Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(5)
Forty-five minutes later, I’m back in my favorite baggy destroyed jeans that are getting loose around the waist and new college sweatshirt that matches the one Becca bought with the school’s red dragon stitched across the front and walking out of the room with a prescription in my hand.
A prescription for antibiotics that will help get rid of the problem.
The problem seemed quickly detectable according to the white-haired doctor with a far kinder smile than her nurse. She was 99% positive it was chlamydia based on my symptoms and examination. I was supposed to get official confirmation via phone call in a matter of days when the labs came in, but she didn’t want me to wait to start treatment. And as if the diagnosis wasn’t bad enough, I got the safe sex talk and was told that I’d need to talk to anyone I was sexually active with to let them know I’d tested positive.
And that causes even more problems.
Obvious problems.
Ones that I don’t voice to the doctor who was being comforting instead of judgmental. If I told her I didn’t remember who I had sex with, that I wouldn’t be able tell him this vital information, she might have changed her tune. Maybe even looked at me with the same unimpressed gaze her employee did. So, I kept my lips shut and simply nodded.
It isn’t until Olive and I walk out to where her car is parked that she asks, “Are you okay?”
I hold back my tears as we climb in the car and buckle our seatbelts before plastering a fake smile on my face like I was trained to do growing up.
Save face, Skylar, Mom would tell me.
“Yeah.” I don’t recognize my hoarse voice as my leg starts bouncing with anxiety.
My phone goes off in my hand, causing my eyes to go down to the screen.
Tyler: You free tonight?
I ignore the text, feeling only slightly bad for the boy with pretty brown skin and prettier gem-like greenish-blue eyes. We met in class weeks ago, hung out a few times to go over homework together, and text on occasion.
He flirts with me like he flirts with everyone—it’s second nature to him. So, I never take it to heart when he finds a way to brush our hands or legs together when we’re sitting beside each other, or comments on how pretty he thinks my outfits look on me.
He’s a guy.
A guy who I’m positive didn’t sleep with me, because something tells me if he did, he wouldn’t be that interested in charming me into taking my pants off a second time. I may not be experienced, but I know his type. Love them and leave them, as my sisters would say.
Stay away from those ones, Sienna would tell me, making Serena—her twin—laugh since we all know Sienna never follows her own advice.
Olive drives us to the closest pharmacy so I can get my medicine, then looks at me when she stops at a red light. John Mayer croons softly from her speakers as she studies my tense face, glances down at the white plastic bag of random things I bought while waiting for my prescription to be filled, and taps her fingers against the steering wheel.
“You know what always makes me feel better?” she asks chipperly, gratefully ignoring the internal meltdown I’m having as my eyes glaze with oncoming tears. “McDonalds.”
That’s how we find ourselves bringing back two bags of greasy food to campus. Food that my parents would probably scold me for indulging in if they knew.
Then again, it’d be the last thing on their minds if they knew why my friend was trying to cheer me up in the first place.
I just hope they never find out.
Eventually, I text Tyler back.
Me: No
CHAPTER FOUR
SKYLAR
My family comes from new money. We’re not Bill Gates wealthy but more like Taylor Swift. Or whatever stuffy white businessman equates to her. It’s all because of Dad’s love for investments. He’d put a lot of money into some up-and-coming shoe business when my oldest sister, Serenity, was a toddler, and it took off.
It’s what pays for Mom’s shopping addiction, Dad’s love for expensive Cuban cigars, the private school all of us girls went to that required ugly matching plaid uniforms, and college. But unlike my sisters, who all went to various ivy leagues like Stanford and Yale, I chose Lindon U.
A school clear across the country from my entire family and the pretentious people they surrounded themselves with. I don’t know what my parents were like before their bank account was heavily padded, but the people I grew up with cared deeply about appearance. It was all about the looks—how big the house was, how we dressed, and how we acted in public.
When my parents joined one of the many fancy country clubs in Beverly Hills, they’d drag me and my sisters with them and make us dress to the nines. I seemed to be the only person who hated wearing the frilly dresses, donning the appropriate amount of makeup, and dolling up my once-blonde hair for our picture-perfect family outings.
The difference between me, Serenity, Sienna, and Serena was obvious to everyone, starting with my name. Our dad had been hoping for a boy, positive I’d finally be the son he always wanted, but when he got girl number four they stuck with Skylar. I blamed my unfeminine name as the start of the stark contrast between me and the bombshells I grew up with. I was constantly stuck in their shadow not only because it took forever for me to match their height, but because their personalities were bigger than life and identical to our parents.