Story #9: meta fiction. Revelry

Colleen Mundy
Story #9: Meta narrative
March 10, 2009

Revelry
It was past noon and the only reason Taylor was even awake was because his phone vibrated on the table next to him. He rolled over, aggravated that someone should be texting him this early; didn't they know it was Sunday? That means every student at his college should be hung over. He rubbed his eyes and looked at a number he didn't quite recognize. The text read: “Hey Taylor. It’s Marissa. I’m outside. Let me in.”
Okay, hold on. I know what you’re thinking. Random drunk hook up from Saturday night, right? Right. Taylor had to read over that text about three more times for it to stick in his head. His mattress groaned as he got up and went to his door. Walking down the hall in his boxers he scratched his head trying to remember the night before. He opened the front door and Marissa was there, just as she said, her blonde hair blowing in a cyclone around her face.
“Hi,” her big white teeth greeted him. She kissed his cheek as she made her way into his dorm like she lived there herself. She moved quickly with deliberate movements and Taylor couldn’t have stopped her if he wanted to. At least that’s what he told himself. Right? In his room, she lounged, cat-like on the bed.
And this is where it stops. For you, for now. Because next was the decision, you see. I mean, what does Taylor do in this situation? Especially after everything that has already happened. Well, let’s take a look at his options.
First, he can be a college guy: Rip off her clothes, throw her on the bed and hook up with her just like he did the previous night and so many before that. Maybe he’ll even remember this one.
Next, he can be responsible and try to talk to her. Of course, she wouldn’t listen:
“You need to leave,” Taylor would say. “Last night was a mistake.”
“And what about the nights before that?” Marissa counters with implying eyes.
“We can’t be seen together.”
“I don’t care.” Marissa gets up from the bed and wraps her arms around Taylor’s neck. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Taylor drops her arms and leads her to the door. Sweat beads on his forehead. “I do care. ‘Cause it’s my ass on the line, little girl. Not yours. We can’t do this. You shouldn’t even be here. How did you even know where I go to school? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. God, Marissa. They’ll find out. How could you not tell me?”
Marissa would just smile and look up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s only a few years difference.”
“But that few years lands me on the ‘over 18 and in jail’ side and you on the ‘innocent, taken advantage of’ side.”
“But if I remember correctly, I came on to you,” Marissa would answer; innocently.
It wouldn’t matter to Taylor that she was naïve. After all, it was his ass on the line. How could she not tell him?
Then again, he could always try talking to her, and she could understand:
“You’re barely sixteen, Marissa,” Taylor would whisper, assertive so she knew he was serious, but soft in attempts not to hurt her. “And you lied to me about your age. We can’t keep doing this.”
“I know it was wrong to lie to you,” Marissa would see the light and be receptive to what Taylor was saying.
And she would leave. Simple as that, right? Wrong. Come on, now. You didn't really think that’s how it was going to play out, did you? No, no option number one was obviously the best option. Who doesn’t love morning sex? Well, it would technically be afternoon sex, but Taylor had just woken up, so same difference. However, as Taylor would soon find out, instead of morning sex, Marissa should have been looking into the morning after pill.