Finals � � Chapter Four � The mongoose to my snake, the Toby to my Michael Scott, also known as the girl responsible for single-handedly shattering my heart into a million pieces, was a French major named Hayley Summers. � On paper, Hayley was perfect. She grew up in the suburbs of Los Angeles and, like me, was an only child born with a silver spoon. Hayley went to a private Catholic girls’ school, and graduated valedictorian of her class. Following her parents’ example, as only children often do, she selected the University of St. Elizabeth as her school of choice. � She was well spoken, a stylish dresser, could bake wonderfully and had brains to boot. With a sleek physique and hair so goldenly glorious even Paris Hilton would have to call her a bitch, it was not difficult to find this California girl attractive. Falling under Hayley’s spell was easy, the truly tricky task was getting past the facade to discover the girl’s genuine form. � Like every idiot with a Y chromosome, I fell into Hayley’s trance instantaneously. The first time I met her was at The Gazette’s introductory meeting, where the paper’s editors get together with their reporters for the first time. The beginning of my junior year I was the editor of the living section, but I had my eye on the editor-in-chief position, which was to be vacated once Ike Mingler, the current man in the top spot, graduated. � At this little congregation, Hayley was perky with an upbeat attitude, evoking the image that she’d be a delight to work with. During our initial pleasantries, I couldn’t help but envy Mingler, since she was assigned to work under him. He had a hot blonde reporter, while I was stuck with Edward Wades, the ghost pale, WoW playing freshman who was entirely incapable of discussing anything other than mages and paladins. Although I didn’t chat with Hayley long, because Edward had become an additional appendage, as I watched her glide from one conversation to the next with a rare confidence that most underclassmen lacked, it was clear this girl possessed a divine charismatic charm. There was no denying the fact that I badly wanted to get to know this attractive sophomore reporter.� For many blossoming college relationships, alcohol tends to be the common connector. Hayley and I were no exception; however, Beyonce’s �śSingle Ladies” did contribute to the cause. At a Gazette party in September, I stumbled onto the dance floor along with my fellow intoxicated journalists when everyone’s favorite jam came on. Toward the middle of the song, I somehow ended up behind Hayley and the dry humping commenced. Due to my consumption of a few too many drinks, I don’t precisely remember how Hayley ended up in my bed. I vaguely recall spouting off a few cheesy lines such as, �śI don’t have a ring to put on your finger, but I can give you something better than that.” I’m not positive what I said, but I know it was terrible and I know that it worked. � The next few hours were a blur. We didn’t have sex but I was given the privilege of exploring Hayley’s temple. We made out like horny teenagers for an hour then spent the next simply cuddling next to one another discussing our dreams and learning about each other. � That one night encompassed the fantastic four-month ride that was my relationship with Hayley. We never got that wasted together again, but the passionate kissing turned into sex eventually. The feelings that I felt with her that first night continued to intensify, growing stronger with each passing day, and as Hayley and I wasted our weekends away in bed together, I slowly began to let my guard down. I told her details about my life few others had come to know. I told her about my family, my friends, traumatic moments that occurred in my life; I trusted her completely. For the first time, I had a stomach full of butterflies and it was all thanks for one gorgeous blonde. � Unlike yours truly, Hayley wasn’t the hopeless romantic mushy-gushy type. She called me �śbabe” and held my hand in public, but she was never very affectionate and found muttering those three words to be impossible. She wouldn’t even let me flaunt our relationship on Facebook, which I was dying to do. To college students, becoming official on Facebook is the equivalent of shouting your love from a mountaintop. It is unarguably a very big deal and despite constantly bugging her about it, I would always get the same answer. �śYou know I’d love to babe, but I want to remain professional. I don’t want the reporters at the paper to think I’m sleeping around.” I admit that Hayley’s logic was baffling since she was only sleeping with me, but to appease her, I did not alter my relationship status. � As the fall semester began to wear down during my junior year, I knew my relationship with Hayley was bound to change no matter what my relationship status read on Facebook. Hayley was leaving to go to France for a semester and maintaining a long distance relationship would be extremely difficult. I didn’t know it at the time but she was soon to meet up with my best bud, Mr. Brent Crane, who was already halfway through his year-long stint overseas. � I tried not to think about her departure but the thought continued to linger in my mind. At that moment, losing Hayley meant losing my happiness. I was only content when she was by my side and I couldn’t imagine losing her. My sensible side kept reiterating that it was insane to try to maintain a relationship that was only now flourishing. On the other hand, my gut told me that I would be a fool to let her go. This seemed like one of those rare chances at love few ever find.� I dreaded having the serious discussion with her, knowing it would alter everything. And yet, the talk was never necessary because life always has a way of throwing you a few nasty curveballs. Ones capable of making the oblivious victim land right on his ass. �