Livvy releases tomorrow!! [Preorder for Kindle and iBooks] I am so excited that I just want to share some things with you all early… here’s a little conversation between Livvy and her resident advisor at Yale…
Livvy Excerpt – “Tim the RA”
In truth, Jon was the only one I’d ever planned to celebrate with on my eighteenth birthday. No matter what I do, it won’t live up to the expectations I’ve had since my sixteenth birthday, my first birthday as his girlfriend. We’d waited so long for this milestone.
After packing the last of my things, I set my bag aside and pull out the small box from my desk drawer, removing the ring from its cushion and putting it on my finger, where it belongs.
He made me promises. He vowed to never take me for granted. He was going to make every moment with me the best it could be. He would never let me forget that I was the best choice he’d ever made. Choisie. I touch my chest, in search of the necklace I no longer have.
I never even got a chance to explain myself. If he never read the letters, he’ll never understand how much I care for him. Does he really think I like Finn? After all, most people accept the concussion explanation. Even I believe it, because I have no other logical reason for what I did that day. I was desperate. I was confused. I was angry. I know I was all of those things, but to share a kiss with another guy… and not just any kiss. Our kiss. To do that, it’s obviously unforgivable in his mind.
It was just a horrible mistake!
I start to cry, and once I start, the angry tears fall quickly and freely and the sobs cut off my breathing. I haven’t cried like this in weeks. I’d hoped it would make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I start to wonder if anything will.
“Livvy?” someone calls out to me from the hallway. Realizing people can hear me through the door, I try to calm myself quickly, but I don’t respond. “Livvy? Are you okay?” Tim asks.
“Yeah,” I tell my RA, my voice hoarse. I hear him try the doorknob, but I locked it when I came in.
“Can you open up for me?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, trying to hide my emotions. I know it’s not working and drag myself off the bed to let him in. I trudge back to my pillow, hearing him walk in softly behind me.
“I either have to have another girl come in here with us, or we have to leave the door open,” he explains. “Which would you prefer?”
I stare at him blankly, not wanting to talk to anyone.
“You don’t trust a lot of people, do you?” he asks.
I look away, down at my hands, watching my fingers pick away the purple polish I’d put on them.
Tim finds a box of tissues and brings them to me. He leaves the door open and pulls my desk chair closer to the bed, leaving only about a foot between us. He speaks with quiet concern. “You should talk to someone, Livvy.”
“I can’t,” I tell him, wiping my nose without an ounce of grace or poise. “I don’t know anyone here that I can talk to.”
“Do you know how many guys would love to have some time with you? Who’d do anything to be the person you go to?”
“I don’t care,” I tell him, not at all impressed with his attempt to compliment me. “They don’t know anything about me. They know about tabloid articles and rumors. They know about my money. They don’t know me. They can’t like me if they don’t know me.”
“I don’t like you,” he says. I look up at him, moderately surprised at his admission.
“Thanks. I’m not too fond of you, either,” I say spitefully, even though it’s not true.
“No, I mean,” he stutters. “Livvy, I see how you try to avoid half the guys in the hall–and they still track you down. They still follow you like lost puppies.”
“I don’t encourage it,” I tell him.
“I know you don’t. But you’re all these poor, lonely guys think about. But I want you to know that I’m not like them.”
“Okay,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders.
“I have a girlfriend. I love her.”
“Good for you.” When I look down again, I remember the ring. Hoping to not draw attention to it, I cover it with my right hand and slide it off slowly, the movements barely noticeable. My legs crossed beneath me, I tuck the jewelry in my shoe to hide it.
“I want to help you. You need someone you can trust. It must suck to have to constantly question everyones’ motives–”
“My dad taught me well–”
“I’m sure he did. But Livvy… let down your guard a bit. Let someone in.”
“Why? I mean… I don’t know what you think I need.”
“Your dad spoke with me before he left campus a few weeks ago. Your parents are worried about you. He mentioned there was a guy… someone that was special to you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t matter anymore.
“Sure it does. I mean, your first chance to be alone, and you’re locked in your room crying.” He puts his hand on my sneaker and squeezes my toes. “Do Katrina and Rachelle know about him?”
“They know of him.” I shift positions, pulling my knees into my chest so he’ll move his hand off of my shoe. “They don’t know how I feel about him,” I admit. “They think he was just a fling. Because of what happened with my friend, they don’t think either relationship was serious.”
“This was the, uh…” He hesitates, and I can tell he’s unsure if he should admit what I’m sure he already knows.
“The guy I kissed. The guy I kissed that wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“You had a concussion?” I nod, but look away when I do, still feeling guilty about my actions. Concussion or not, the kiss with Finn was intimate and it hurt Jon more than he had words to explain.
“You still love him? The boyfriend?”
“Ex,” I correct him. “Can you hate and love someone at the same time? Because I think I do.”
“Livvy, if you love–”
“Surely you’re not going to tell me to set him free. Please don’t be that cliché. He’s free. He’s been free for almost four months, and where has that gotten me? Nowhere. It just makes me angrier and angrier, with each day of silence.”
“And who do you think you are, prying into my life like this?”
“Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you. That’s all. I don’t mean to pry, and if you feel that I am,” he says, but doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he stands and pushes the chair back under my desk.
“I just can’t talk about it, Tim.”
“I hate to tell you this, Livvy,” he says, “but you just did.”
©2014 Lori L. Otto