Call It What You Want, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Alissa DeRogatis
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Originally self-published in 2023 by Alissa DeRogatis.
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For a younger version of myself.
Contents
Prologue: Sloane
PART 1: THEN
1: Sloane
2: Ethan
3: Sloane
4: Sloane
5: Ethan
6: Sloane
7: Ethan
8: Sloane
9: Sloane
10: Ethan
11: Sloane
12: Ethan
13: Sloane
14: Sloane
15: Sloane
16: Sloane
17: Sloane
18: Ethan
19: Sloane
20: Sloane
PART 2: NOW
21: Sloane
22: Sloane
23: Ethan
24: Sloane
25: Sloane
26: Ethan
27: Sloane
28: Sloane
29: Ethan
30: Sloane
31: Ethan
32: Sloane
33: Ethan
34: Sloane
35: Sloane
36: Ethan
37: Sloane
38: Sloane
Epilogue: Sloane
A Conversation with the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Sloane
December 2018
The sun pours through the small window in my bedroom as I roll over and snooze the 6 a.m. alarm. Most New Yorkers are already wide-awake, grabbing their oat milk lattes and avocado toast, while my head is pounding from a few too many glasses of wine and three hours of sleep. In an instant, the memories of last night’s events flood back, and I feel the agony coursing through my veins all over again.
The pain still lingers. I remember how much it hurt just to look at him. Ethan had always been the one to make me feel safe, but last night was different. It was as though he’d taken a knife and repeatedly plunged it into my chest. Each time I looked at him, the wound was reopened, the pain as fresh and raw as the first time. It was like death by a thousand cuts.
He cut me off midsentence. “I can’t do this anymore, Sloane. I think this needs to end.”
I was holding a glass of my favorite cabernet, and within seconds, it was out of my hand and on the floor. Instinctually, I quickly bent down to pick up the pieces. I hate messes, and I would rather have focused on anything but this conversation right now. I looked down at my hands to see that my right palm was gushing blood. Why can’t I feel it? Why can’t I feel anything? I watched as he pulled out his phone to call us an Uber. He was moving so quickly, but in my world, it was like time had stopped.
I stared at him as he frantically moved around my kitchen, grabbing anything we might need for the emergency room, and I wondered where the guy I met in college went—the guy in the worn-out Yankees T-shirt with a soft smile and trusting eyes. I never would have thought I could have hated him, and yet I couldn’t even look at him. I never wanted to see him again, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to leave. Ever. I’d loved him for over two years. How could he have ended two years with four words?
I can’t do this.
The words were on replay in my head as if they’re a new Taylor Swift album that I was trying to memorize every chorus of. I think the worst part was realizing that somewhere deep down, I knew it the entire time. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get where I wanted him to. I just hoped that I was wrong.
No, we never dated. He’s not an ex-boyfriend. He’s an ex-almost. Maybe that’s all we’d ever be—an incomplete sentence or a book that someone put down halfway through and never picked back up, finished without an ending.
PART 1
THEN
1
Sloane
August 2016
Just like that, the first day of my senior year of college arrived. I woke up with a flutter of excitement in my chest and eager anticipation for what the year would bring. I splashed water on my face, swiped on some mascara, and brushed through my naturally straight auburn hair. I didn’t typically wear much makeup, and for class, I always preferred the bare minimum. I threw on a large fraternity T-shirt, athletic shorts, and tennis shoes before grabbing my backpack and heading out of my room.
The apartment was quiet. My two roommates—braver souls than I—opted for 8 a.m. classes and had already left to start their day. I, however, was more of a 9:30 girl. I scanned the kitchen for a travel coffee mug and brewed myself a quick cup, checking my phone and tapping my foot as the Keurig took its precious time.
After finally getting out the door, I ran to the shuttle bus stop, my heart skipping a beat when I noticed the doors gliding shut. I hated being late to anything, and imagining myself walking into a lecture alone and tardy made my palms sweat.
“Hold the doors!” a voice yelled from behind me.
I turned to see a tall and (from what I could tell) attractive guy running toward the bus. He passed by me with a smile, charming enough to convince the driver to reopen the shuttle doors.
“After you,” he said from the step of the bus entrance, motioning for me to get on board.
Tall, dark, and handsome hardly did him justice. His wavy dark-brown hair framed a chiseled face with a strong jawline. His deep brown eyes held a certain charm that was impossible to ignore. He had an effortlessly cool and confident aura that made my heart race.
I brushed past him while my eyes quickly browsed the selection of seats until they landed on a small set of two in the back row. I knew exactly who I’d be sharing it with. I slid into the window seat and watched him walk the aisle purposefully. I tried not to stare until I noticed his T-shirt.
“Mind if I sit?” He approached the end of my row.
“It feels like the least I can do after you ensured the bus didn’t leave without us.” There’s an undertone of nervousness in my voice. “Are you from New York?”
He seemed surprised by the question.
“Your shirt.” I pointed to his worn-out gray T-shirt with the New York Yankees logo plastered across the front. Even though it looked like it had been through one too many loads of laundry, it still clung to his body in a flattering way.
“Oh, this.” He looked down to see what he was wearing. “No. My dad’s a fan. Are you?”
“A fan or from New York?”
“Either? Both?” He laughed.
“Neither. I’ve wanted to move there for as long as I could remember though.”
As he squeezed into the seat, his leg rested on mine, and my entire body lit up. How was it that I felt so attracted to someone whose name I didn’t know?
He introduced himself like he could read my mind. “I’m Ethan, by the way. Ethan Brady.”
“Sloane Hart.”
“Is this your first year living in Ascent?” he asked. “We just moved into one of the buildings near the pool.”
“My roommates and I live back there too! Apartment 3221. It’s our second year. We love it. We tried to get a house in Wrightsville but didn’t have much luck. Apparently, they get snatched up quickly,” I said.
His eyes widened. “I guess we’re neighbors—I live in the unit above you. Better not call the cops if our parties get too loud.”
“We’d never. Unless you don’t invite us…”
“Noted.” Ethan nodded. “What’s your major?”
As I answered, I couldn’t help but steal a sideways glance, noticing how his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the easy confidence in his posture. “Communications. I would’ve chosen journalism, but Wilmington College doesn’t offer it, so I had to settle for a minor instead. Let me guess…yours is finance or business?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t stereotype me like that, Hart.” The name rolled off his tongue like he’d been waiting his entire life to say it. “I’m a comm major too. I got kicked out of the business school after I failed precalc twice.”
“You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that. I’m horrible at math, so I couldn’t even imagine taking precalc once, let alone twice. I barely passed statistics.” I felt myself easily opening up to him.
“What class are you headed to now?” I liked how he asked a lot of questions. It made me feel important.
“Advanced Creative Writing. How about you?”
“Intro to Public Speaking.” He managed to get the words out without laughing.
“Isn’t that a freshman course?”
“I’ve been putting it off. I hate public speaking. Now I really wish I had just gotten it over with four years ago.”
“Look at it this way: you’ll probably be speaking to a room full of eighteen-year-olds who are way more intimidated by you than you are of them.”
“Good looking out, Hart.”
There it was again. The name that made my heart skip two beats.
The shuttle screeched to a stop on the north side of campus. We waited for everyone else to get off the bus until we were the only ones left. Ethan led the way, and I followed suit, knowing we were headed to the same building, where most communications classes were held.
“Well, this is me.” I had to crane my neck to look up at him as we continued to walk. He had to be at least a few inches over six feet tall.
“Do you have class after this, or are you headed back to Ascent?”
“I have another class, and then a meeting,”
“Guess I’ll be riding home alone. See you around, Hart?” He asked a question he already knew the answer to.
***
I got back to Ascent a little after 3 o’clock, and as I walked up the stairs to our apartment, I could hear my roommates blasting Drake. I wanted to slow time down. As excited as I was for the year ahead, I didn’t want college to end.
I met Lauren Ellis and Jordan Coleman by the luck of the draw when the university randomly assigned us to the worst freshman dorm, Moore Hall. It was the only high-rise on campus that hadn’t been torn down and rebuilt yet, and we were among the lucky few to live in it during its final year. I’d like to think the experience that we liked to call Moore Hell made us closer.
Lauren is my best friend. She’s strikingly beautiful, with long platinum-blond hair and the sweetest smile. Whenever something bad (or good) happens, Lauren is the first person I tell. She’s the kind of person who never lets you down. As an education major, Lauren has a passion for shaping young minds. She’s honest but gentle, always able to deliver tough truths with care. Lauren really is the most genuine person I’ve ever known. Jordan is the source of light and laughter in our group. She’s the most free-spirited and selfless of us all. Her go-with-the-flow attitude matches her dirty-blond beach waves and tan skin; just by looking at her, you can tell she’s a Wrightsville Beach native. The three of us are so different yet fit together so perfectly.
“Oh my god, finally, you’re home!” Lauren’s dramatics were one of my favorite things about her.
“Has she already started drinking?” I turned to Jordan.
“Not yet, but soon.” Jordan laughed.
“Very funny, very funny,” Lauren mocked us. “Can’t a girl just be excited? We just finished our second-to-last first day of class! It’s monumental. Also sad. But let’s try not to think about that. I don’t want anything to ruin our first night out of senior year!”
“Is it weird to go to Jerry’s on a Wednesday? I’m surprised the frats aren’t doing FDOC parties,” Jordan said.
“Guys.” Lauren threw herself onto the couch. “Seniors never go to the FDOC parties; they’re only for the underclassmen. We’re all finally twenty-one! That’s why Jerry’s is the move tonight. Get a grip.”
“That makes so much sense,” I replied while Jordan nodded in unison.
“We have about three hours until we need to start getting ready. What do you guys wanna do for dinner? I know we have a ton of groceries from our parents moving us in. Frozen pizza?” Lauren was definitely the planner of the group.
“Yeah, a frozen pizza is perfect,” Jordan agreed.
“Wait,” I interrupted. “I have to tell you about the guy I met on the Ascent shuttle.”
“Hold up. You’ve been home for an entire five minutes and have been keeping this from us?! Spill!” Lauren was giddy. She loves love and knows how hard it is for me to find it.
I moved around a lot growing up. My mom’s a surgeon; at the beginning of her career, she transferred hospitals every few years. That made it extremely hard for me to make friends, let alone find a boyfriend. The closest I’d gotten was Carter.
Carter was, in many ways, a breath of fresh air. Our dates were spontaneous, every night with him fueled by adrenaline as I could only guess what would come next—being with him made me excited and nervous at the same time. Even though our relationship was on the more casual side of things, he asked me to senior prom. He showed up at my house with his mom and a corsage that didn’t match my dress, but of course, I wore it anyway. We took pictures and piled into a limo with my friends, passing around wine coolers and mini bottles. I lost my virginity that night. I thought it would be so much different. I was expecting this grand romantic gesture, and instead, it was just a few minutes in a spare bedroom at my friend’s house that resulted in a broken condom.
A few weeks after high school graduation, my parents sat me down and told me they were getting a divorce. I was blindsided. Twenty years of marriage ended in the blink of an eye. Had I missed the warning signs? Sure, they bickered like any other married couple, but I didn’t think they’d ever take back their vows. As if the divorce wasn’t enough, the timing was less than convenient for me. I was months away from going to college, a few hours away from home, and now I didn’t feel like I knew what home was. My parents were so focused on dividing assets and selling the house that they didn’t have the time to support me during a transitional time when I really needed them to.
For the rest of the summer, I had sex with Carter whenever I could—while our parents were at work, in cars in parking lots, at parties, after parties—I was willing to do it whenever and wherever because I thought it would make him love me. I was desperate not to be alone. Spoiler alert: sex never makes someone love you. Even though we weren’t “together,” I would still see Carter when I’d go home on breaks, mainly to avoid being around my parents, who were already dating other people. I spent my freshman year of college hoping we’d become more than just a hookup, and the year after trying to find something that compared to the exhilarating feeling he gave me. Eventually, junior year rolled around, and I took a break from my love conquest. I chalked it up to the idea that the love of my life wasn’t in Wilmington. Maybe he was in a big city or on another coast. I’d find out one day. For the remaining two years of college, I was determined to focus on school and finding my dream postgrad job to get out of North Carolina. Life got so much better when I stopped looking for love in every guy I met.
“Well, thanks to our Keurig, I was running a few minutes behind. I swear it takes ten minutes to brew just one cup. We really should look into getting a new one.” I could sense myself rambling.
“Get on with it!” Jordan interjected.
I hurried to get to the heart of the story; the excitement bubbled up within me. “Anyway, I was walking toward the shuttle, and the doors started to close. I was sure I was going to miss it and be late for class until this guy ran up from behind me and got the driver to open the doors. There were two seats left next to each other, so we took them and talked the entire way to campus. He’s a senior, a communications major like me, and the best part is he lives directly above us.”
“No way.” Lauren’s eyes widened as she took in every word.
“I hope his roommates are hot!” Jordan chimed in.
“When I tell you he might be the most attractive guy I’ve ever laid my eyes on…” I gushed. “I’m not kidding. He has fluffy brown hair and a great smile, and I can just tell he works out at least five days a week.”
“Okay, so just like every other frat douche on campus.” Lauren rolled her eyes.
But Jordan was already sold on the fantasy, “He sounds hot to me!”
“Did you ask bus boy if he’s going to Jerry’s tonight?” Lauren asked.
“No. Shit, I should’ve!” I grabbed a throw pillow sitting next to me on the couch and shoved my face into it.
“I’m sure he’ll be there!” Jordan was always the optimistic one. “According to Laur, all seniors will be.”
“That’s right, and we need to look hot. So stop pouting. Let’s get ready!”
