After One-night Stand with A College Boy

Callum Powell confessed to me at a couple's motel, and I rolled my eyes at him. He took the cigarette from my hand, staring at me with intense emotion in his eyes. He really was an impulsive and reckless young boy.

I gave him a light kick, leaned back against the headboard, and pulled another cigarette from the pack. With a smirk, I mocked, "Don't you think saying 'I like you' in a place like this feels a bit fake?"

1

Only someone like Callum, an impulsive young college student, would confess in a motel.

Hearing my cold sarcasm, he wasn't discouraged, as if he had expected it. "Then I'll make it more formal next time." He said, leaning in closer. I impatiently pushed him away.

"Are you crazy?" I snapped angrily.

His antics had killed my mood for smoking. I shot him a glare, picked up my clothes from the bedside, and headed to the bathroom. The remnants of our shared bath were still there, with the air thick with a lingering sense of intimacy.

I stood by the sink for a moment, thinking about his confession, and couldn't help but chuckle.

I had heard those words countless times, but did which one truly mean them? No one.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the familiar outline blurred, unable to tell if my current smile was genuine or feigned.

When I came out after showering, Callum had already dressed and was fiddling with the handcuffs we had used earlier. Hearing me, he immediately looked up and walked over to inspect my wrist. When he saw the traces of my broken skin, his face darkened. "I'm giving the seller a bad review. Such a poor quality! So rough!"

I shook off his hand, unwilling to engage in his topic. "Don't you have a class tonight? It's six o'clock already. Aren't you leaving?"

"It's just an elective. Skipping it won't matter." Callum said, still concerned about the red marks on my wrist. He wanted to take a closer look. "Should I go buy some ointment for you?"

I sighed, placing a hand on his chest. "I don't want to be the seductress distracting a diligent student. You're still a young student, and you're already thinking of skipping class. Go back to classes!" Seeing he wanted to say more, I shot him another sharp look. He pouted and reluctantly slung his bag over his shoulder. "Then can we at least leave together? I'll watch you get in a cab, then I'll take the bus back. There's a direct bus to campus nearby."

I waved him off, feeling a headache coming on. "Do as you like."

As we parted, Callum kept looking back every few steps, his round eyes filled with reluctant sadness. My headache worsened, and I wished I could go back in time and slap my past self for picking up such a clingy troublemaker.

2

The first time I met Callum was at a bar.

I had just finished a project and wanted a drink to unwind. He was there, drowning his sorrows after a breakup. His outfit-a white T-shirt, sweatpants, and basketball shoes-was completely out of place in the bar. With his striking features, he stood out, attracting a flock of women, but he drunkenly dismissed all of them.

I only glanced at him twice before returning to my drink. Later, I encountered him in the hallway leading to the restroom. He was slumped in a corner, swaying as if too drunk to stand, occasionally letting out suppressed sobs. The scene was jarring amidst the dim, intimate lighting, with a couple nearby kissing passionately.

I didn't know if it was his pitiful state that tugged at my heartstrings or if I just found him an eyesore besides the couple as a third wheel. After a moment's pause, I walked over, bent down, and tapped his shoulder. "Hey, boy, you're blocking the way."

He looked up with a start, his eyes red and bloodshot, as if my words had hit a nerve. He grabbed my wrist, his voice low and menacing. "Whose way am I blocking? Was it in the way of her path to the powerful men?" He used the wall to slowly stand up.

I struggled to break free, but he slammed me against the wall, pain shooting through my shoulder blade. Just as I was about to call for help, his wounded, helpless eyes met mine. Despite the dim light obscuring his features, the deep sorrow and pain in his eyes resonated with the eyesight inside my memory.

"Do you know how much I loved her?" His voice was like a wounded animal's whimper, echoing in my ear.

Love?

I suddenly recalled past events and let out a derisive laugh. I hooked my arm around his neck, rising on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "Boy, love is just a word. You'll soon find that all love is a fragile illusion." With that, I kissed his earlobe. "A night of fun is more real, don't you think?"

He recoiled as if shocked, stepping back and touching his earlobe, his face flushed.

Amused by his reaction, I watched as he stood in the middle of the path, blocking others. I grabbed his collar, pulling him back, and kissed him, slowly parting his lips, letting our breaths mingle.

He responded, seemingly resigned or venting, gripping my waist and kissing back fiercely. In our entanglement, he accidentally bit my lip, the taste of blood spreading in our mouths.

We spontaneously got a room at a nearby hotel, thinking it would just be a brief fling. Unexpectedly, he insisted on adding me as a friend on social media, and we had been in touch on and off ever since.

I gazed out the window at the swiftly passing scenery and sighed deeply. A message notification popped up on my phone, and seeing his name gave me a headache again.

"Remember to apply the ointment and get some rest."

His few words were full of concern.

In some ways, Callum was very considerate. He never pried into my life, only catching up on recent events when we met. This perfect sense of distance once made me think having a long-term fling like this wasn't so bad. Yet, he could be impulsive and childish, often overstepping boundaries on a whim, expressing his feelings openly without regard for others.

But how long could such intense emotions last?

I looked down at the chat window. Most of the messages were from him, and my cold replies never seemed to dampen his enthusiasm. His words were always indicating, "I like you."

It was all an illusion, just the allure of the unattainable.

"Let's not keep in touch."

After sending this message, I blocked him.

03.

A month after that day, I took over the mess left by a departing colleague, overwhelmed and stationed directly at the client's company. I juggled conversations with brokers and accountants, making empty promises, even though everyone knew the project couldn't move forward. Yet, we still boasted to the company.

I couldn't just stand by and watch, but I also disliked going along with them. After a few arguments with the partners of my company, we reached a compromise that I would step back once the new lead took over.

I indeed needed a break. Perhaps after witnessing so much mutual deceit and self-interest, I suddenly missed Callum's straightforwardness. Every time we met for a meal, he would insist on paying to assert his masculine pride. When I treated him, he would blush and mumble, "I may not earn as much as you, but I can still afford a meal. It's not right for a girl to pay on a date... " Or after, he would gaze at me with sparkling eyes, trying to invite me out, but his throwing a tantrum never swayed me. In the end, he would leave with a drooping farewell. One night, on the rooftop, sipping beer in the evening breeze, he turned to me with a smile, "Even though my first love ended disastrously, so what? I still hope someone will walk into my heart one day." His eyes reflected me, open and honest.

I laughed at myself for still thinking about him just because of being single for so long, and planned to find a new fling after my vacation.

The plan was perfect until I unexpectedly saw Callum at my doorstep. Startled, I instinctively wanted to call the police, then remembered I had brought him over several times before to avoid the hassle of getting a hotel room.

When he saw me, his expression was blank, unsure how to react. After a few seconds, he cautiously approached and asked, aggrieved, "Why did you block me?"

In just a month, he seemed much more haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and sunken cheeks. Even after his breakup, he hadn't looked this worn out.

I didn't answer his question, just leaned in to sniff him, frowning, "Did you start smoking?"

The strong smell of tobacco was evident as I got closer.

He didn't answer, but just tugged at my sleeve, his voice hoarse, "Christine, can we pretend nothing happened?"

I looked up at this young man, whose eyes, usually full of passion, were now dim and filled with insecurity. He slouched humbly, head bowed, retracting his affection, suppressing any display of emotion in front of me.

His silent actions seemed to say, if you dislike love, we won't speak of it, as long as I can stay by your side.

I quietly watched him, unsure of what I felt. Was it worth going this far?

After a while, I sighed, softening my stance, "Let's talk inside."

I couldn't refuse his concession.

He followed me inside, sitting nervously on the edge of the sofa, watching me take off my shoes and head to the kitchen.

The fridge had been emptied before my business trip, leaving only bottled water.

I handed one to Callum and sat on the single sofa, legs crossed, reassessing the person before me. From the details, it was clear he grew up in a bubble of happiness, living a smooth life in a happy family. He was just like a little sun, radiating warmth to everyone around him.

Yet, his taste in people was questionable, always falling for the wrong ones.

"What do you like about me?" I asked him.

He was stunned for a second, then a familiar smile spread across his face, melting away his gloom. It was as if nothing had changed, he was still the brave boy chasing love. He gripped the water bottle tightly and laughed, "What's not to like about you?"

Callum's tense body suddenly relaxed, and he was inching closer, his arm resting on the armrest of the single sofa. Leaning in with eyes twinkling with amusement, he said. "Except for your temper, you're perfect."

I pushed his face away, unable to suppress a smile, but my tone remained firm, "Don't look at me like that, it's cheesy."

For a moment, I found myself lost in Callum's gaze.