faking it » david dobrik

14

"Is it really journalism if it's what someone else wants you to say? That's what we're talking about today," Professor Thomas started his lecture. I tilted my head for a second, trying to comprehend what he was saying. "George Orwell once stated that journalism is printing what someone else doesn't want printed: everything else is public relations. Though many of you will find jobs at papers and news casts and radio stations and they will want you to say what the public wants you to hear, I have faith that a few of you will be true journalists. You won't hold yourself back, you won't make it pretty, and you sure as hell shouldn't sugar coat, hopefully I've taught you that much."

The whole class laughed at that. Our homework solely consisted of writing stories, and if we sugar coated our arguments, we got zeroes. We weren't supposed to make things pretty, we were supposed to make people think.

"You all have a real passion for what you're doing and that's why you've made it this far. You may work as local paper writers or future GMA anchors or TMZ paparazzi, and it's all equally important, as long as you treat the craft of journalism as you should: with respect and dignity. If you create real journalism, you can do anything with it."

The marimba ringtone cut him off, and we all looked around, wondering what bozo left their phone ringer on this time.

"Hold on," my professor shifted from his spot on top of his desk to grab his cell phone. "They aren't supposed to call unless it's an emergency."

The whole class seemed to shift to the end of their seat, anticipating the cancelling of our class. Thomas "didn't believe" in TA's and when he couldn't come to class, it was always cancelled. He quietly continued his conversation on the phone while gathering his things, including his suit jacket and his brief case. With a half assed wave to us, he exited the classroom and we all sighed with relief, quickly packing our stuff before he could come back.

Exiting my Friday afternoon class, I felt light. And hungry. It was always a good day when I left school at 12 instead of 2, and I decided I would make it even better by stopping by Buffalo Wild Wings to order some lunch for David and I. What can I say, I'm a giving person.

I had decided on my drive across town that I didn't like David more than a friend. Everyone knows that when you get really close to someone, you can think feelings are there even when they aren't. I got wrapped up in David's charm and believed I actually wanted to date him, when in reality I just wanted a friend.

David was just one of those people. He was so different off camera. On camera, he seemed like a sociopath (thanks, Shane Dawson) who didn't really care about his friends and only wanted to have fun. That wasn't true at all. He was genuinely so charismatic, charming, witty but most of all sweet. I wasn't sure if it was just because I was pregnant, but when I even twisted my face like I was in pain (which I did often. Apparently, I had a resting "please help me I'm dying" face), he was quick to ask if I was okay and if I needed help. He was probably just worried about his legacy growing in my uterus, but it was easy to let myself get into the mindset that he cared.

That's why I had to break it. I had to treat David like a friend I owned a company with, or something like that. Don't they say never to mix business with pleasure? That's what I was doing. I wasn't going to be in love with a guy who saw me as a contract (and as a ball and chain. Let's face it).

"Sloane," the lady at the counter called my name and I stood, smiling at her as I grabbed the bag. Barbeque wings (ew), extra ranch (blue cheese all the way), and my actually good food all sat neatly in the bag, and I began to grow excited.

I used to love buying people things, especially surprises. I found complete and utter joy in making people smile and feel important, but I really hadn't done it much since David and I started dating. He bought every meal, paid for all of the bills, and bought everything he wanted without thinking twice. I couldn't get him a gift he didn't have, and if I found something he didn't have, he probably didn't want it.

My drive home was uneventful, and when I finally pulled into the driveway of our house, I sighed in relief. It was the weekend, I was home by 12:45, and I had Buffalo Wild Wings. What could be better? (Wingstop.)

I happily slid out of my car, bag in hand, and locked it behind me, climbing up the front steps and unlocking the door with the key David had given me a few weeks ago. I already spotted David's Tesla in the driveway, and he rarely let his other friends drive anywhere, so it was a good sign that he was here. I just hoped no one else was; I didn't bring enough food for everyone, and I wasn't giving up any wings. I wasn't that good of a person.

I opened the door and spotted no one in my immediate line of sight. I pushed my Nike slides against the wall and turned to the living room, not seeing David there or in the kitchen. I laid the bag on the counter and began to unpack our food, assuming he was just in the bathroom or something and he'd be back in a few seconds. I was two wings in when I stopped eating, realizing whatever David was doing, he was not going to be done anytime soon. I checked Natalie's open door, but her room was empty, so I opened our bedroom door. Nothing could have prepared my poor, fragile heart for what I was about to see.

"David, I brought you—oh."

There is something about the word oh that shows how disappointed you are. There is nothing like the feeling of being let down, and the only thing you can say is oh. Oh, I knew this would happen. Oh, I can't even be surprised. Oh is heartbreak encapsulated into one word.

On my bed, under my blankets, were David and his ex-girlfriend Liza in a full fledged make out, like the steamy kind showed before sex scenes in movies. David pulled back the second he heard my voice and looked at me as if he had been caught red handed. I didn't even bother to look at Liza.

"I'm sorry," I immediately blurted, shutting the door behind me with a sigh. I would say I'm sorry. Like it was my fault that he was in my bed with some other girl. Like it was my fault he hadn't told me he was talking to her again. Like it was all my fault. I had been indoctrinated by Dylan to believe that, but somehow I thought with David it would be different.

I made it to the kitchen before David came rushing after me, a t-shirt now on but a very apparent tent in his boxers.

"Sloane, I, um," he struggled to find the perfect words. "You're home early."

"Yeah, my class got cancelled," I snapped, sliding his food towards him. "I got you lunch."

"Listen, I didn't know you would be here. I'm sorry."

"How long has she known when I asked you not to tell her?" I kept my cool while asking. I hoped if I didn't seem too mad, he would be more honest.

"Three weeks," he mumbled, and I leaned forward with a hand behind my ear, although I heard him loud and clear. He spoke, "Three weeks."

"And how many days in the past three weeks have you fucked her in my bed?" I tilted my head to the side in mock confusion, and his lack of an answer was the only one I needed. "Fuck you, David."

"Sloane, it's not like you're my actual girlfriend. This was in the contract."

"You could at least have the decency to go to her house, David," I retaliated. "I sleep there. I don't want your ex-girlfriend's fucking juices on my pillow, okay? That's fucking disgusting. I thought we were at least going to be civil to one another and make this work, but I guess not. Have you just been waiting until the second I left the house until you invited her over? Are you fucking twelve, David? Are we in middle school here?"

"Sloane, I'm sorry—"

"Take your chicken and go," I growled, grabbing my food and shoving it back in the bag. "I hope it's enough for the both of you. I would share some of mine, but I think she's had enough."

And with that, I exited the house.

i hope that last little snap made sense bc i quite like it but im not sure if im the only one who gets it. like liza has everything of sloanes??? does that make sense?? idk

anyways THANK U ALL FOR UR KIND WORDS ON MY NEW PROFILE PIC OF MYSELF I WOULD RESPOND TO ALL OF U BUT U ALREADY KNOW IM A LAZY ASS BITCH WHO JUST CANNOT

please vote and comment if u like this chapter! i like it! i love drama!!! and dont forget to follow me so u never miss an update, both in books and in life lmao