That’s when I went on a dating spree, looking for someone who could make me forget about my desire for Bella. At the time, I was a very popular guy in high school, being a star athlete and all, and there was no shortage of girls that wanted me.
I’d bring them home, fuck ‘em, and then leave them when I got tired of them. I know it sounds shitty, but I was looking to fill a hole inside me. I couldn’t have Bella, so I needed to continually release that pent-up sexual frustration that she caused.
This was about the time when Bella began to treat me like utter shit, and I assumed it was because of all the girls I was bringing back home. She was probably thinking I was such a misogynistic douchebag.
From a certain point of view, she was right, but I wasn’t trying to be a douche. I wanted badly to tell her that I was doing it for the benefit of us both, on the grounds of our being stepbrother and stepsister. Our relationship could never be, and the quicker I could get over her, the better. And with each girl, I prayed that she would be the one who could make me forget Bella. Each time, it didn’t happen, and I was left frustrated as, just at the moment of climax, it was Bella’s face I saw in my mind, regardless of who was in bed with me. It was shitty for me to use them like that, but I can’t change it now.
Soon, I began to feel her hatred of me was for the best. It kept me away from her and reinforced the idea that we couldn’t be together.
Once it was time to go off to college, I knew that I would finally kick my secret obsession of Bella. Just like in high school, I’d be popular at college and would be able to fuck as many hot chicks as I wanted. I was happy because I’d finally be able to forget about Bella’s pretty face and gorgeous body.
Boy, was I wrong.
“Fuck ‘em up, Craig!” yelled someone within the rowdy crowd.
“Yeah, Craig! Don’t let that pussy upstart beat you!” yelled another.
Drowning out the taunts of my brothers, I growled as a line of sweat rolled down the side of my face, the veins standing out on my forearm. I refused to be baited, though I would have been happy to show those punks what a real ‘pussy’ was if I weren’t so engaged in defeating my opponent.
After all, I didn’t run three miles every day and work out in the gym five days a week for nothing.
At six-foot-two, I was built like a superhero with well-defined muscles all over my body. I was born an athlete, a star player. And like any star player, I was in it to win.
“Shit,” my opponent, Craig Parker, growled, sweat lining his face as we grappled with each other. Shirtless and covered with a sheen of perspiration, we were sitting at a table in the middle of the Alpha Gamma living room, engaged in a fierce arm-wrestling match. I had the upper hand, with Craig’s arm almost touching the table.
Craig was a worthy opponent, with muscles almost as well-defined as mine. But he lacked mental focus, and that was a weakness that I exploited to perfection. Victory begins in the mind, and I knew I had Craig beat there.
I maintained eye contact with him, willing him to believe that his efforts were futile. He couldn't win. I was stronger, mentally and physically, and he was the shit under the sole of my shoe.
Craig clenched his jaw, straining with all his might, and sweat poured down the sides of his face. He managed to move my arm back a fraction of an inch and a surge of adrenaline rolled through me. It was what I’d been waiting for. It gave me the angle I needed.
Roaring, I smashed his hand into the table and jumped up, pounding my chest in victory.
The room erupted in jeers and cheers with several of Craig’s fan-boys booing me. I didn’t give a fuck. They were all just mad because I had beaten every single Alpha Gamma hotshot thus far and was on my way to being crowned top Alpha for the Second Semester Arm Wrestling Tournament. After transferring to NSU, I hadn’t been forced to go through Rush Week, but I still had to prove myself to the guys, and the tournament was it.
“Fuck, man!” Craig cried, jumping up from the table and shaking his wrist. “I want a re-match!”
I shook my head. “You kidding me, bro? I beat you fair and square.”
Craig stepped up to me, his face red with rage, and he shoved me.
“Enough!” Todd James, president of Alpha Gamma, snapped. He quickly stepped between us, saving Craig from getting his face rearranged. “Stefan beat you fair and square, Craig. If you want to arm-wrestle him again, you’ll have to wait until the next competition.”
Craig looked like he wanted to argue, but then he backed down. “Total bullshit, man.” He walked back into the crowd to nurse his wounded pride, shaking his head.
Todd looked after Craig for a moment and then turned and looked at me. “You’re doing good, Livingston. Better than I thought. Looks like the rumors about you being the best jock at South State were true.”