Distrust - Chapter 1

Sometimes a small decision can change our lives in a great way. Stella finds herself in a situation where she has to decide if she will forgive or leave one part of her life behind.

I swear, if I turn around one more time I will pee myself.  At least I enjoyed my time at the party. Maybe next time I should keep in mind that swilling too much beer is not such a beneficial thing on my bladder. I try falling asleep, so I can spare one way to the bathroom. I nearly fall asleep, but one vision appears in my mind: what if I use the toilet in my dream? My eyes pop wide open in one second. No way I am going to risk an accident during the night. I would be ashamed of myself in that case. I shot out of my bed, only to find that one of my slippers is missing. Perfect. When I came back to my room, I was pretty wasted, threw all my clothes all over the place and eventually tossed the ones which were already laying around the floor. This was probably the time when my slipper was moved to its hideout. I drop to my knees and start to look for it. Crunched like this made my situation even worse but on the bright side, I turned out to be lucky: my stupid fluffy slipper was hiding under my bed. There is no time to waste, so I reach out for it and rush out of my room as quietly as possible, run down the corridor and enter the bathroom. In its current state, it resembles a battlefield which means that the girls from our floor came back already. If you examined the crime scene, you could find the whole menu of the party on the floor, paired with the nauseating smell creating a sickening atmosphere. These girls nearly made it to the toilets, but that is not enough. Thank God I did ballet, so my thighs are keen to hold me to avoid contacting the toilet seat. It feels so liberating to ease myself. Of course - no surprise - there is no toilet paper. Luckily after searching my pockets, I find some tissue in my so I won't need new underwear. I exit the booth and step to the sinks. While I am washing my hands, I can hear an agonizing sound behind me, and I can't help but smile. Some people are not so lucky to handle alcohol well so I might consider that my superpower.

Leaving the terrorized bathroom, I decide to hang around a bit in the community room. Everything feels so still in here, just as in a painting. Only the moths show a faint sign of life at this time of the night. Complete darkness is all I see first, but after a few minutes, my eyes adjust to the low light. Even if all the shades are closed, some of the moonlight shines through the cracks, giving the room a mysterious vibe. Tiredly I flop into the couch and lay my head on my forearm. There stood a floor lamp, - in which I bumped my head, causing it to wobble a bit - but because I prefer it to be dark, I leave it alone. The beer in me is losing its last effect on my brain, the only symptom left is a slight feeling of discomfort. The air here feels a bit fresher than in my room, which made my stay here longer. There is a reason that I don't like spending time in my dorm room lately. When Phil was paying me a lovely short visit, he felt a bit hot �" let's say maybe it was too much cuddling �" and wanted to open the window to let some air in. Poor b*****d broke the handle. At that time a was really laughing, because his already blushed cheeks turned even redder, coming close to resemble a lobster. Unfortunately, since then nobody bothered to come up and fix it, although I asked the janitor repeatedly. And to add some more bad luck on my list, this fall is extremely hot. With no circulation of air, I'm literally boiling to death.

My eyes feel a bit heavy, but I just can't fall asleep. After resting here for a while, I hear Emily's voice from the corridor, accompanied by someone, I'm guessing it is a new piece of her collection. A small smile appears on my face 'She knows how to have a good time.' Even though Phil and I have been dating for almost half a year now, we still haven't slept together. I might sound old-school, but for me sleeping with someone means a lot and possibly I would like to wait until marriage with that. I really need to lay all my trust on that person to whom I give my body and mind and honestly, in spite of loving Phil, I still have the doubt that it is a one-way scenario. But Emily doesn't mind sleeping around. I don't care what she does, but for sure, I wouldn't be comfortable with her lifestyle.

I can hear their footsteps coming closer, and I can only hope that they will continue their way to Emily's room.

 

"Come on now," says Emily, still a bit drunk "my room is a mess, it will be just fine here."

No way. For many reasons, I know that she wants to do more than having a small talk - unfortunately for me. Just to be clear: I don't mind if she hooks up with as many guys as she likes, but please keep it private that no unfortunate soul will have to go through the trauma of seeing the unwanted, and have that image burned into their minds foreEwver.

“Em, I think we should go to your room, I don't want Stella to bust us."

In an instant, all sign of tiredness flew out of my eyes, and I felt my heart skipping a beat. That is Phil's voice. What the hell? What is he doing with her? I can feel a heatwave going through my body as they stumble in the room. They can't see me in the dark, so I try to breathe as quietly as possible. Emily acts seductively, humming some song. As gracefully as she can, she approaches the table in the middle and sits down on it. Holding up her

 index finger she invites Phil to come to her and blows a kiss in his direction. The shadowy figure of Phil doesn't hesitate and walks right up to her. Now he is leaning over Emily, with one hand pinching her chin, pulling her face closer to his and returns the kiss he was given. Now she lays on her back while he is climbing on top of her, breathing heavily.

I cannot stand this private show made to torment me, so I switch the light on, and now I can make sure that it indeed is Phil cheating on me. In an instant, they look at my direction when his and my eyes meet.

"Oh, s**t"' Come from both of their lips as they jump up and pull their coats in front of them together trying to hide like a child caught acting naughty. Speechless, I stand up and walk out of the room. As I leave, I hear Phil running after me crying my name. He follows me trying to find a good enough excuse for his actions. I can hear him babbling, but not one word seems to have a meaning. All that echoes in my mind now are how excited he was, his breathing and that kiss he gave Emily.  As I reach my door, he grabs me by my hand, turns me around and looks straight into my eyes.

"Stella please, let me explain."

 He makes a weak effort to have the chance to be granted exemption from being called a cheater and a betrayer.

I can't make myself listen to him. Looking at him right now makes my body shaking, my eyes start to fill up with tears, and I feel my heart beating faster and faster with each passing second. All he will say from this moment on will all be lies. He cannot deny the fact that he was going to have a one-night-stand, because I was there witnessing it personally. I can only hope, that they haven't done anything prior coming back to the dormitories.

 

"I don't think you can talk your way out of this." This is all I am able to force out of me.

"Please, we need to talk. I'm begging you."

"Just go and finish what you've started if that is what you truly desire." With that, I free myself from his grip and shut the door in his face. I'm still stalling in the middle of my room which now feels enormous but at the same time crushing. Feeling my legs giving up, I fall to my bed. I pull my blanket over me, trying to hide from the world and bury my face deep in my pillow as I burst into tears.

Author's Note

Please leave a review and suggestions.

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask...so you have only yourself to blame. 😉

First, you need either indentation or double spacing between paragraphs. As it is, it's almost impossible to read.

Usually, you can get indentation, here, when you convert from Word. I suspect that you're using spaces or tabs to indent paragraphs. It's been a while, but I think it converts properly if you use the auto indent by setting the ruler for it on Word...though it might be by adding five spaces at the start of each new paragraph. If you're using the ruler's indent, then it's spaces (or vice versa), which you can insert easily enough by doing a replace-all, with ^p (which is the search code for a paragraph mark) in the search window and replace it with ^p followed by five spaces and removing the auto indent. If you're using the spaces, the search screen is ^p followed by the number of spaces you used, while the replace window gets only ^p


Technical details like that aside, look at this from a reader's viewpoint. They arrive knowing nothing about where they are, who they are, or what's going on. So their mind is a blank screen. With that i mind, look at the opening:

• I swear, if I turn around one more time I will pee myself.

Someone, their gender unknown, age unknown, location unknown, and situation unknown, somehow connects turning around with peeing? Why? Unknown. Why do they feel they might have to turn around, where are they standing, and why? Unknown to the reader.

When you read, knowing all those unknowns it makes sense. For a reader it's both meaningless and confusing. And it matters not at all if you clarify a few lines later, because there is no second first-impression. Nor can you retroactively remove the confusion a reader feels as they read this opening.

• At least I enjoyed my time at the party.

Party? What party. And why wasn't I invited?

In short, it's the second line in and someone I know nothing about is talking about things meaningless to me. If this continues, and you don't begin interesting me, why would I WANT to turn to page two?

• Maybe next time I should keep in mind that swilling too much beer is not such a beneficial thing on my bladder.

Okay, who in the hell is this person talking to, and why? It can't be me, because whoever it is, is a stranger—someone I know so little about that I don't even know their gender. And if a someone like that walked up to me and said what's been said, I'd be backing slowly away, saying, "Really? That's very interesting, but...well, I need to go walk my pet lizard, so..."

Here's the deal: You can't tell a story on the page by transcribing your words as you tell the story aloud.

Why? Because verbal storytelling is a performance art, and your performance is lost because it's mee reading, and I don't know how you would perform it. HOW you tell the story to an audience matters as much as what you say, perhaps more, because that's the part that contains the emotion, presented in the way you use your voice, and visuals like facial expression, gesture, and body language. but none of that makes it to the page.

Worse yet, because you begin to read already knowing the characters, the situation, and your intent for the scene, you'll forget to mention the things that are obvious to you, as you write the scene, as you did above.

It's not that you're writing badly or well. Not is it a matter of talent or potential as a writer. it's that no one ever pointed out why you can't just record yourself talking to the audience, and the only storytelling tools you own are verbal skills, plus the writing skills we were given in school. So since you were never told that fiction requires another way of presenting the scene, you used what you have. You can't after all, use the tool you're not aware exists, nor fix the error you don't recognize as being one.

But remember all those reports and essays you were assigned in school, compared to the number of stories? Reports and essays are nonfiction applications whose goal is to inform. So you're pretty good at writing them, which pleases an employer. But the fiction-reader is looking for something that will entertain them by making them feel as if they're living the story, moment-by-moment, not hearing about it. And with that different a goal we need a different approach—one that's emotion, not fact-based, as this story is. One that's cheracter-centric, not author-centric as this is. And by character-centric I con't mean using first or third person pronouns. I mean that instead of telling the reader what's happening, we give the reader what the character perceives, what it means to them, the options for action they have, and what factors matter to deciding what to do next. The article I link to, below, shows what doing that—making the reader know the scene as the protagonist does—can do for your reader's perception of the story , and why it matters.
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

Think about yourself. If you read a romance, do you want the author to tell you that the protagonist has fallen in love, and why? Or do you want the author to make YOU fall in love with the same person, for the same reason? If the situation is such that the protagonist is thinking about making love to someone, do you want a narrator you can't hear to explain that she is in that mood, or do you want the author to make you feel what the protagonist feels, so you find yourself wanting to kiss them, too?

See my point? At the moment you're telling the reader a story in a voice devoid of emotion—though you, of course clearly hear the emotion in the narrator's voice because it's your voice. The reader? They feel only the emotion the words suggest to them based on THEIR background, not yours. Have your computer read this aloud and you'll hear how different what the reader gets is from what you get as you read.

What no one tells us in our school days is that they're teaching us only a set of general skills that employers find useful. So we assume that writing-is-writing, and that we have that part taken care of. But all specializations are learned after we master the traditional three R's. And somehow, we all miss the fact that writing fiction is a profession. So naturally, it has a body of specialized knowledge that must be mastered. Write fiction with nonfiction skills and it reads like a report, and is every bit as exciting as a history book. Record our own words as you tell the story aloud, as you did, and as about 50% of hopeful writers do, and you're the only one who feels the protagonist's emotions as they read.

The fix is simple, because we're talking abut the learned part of writing fiction, and as Mark Twain so wisely said, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” The great Ernest Hemingway expressed it as, “It’s none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.”

And that beings us to the hard part. It's simple to say that all you need do is add the necessary skills, but that would apply if the subject was pediatric medicine, or any profession. Adding it, and making the knowledge stay in our skull is the hard part, because we need to add something and practice it enough that we don't nod acceptance today and forget we heard it three days later. We also have to convince our existing nonfiction writing skills not to shout, "No! That's wrong," each time we try to use one of those techniques.

But when it does come, you'll wonder why you didn't see it for yourself. And with your protagonist as your co-writer, who looks at what you want him/her to do and says, "Hell no...that's not me. How about if I..."

A huge resource is housed in the fiction writing section of the local library system. There, you'll find the views of pros in the teaching, publishing and writing field. And as U usually do, I suggest the best book on fiction writing technique I've found to date, Dwight Swain's, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It's a university level book, though, so if you want to start with something a but more gentle, and read Swain after six months of practice, you can start with Debra Dixon's, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict. It's shorter, easier, and of course, less complete. But it is also a very good beginning book.

So is this discouraging, after all the work you've put into the story? Absolutely. Basically, I just said a favorite child is ugly. 😳 At least that what but feel like. But since pretty much everyone faces and overcomes this on the road to publication, it's no big deal, and it certainly isn't related to your storytelling abilities.

So don't let it throw you. As Sinclair Lewis said, “It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don’t give a damn what you say, they’re going to write.”

And whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing. It never gets easier, but after a while, you become confused on a higher level. And that's okay, because writing isn't a destination. It's a journey, one that lasts a lifetime.

One thing that may put the task into perspective, and show you a kind of overview of the things you'll be adding to your skill-set, is to dig through the articles in my writing blog. They're meant for the hopeful writer.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Just Like That]

Thank you very much for your honest review. I will try to improve on the mentioned problem.