Intersections Read online

  “All right, Mr. Conrad, I’m Brady. Nice to meet you. Now, should Keisha here kick my ass out or explain to me just what the hell is going on?”

  Nothing happened for a long time. Their eyes locked together, and they held each other’s gaze for several seconds before wood scratched on wood and Conrad offered his answer. The planchette twisted in spiraling circles teasing and taunting them and both held lungfuls of breath while they waited for it to stop. It moved its way up to “Yes” and kept moving. Brady cheered. Keisha blew out her bangs, and then her mouth fell open and tears stung her eyes.

  “What’s it spelling?” Brady asked, listing off the letters one by one.

  Finally they both had the message:

  “Tell Him Everything, A.D.”

  “Fuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuu,” Keisha said.

  “Yeah, looks like it’s time to pay up,” Brady said, but his voice caught in his throat when he saw her face and heard the tremble in her voice.

  “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry.” He offered an arm to help her to her feet and console her. She refused.

  “It’s… it’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s probably time someone knew anyway, I just can’t believe it’s you. It’s not a pretty story.”

  Part of her wondered why in the hell Brady was still here. After what she’d done to him last night and now, for sure he had to think she was crazy. Most guys would run. Hell, if their roles were reversed, she’d run as fast as she possibly could. But here he was, topping off their bourbons and leaning in close, eyes focused on hers, goading, and a caring smile on his face.

  “So what’s A.D.?” He asked. “I thought your name was Keisha, so those can’t be initials can they?”

  “They are initials,” she said. “But not for my birth name. It was a nickname some asshole guys gave me a long time ago.”

  She sipped her bourbon, grimaced, took another sip.

  “I actively try my best to never, ever think about this, but maybe it’s time.”

  “You can tell me, it’s okay,” he said.

  “Don’t rush me,” she said. “This might take me a while.”

  His turn to sip bourbon.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She ignored him.

  “Angel Ditch,” she said. “A.D. stands for Angel Ditch. It’s what a bunch of guys called me my freshman year of college.”

  “Angel Ditch?”

  “Just think about it for a second,” she said.

  “Still not getting it.” He shook his head.

  She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “They were talking about my pussy...”

  6

  “Oh… Jesus,” Brady said, making a face.

  “Yeah, you got it now, champ? It even sounds like a compliment right? I should’ve been flattered right? No. The total opposite. It was humiliating and degrading and horrible. It all seemed so innocent and harmless, at first, but the way things ended…”

  Her fists clenched and her chest heaved. She was spilling her guts out in an incoherent mess to this total stranger who for some inexplicable reason, was still here, listening as she babbled something crazy. He wrapped his arms around her. She went silent and let herself be comforted.

  After a minute or two, Keisha pulled away from him and looked up, and smiled.

  “Look, I’m sorry for prying, obviously this has you… triggered or whatever—hell I didn’t even believe in that before today, you know? But yeah, I’m sorry I insisted and pushed you to do this. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No. It’s tough because I’ve never told anyone, but I already feel a lot better just purging even in a mess of words. Let me slow down, I want to get this out. I’m glad Conrad pushed me, I’m glad you’re here to listen.”

  “If you’re sure you’re okay,” he said.

  She nodded and told her story.

  * * *

  I didn’t look like this until college. Some girls are late bloomers. I was a super late bloomer. Puberty hit me late and stuck for a long time and eventually I worked my ass off to get into shape. When all the other girls around me were trying on bras and wearing revealing clothing, I just kept staring at my formless self, wondering if this is what I was or if someday I’d actually develop.

  Halfway through high school, I thought maybe if I ate more that would help prompt my body into taking a more womanly shape. Give me some of those coveted curves. I put on the pounds, but it never went to the right places. I packed on over two hundred and still couldn’t fill a B-cup, and ultimately, I was nothing more than an undeveloped, unattractive, uninteresting, unimpressive fat girl. And fucking depressed. Horribly, horribly depressed.

  I survived high school burying my face in books and focusing on getting good grades. Thought maybe if I worked hard I could give myself a head start in college and then maybe everything would come together. I didn’t feel like I was owed anything, but I felt like hard work in high school might help balance things out.

  Guys and gals alike teased me in high school. I was an easy target. More than once I got invited to parties and pranked when I showed up. One time I was told it was a costume party, but I was the only one who dressed up. Rumors started that I was into cosplay and actually thought I was Harley Quinn. Another time I showed up, they led me to the backyard only to be pelted with water balloons and balls of raw hamburger. That was probably the worst. God, kids are assholes.

  After that night I retreated even farther into myself and swore off socializing with anyone. Though my hormones and sexual impulses surged, I could indulge them with nothing more than my hands and pornography. I watched a lot of porn in that time, and I didn’t just use it to get off, I used it to study, to try and find out exactly how it would feel in all these different scenarios so that if I ever did snare a guy I liked, even though I was a virgin, after one roll with me, no matter my looks or anything else, he’d never want to leave.

  After two years of trying to pack on curvy weight I acknowledged my mistake and started working out furiously, but got no results. Sometimes I thought about killing myself, but never actually tried.

  Then I went to college and earned my illustrious nickname, Angel Ditch, and my whole world changed.

  During the parties the first weekend, I lost my virginity. I ran into the same guy, named Paul, two different nights and we both talked and laughed and got sloppy drunk. He tried to take me back to his place the first night but I resisted. The second night, after years of teasing and taunting and rejection, I just let myself go.

  And go I went.

  We were both super drunk, so I remember a lot more about the next morning than I do that night, but the next morning was when it all changed for me. Some call it the walk of shame, and that’s what it normally would’ve been, but apparently even in my drunken blackout state, I’d given Paul the fuck of his life.

  See, what they were doing was something I’d never heard of. Paul and his friends, a couple upper classmen, with some experience under their belts had been out hogging. Hogging is a competition in which male friends go out to a party or a bar and they have a contest to see who can fuck the fattest girl, and oh happy day, Paul chose me.

  I should have been infuriated, right? Well, while all his buddies were up early downing breakfast beers before football started, he’d told them what happened between us the night before and instead of walking out in shame, they invited me to sit with them, handed me a beer.

  You’d think I’d be crushed, humiliated, depressed, all that, but I was getting attention for the first time in my life. All of a sudden, Paul and his friends were interested in everything about me and even though most of it was sexual, it still felt ridiculously satisfying. Sure, I’d lost my virginity the night before, but I’d seen enough porn to bluff my way through their banter until one of them stood up.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Look at you, what could you possibly do so different? Christ you weigh like 300 pounds.”

  Looking back now, I realize it was a challenge. He w