Wendy

I chose Clemson.

Clemson and I have more history than anyone else. He's the one I was flirting with when I wasn't supposed to be flirting. He asked for my number over a week ago, but he's never had to use it because we keep running into each other every few days.

Before Statham left, he asked for my number. "So I can call you tomorrow about shooting."

Well damn, if I knew skeet shooting and my lovely recoil bruise would have gotten me this much attention, I would have done it a year ago.

Clemson and I sat outside for another hour until we were forced to leave at 3 a.m. He was nervous and he was in bad shape. He was so drunk that he spoke in stilted sentences.

We walked inside his apartment and went to his office where his records were. I chose a Joy Division album and he put it on. We began talking. I don't even remember about what. But what became apparent in this conversation is that Clemson is a wounded soul. He's filled with so much sadness. And I think, more than a girlfriend, what Clemson needed was someone to listen to his story. I filled that capacity.

He was drunk, spilling drinks, knocking things over. Spilling the sadness in his life. We eventually headed to his bed. Clemson was the perfect gentleman and even kept his jeans on. He pulled me to his chest and I laid there. He smelled my hair and said he could smell it forever.

"I have to go to a birthday party tomorrow," he said. "Do you want to go with me?"

"I can't. I have got to go running," I said. And shooting.

"Okay. Well this weekend we'll sleep at my place and next weekend I'll sleep at yours," he said.

I didn't say anything.

"We haven't even kissed yet," he said sleepily.

This was a hint for me to lift my head off his chest and kiss him. Clemson was being so polite and so sweet. But I didn't. I didn't want to do it in that moment. Despite choosing Clemson for the night, I knew any physical activity would be choosing among all of the boys. And even though Clemson was harmless as a pussycat, he was also damaged. He was drunk. Very drunk. I couldn't forget all of that sadness he talked about earlier.

I thought about S and Christopher. I didn't want to do that again. I didn't want to be Wendy, Savior of the Lost Boys.