest.
"C'mon, Oli, you're cute when you try and when you don't…" She shakes her head and tuts, waving eyeliner threateningly. "When she was cute, she was very, very cute, but when she was not, she was medusa worthy to the extreme."
"…Do I need to call you a bitch again?" I lunge for the eyeliner but she pulls it out of my reach.
"Pleeease? You have pretty eyes, teal with cerulean around the edges and gets lighter as it goes in…if I had your eyes, I'd definitely flaunt them for the guys," Amy wiggled the tube of liquid eyeliner at me still. It's not that I hate makeup, actually I rather like is on occasion-I'm hardly a tomboy.
"You've taken too many art classes, describing my eyes like that."
Why should I get dolled up for frat boys? The only reason girls care about how they look at a fraternity party is because they intend to get a boyfriend, or get laid. Or, attempt for a boyfriend, get laid, thrown out the next morning and end up running out of Psychology class sobbing and screaming 'It was me! It was me!' all the way to the nearest bathroom stall. I have seen it before.
"Well, they are pretty. Mine are just hazel."
"Just hazel? After that enlightening display of art vocabulary you used to describe my eyes, the best you can come up for yours is hazel?"
"I'm not trying to take me into putting on eyeliner."
"This is true."
In the end, I walked out of Delta Pi sorority house with Amy, wearing eyeliner. It's the top girly girl Sorority, so it's not exactly a surprise that Amy belongs to it. What is surprising is that I get along with the girls in the sorority pretty well, though I'm pretty sure they only know me as 'Amy's friend'. But they're nice, as far as I know.
It was a short walk down the road that a majority of the Houses were located on, toward Omega Omega, and Amy and I walked with our arms linked around each other's.
"Want to know who my target is, Olive?" She asked as we got close enough to smell the stench of liquor like a tangible wall.
"Uh…I don't know, do I?" I asked, working our way through the straglers on the porch, the couples making out in the somewhat fresh air and the geeks talking themselves through their Ten-Step Anxiety Control Program before they tried to face the crowd on the inside. If it weren't for Amy, I should have been with those geeks, playing chess or reading books with over five hundred pages.
"Daniel Jessing." She said, voice going an octave higher as she did so and we walked through the door, finally releasing each other's arms.
I was surprised. He was the only decent guy in Omega Omega. If it were for Daniel, I would have assumed a requirement was being a shameless bastard of a player. But he hasn't dated, or slept with anyone for all of the time I've been here. I've talked to him before, just because I figured a handsome guy like him had to be getting some on the side somehow, but as far as I knew none of the girls that I knew in the school had slept with him, though a lot of them would be happy to. He'd just laughed and told me 'No, I don't have much time for playing around like that, I want to go to law school in three years…girls aren't on my agenda. And I guess you could say I'm picky. I don't just sleep with anyone.'
To which I told him, he was the most honorable guy in the entire House of Omega Omega. Then he smiled at me, and he's got a great smile. Dimples in the cheeks and all.
I sort of like him. He's a good guy, but I wouldn't go after him like most do. I'm…busy too, I guess. I want to be an editor, and boyfriends have never been on the agenda. It's just a small crush, anyway,
"What? What's with the silence? I thought you said he was the best guy in Omega Omega!" Amy looked at me in distress. I sigh softly and smile at her reassuringly. For such a pretty girl, it's sad that she has such self esteem problems, where me, who's mostly plain, am more confident than half the girls in that Sorority.
"He's definitely a good pick," I tell her, taking her hand and bringing her over to the bar, grabbing us two canned beers and snapping them open for us. Her manicured nails don't do well for opening these things, and I hand her one. "It's better than…every other guy in this Fraternity anyway."
Amy is always trying to get my approval on the guys she goes after. Sometimes she doesn't listen to me, but she's always regretted it the next day.
Like with Mark Hadley.
As is the case with most of the boy-men in Omega Omega, Mark Hadley, he has a disorder called Asshole Syndrome. I'm told it begins as late as puberty, but can clear up when true maturity is reached. Some, however, will never recover, and I'd put my money on Mark.
"Go for it, girl." And, in all honesty, I mean it. I don't need a boyfriend, even if Daniel is pretty nice and doesn't look at my boobs like they're their next squeak toy of choice. Or something.
Amy smiles brightly, and then sips on her drink, brown eyes scanning around to look for him. I don't really like the taste of beer, but I drink it anyway on occasions like this. It does the job, and it's the only thing that you can get in a can. I've lectured Amy I don't know how many times on not taking open drinks from people, and not leaving your drinks around…Damn Frat parties. You shouldn't have to fight for your virtue in order to have fun.
Not that big old sweaty, horny Frat boys and promiscuous, scantily dressed sorority girls all jammed in one house is fun. Or that many of these have a virtue left to fight for.
"Oooh, hey there, hot mama!" I'd know that voice anywhere. He was one of the geeks that is just crashing party because they want to be able to tell their kids they weren't spending every Friday night playing Halo in their room.
He pretends to have a crush on me. I mean, he crushes on every girl, even the ones that don't look twice at his acne or scrawny build or too-neat bright red hair. I'm the only one that doesn't shove him away with a look of disgust, however. He has proper grammar, at least when he's not pretending to be a total idiot, and that's enough for me to tolerate him.
"Hey, Freddy," I replied, continuing to sip on my beer and try not to cringe.
"What are you two ladies doing just standing here?" He looks Amy up and down, and then he does the same to me. She just frowns in annoyance, continuing to peer around the room in hopes that the tanned skin, dimple smiled Frat boy will turn up. He's tall enough, anyway, to be seen above the crowd.
When he looks over me, I roll my eyes and blush a bit, not because I like him but because I've never been comfortable with that once-over thing people did. It was totally obvious, not a bit of subtly to it. It was a 'hey, I'm looking at ever part of your body that you're the most self conscious about and wondering if I'd like to touch them or not'. Even if I find people attractive at first glance, I find a better way to get a closer look. In my compact, or out of the corner of my eye or something…Really.
But I guess most people would call that old fashioned. Which is pretty sad, when you think about it.
"Just hoping to get drunk enough so that the music sounds better and the people don't seem as obnoxious," I reply, sipping again, swirling my can around a bit to feel how much I have left. About half.
Freddy laughs, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Well, you're not obnoxious, sweetie."
"Thanks, Freddy, I appreciate that."
"No problem. Wanna dance?"
"Yes, I said maybe."
"Really? All I heard was 'yes'." He grins and winks at me in his melodramatic, faux-player fashion.
"Ohhh! There he is. Look at him, doesn't he look like the epitome of Latina smex?" Amy cooes suddenly, causing me too look over at where her awe is directed. His hair is a little passed his ears, dark and wavy, and he has a button up blue shirt on that has the top three buttons undone.
"Latino, doll face," Freddy corrects, and she just shoots him a glance, straightening out her under wire again, "Not that I mind you calling Jessing a girl."
"Oh please, you just don't like him because ten times hotter than you'll ever be," Amy snapped at him, lifting her chin and crossing her arms and then starting away, putting on a big smile and waving at Daniel.
"Well, that was cruel," Freddy pouts, taking his arm from around me to grab another two drinks just as I finish mine. He snaps it open for me, then his own, before handing me my second of the night.
"She only said that because she cares what you think," I reply, taking a sip and smiling a bit around it, "She doesn't like it when friends disapprove of her boy."
"Mhm." I hum in affirmative, "And besides, you are jealous of him."
"Why would I be jealous of him?" Freddy demands with a bit of a pout.
"Because every girl harbors at least a passing infatuation for him, at least, if they've been fucked over by Mark first and given up on the player type."
"Did I hear my name?"
"Jesus," I say blasphemously as I partake in underage drinking in a house where premarital sex is probably going on above my head somewhere. I'm not exactly a prude or anything, but why am I here?
"You only have to call me that on Sunday," He quips and purposefully leans around me, and he's an obnoxious little prick who is much, much too tall. Lean and wiry, plays basketball I think, and his auburn hair is styled to be messy in that ruffled up, just got out of bed. It's supposed be sexy.
But it just reaffirms my man-whore thoughts.
"Jesus is better looking than you," I reply, tilting my head back and finishing the next can of bear a moment later. I feel the warmth settling in more firmly, softening the annoying-ness of the party to something just slightly more bearable. But there's still this guy here, pouring hard liquor into his cup. With strawberry mix.
What a girl.
"And he also dug that prostitute chick," He shook his head and took a big, obnoxious jerk-face swig of his drink. Everything about his persona, from the swagger of his walk to the ruffle of his hair and gleam of his green eyes makes just gets on my nerves. "Which is why I wouldn't go for you, Olive, sorry."
"Oh please-" I begin, but Freddy cuts me off.
"I don't pay no money for my honey!" He says a bit to loudly, raising his hand to set up a high-five, "Can I get an amen, brother!?"
I stare at him, my lip curling slightly in disgust. "Really, Freddy?"
He has the decency to look sheepish, shrugging and lowering his hand as Mark did nothing but blink (in typical playboy-faced-with-a-weird-nerd fashion) and gawk at him. "Uh…sure."
A beat. Then he turned back to me, his usual mocking smirk on his features, "So what were you saying about all girls having a thing for Daniel, Martin?"
I inwardly cringe at my last name, but just sip on my third beer without much thought, "What about it?"
"Wouldn't all girls include you?"
I pause, and my face floods with pink treacherously. I suddenly grab Freddy's arm and suddenly begin to pull him, "Didn't you say you wanted to dance?"
"What dance includes getting my shoulder pulled out of its socket?" He mutters, and I mutter 'baby' under my breath and pull him harder onto the dance floor, beer in one hand and redheaded DDR fan in the other.
My dancing does not consist of rubbing my backside against a male's front side. It really, really doesn't, it's mostly hands on the guys shoulder and a rhythmic motion of my hips, maybe a bit of footwork, if I'm feeling fancy, which I really wasn't tonight.
It was my fourth beer that I begin to actually giggle at some of Freddy's corny jokes, and the people around were mostly a blur of color and faces. I lose count of the drinks I have along the way, really, and at some point I see Amy dancing with Daniel and I inwardly do a dance in my head. Good for her! It makes me smile, and I laugh at some Star Trek joke that none of the other girls here would understand, and I hardly did, spinning and moving and drinking and laughing until -
Until. I woke up. In bed. Next to him.
All things considered, the night was not the best of my life, though I suppose it will be a turning point, of sorts. Because after that…well. I can't really remember anything after that Star Trek joke, and I certainly don't remember what was funny about it. I don't drink much, so it's no big deal that I'm a lightweight or anything. But I guess I'm more of a lightweight than I thought I was, if I was too out of it to realize that it was a stupid idea to let him screw me.
God, I didn't think I was that stupid. I can hardly believe that I'm naive enough to sleep with the biggest man-whore in all of Omega Omega. To lose my virginity to him.
Humiliation does not even begin to cover it. I felt sick to my stomach, like everything I had eat had grown mutant within me, raging through me, the sensation that my intestines were tangling and knotting around each other, along with the worst hangover anyone had ever experienced.
Little did I know at the time, this wasn't the end of the nausea.
A/N: I'm not used to writing stories about pregnancy…in fact, pregnancy freaks me out a little bit. This isn't a baby story. This is a romance, above all, with comedy next and drama and angst somewhere after those categories. This has a plot outside of the romance as well, but it's slow in developing. But until it gets there, I will entertain you with real problems a real couple would go through in this situation, without the whole…well, couple aspect. :P
I really hope you enjoy the story, please review and stick with me until the end! (: