"What's the deal with you and Sara?"

"I hear you guys aren't talking. What happened?"

"I hear she's a bitch. She look fine, though."

"Hey, I heard she did shit with some guy at the club. That's some shit, ain't it?"

"Oh, I have to tell you: Sara and I had the best time together the other day. We went out to dinner, and afterwards we went out to see a movie. I don't even remember what it was about really. All I know is that she moves quick! Oh shit, man. I'm sorry. I forgot."

Brian McKnight came into his head a few names, singing "Do I Ever Cross Your Mind" over and over again, specifically the part where he asks if she ever wakes up reaching out for him. Not that Ted Mandalay did that. No, he wouldn't admit that to anyone. Why should he, when Sara was already giving losers head in a movie theatre. Did she think that degrading herself was going to prove that she could move on quicker? Why did she feel the need to slander him and flirt around with other guys with him watching? Of course she was struggling as he was, but girls have an easier time moving on. If not with moving on, then at least at having sex, and pushing the pain into a tiny little corner as the fluids mix and the pelvis pumps and the moans escape between parted lips. Ted had appreciated what they had, whatever they had, and he wanted to say that he loved her, though that would leave him open to all sorts of abuse in regards to gossip.

"Oh, it's tougher on Ted. He was in love with her. Poor guy. Did you hear what she did last Friday?"

Sometimes he wanted to hit her. Could he help it? Of course he could, at great expense to his happiness and well-being. The Bible says not to hit people. Fuck the Bible. It was written by religious fanatics and organized by popes and monarchs. He wouldn't hit her, naturally. It wasn't in him, and he felt no one deserved to be hit in the first place. But sometimes.

"She annoys me a lot. Does that help?"

Ted was fine during the day. He had friends he could talk to, and he had classes to focus on, and he had places he could drive and read and be lost within the mysterious jungles of Conrad and the materialistic societies of Thackeray and the tough safaris of Hemingway. However, in bed, at night, she came back to him. She invaded his thoughts, and wrapped her cool, pale arms around his mind, and made him think back to when they had spent many pleasant hours together, unaware that within a short time their relationship would be torn apart by jealousy and sorrow and pride. Pride was still there, preventing them from speaking, from being together, from loving.

"You know she didn't like you? That's what she says."

"Man, I met this fine ass bitch the other day. You want to hear about it? What's up with you and Sara anyway?"

It was hard to deal with such a thing in college. Everyone knew your problems about the same time you did, and by the time you could fully realize the conflict, they had gone and blown it out of proportion. Sure, Ted had loved Sara. Sure he did. Was he ashamed to say it? Of course. What the fuck good was it doing him, anyhow? There was a leaden weight tied around his heart, and it was hanging over the side of a boat, its bottom lapping gently against the surface of the water, pulling and tugging and tearing at his heart until one day either the weight would be untied, or it would rip his heart from his chest and sink it to the cold, deep bottom. She loved someone else. Fine. That's what he said, anyway, on account of everyone else. It wasn't fine, though. It was killing him, and very slowly. It wasn't fine.

"What are you going to do?"

Ted looked at the gossiper, his eyes squinted against the sun, his books under his arm, his hand in his pocket. He didn't know what to say. What would he do? He couldn't move on, since he was terrible with women and would never ever find anyone who truly loved him. Shoot himself? Too drastic. What could he do? Could he play at her game, and tell everyone shit that wasn't true, just because she was hurting so bad inside that she was trying to hide it by being tough? Was that ever a coherent sentence? Should he change his name to Paulo, and go to Malaysia and raise a family of chickens?

"Maybe I should," he said. "That's about the kind of advice I can expect from everyone else anyway."