Am I fated to be another one of Denver’s victims? Loving what can never be mine, like fucking Greer? God, just the thought of that seems so ridiculous, but I’ll be damned if it’s not true.
How can she truly give herself to someone if she’s so messed up, not even whole? She can’t. And that’s gonna be a problem for me. That goes against my every instinct.
Enough pondering shit that can’t be figured out tonight. I lean in to brush my lips over her hair before I leave the room. But then I feather my lips over her forehead. Over her cheek. Over her nose. I move in for her mouth, but I catch myself and hover. I can barely feel her lips, and the energy that buzzes between us, but I hold myself there, not completing the kiss. What the fuck? She’s like a drug. I just had a little taste and couldn’t get enough. I’m supposed to be better at controlling myself than this. Again, this is gonna be a problem.
I force myself from the room, and after firing up my laptop, put on a pot of coffee before sneaking back into the bedroom to check on her and grab a hoodie. I prop the door open so I can get to her quicker if she needs me.
I move back into the kitchen and steal the first offering of coffee before situating myself on a barstool. Just like when I needed to figure out how to handle my own unique set of issues, I Google.
When I’ve got enough information to get us started, I hover the mouse over my favorites button. Ah … my addiction calls to me even though it feels wrong right this minute. I wage an internal battle, but finally, I tell myself that I’m going to look because I need to see her like this. That is, in part, the truth. The rest of it is that I haven’t been able to get enough of her since I first met her, and these videos have been like methadone to a heroine addict—just enough to keep the edge off, but never really satisfying.
I click and watch YouTube video after video of my little rodeo queen, my little fighter. I watch her highlight reels, her interviews, and even her less than stellar moments … so strong, so confident, so incredibly sexy. And I want so badly for her to feel that way in and out of the arena. Maybe I can help her get there.
A pot of coffee and three hours later, I stand over her, armed with my newly found knowledge I pray will help her sort through this.
Denver
RANSOM SAID WE would talk tonight after classes. My mind wanders to what exactly that could entail. I don’t want counseling from him. I just need some time is all. I will get over this, and I’ll be much stronger for it. That has to be the bright point.
I’ve been sitting in a quiet spot I found while waiting for class to start. I was afraid if I waited right outside, Greer would’ve found me, and I’m just not ready to face him yet. I couldn’t stay in Ransom’s apartment another minute, though. The walls were closing in on me. I finally pull my cell out to check his messages, since I’ve got so much time to kill.
My finger hovers over Greer’s string of text messages before I press it. I scroll up to the first one from that night.
Please call me.
I’m freaking out. I’m sitting outside your dorm. They say you’re not here.
Where are you?
Please Denver.
I’m an idiot. I love you. I’m so sorry.
If you’ll just let me explain, I promise that it’s not as bad as it sounds. I chortle at that. How could it not be that bad? He ruined my reputation. He ruined me for others, even though I’ve never even wanted anyone but him.
I know you think there’s no explanation that could make it right. And you’re right. I can’t make it right, but I can make it better.
Let me make it better, please.
I’ll do whatever it takes, Denver. Please know that.
Do you want me to turn myself in? Would that make you feel better? I will fucking rot in prison if that makes this all better.
Please call me.
I can’t call him yet. I’m afraid of my reaction at hearing his voice. I’m trying to figure how to deal with my own shit right now. I can’t worry about what he’s feeling right now. Hearing all that in his voice will kill me. But, I can’t not answer him.
I’m OK. I’m safe. I’m trying to figure all this out. No, I don’t want you in prison. But I DO want to be left alone. I’m NOT ready to see you. I’m NOT ready to talk to you. I need you to accept all that.
I wait a second to see that he’s read it before I click out and quickly power my phone off. I can’t read his response. I hope that he understands what I’m asking for and that my text sets his mind at ease.
I lay my head back on the brick wall and close my eyes for a few minutes, gathering my strength and clearing my mind. Finally, I stand up and brush myself off. I’ve got this. I’ve got some energy in my step because now I’m going to be late if I don’t find my way back out of the maze of hallways I took in my attempt to hide out.
When I round the corner, my step falters as my eyes meet Greer’s. I shake my head at him. He looks terrible, but I can’t focus on that right now. I move quickly to enter into the classroom, but he blocks my way.
“Denver, please,” he whispers.
I close my eyes tight and throw my hands over my ears. “I can’t. I can’t. Please don’t make me right now,” I cry out.
An arm wraps around my shoulder, and I jump. “Hey, good lookin.’ What’s up?” I relax at Austin’s voice.
I open my eyes and move my hands down. Austin’s eyes dart from me to Greer and back. His look tells me he knows something’s not right and asks me if I need him to intervene. “Hey, Austin. Greer was just leaving,” I manage.
I’ve never, I mean, never seen Austin do anything other than smile. I keep my eyes pinned on him as his features sharpen before he looks back to Greer. “Good to see ya, Greer. You were just leaving.”
“I, uh, can I just have a minute, Denver?”
Austin doesn’t let me answer. I’m grateful. “I’m pretty sure your minute’s up.”
I hear Greer blow out a breath before I sense him moving to the side. I can imagine his tortured look and him running his hands through his hair, but I still can’t look. I can’t see that pain on him. I can’t hear it. I just can’t deal with it.
Austin’s arm falls from my shoulder, and his hand comes to my elbow. “Come on, Denver. Class is about to start.”
“’K,” I mumble and tuck my head down to go into class.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t forgive me,” Greer rushes out in a trembling voice as he turns away.
My head flies up, and my hand finds his jaw to turn his head toward mine. “You’re already forgiven, Greer. It’s me that I’m working on. It’s me that I can’t forgive.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Denver
I DON’T KNOW how I’ve been able to avoid him coming and going from Ransom’s apartment, but I am grateful. After we pass Greer’s floor, I relax somewhat. Austin and I make our way up to the top floor, and I stand outside the door wondering how I’ll be able to get in.
“So why am I delivering you to Ransom’s doorstep?” he finally asks. I told him I’d walk back to the apartments with him after our classes, and he shrugged and graciously kept quiet.
“Umm … I’m staying here.”
“’Cause that’s not weird. Why?”
“Well …” My mind latches onto the only probable excuse. “Pete wanted Maggie to stay, but she didn’t want to come alone. I’m sleeping on their couch.”
He nods his head slowly but narrows his eyes. “And Ransom’s OK with that?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?” I play dumb to the fact that, up until this moment, Ransom has made no secret of his disdain for me.
“Uh … I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause he’s in—”
Ransom’s door swings open, pulling my attention from Austin. “What’s up, y’all?” Ransom asks. He leans casually against the frame, his glorious, bare chest on full display.
Like a tightly coiled snake, my patience snaps. “Do you own any shirts?”
He just chuckles and
looks at me like he knows exactly the torture he’s inflicting upon me. He turns back to Austin. “Austin?”
“Oh, nothing,” Austin mumbles. “Denver here was telling me how she’s sleeping on your couch since the lovebirds can’t get enough of each other, and that you’re all right with that.” His voice turning from curious to taunting. I look from Ransom to him and see a teasing glint in his eyes.
Why would he tease Ransom about me? Ransom hadn’t come right out and told everyone he hated me, but if you know him at all, it has to be obvious.
“Well, I am fine with it,” Ransom states after a second. “Matter of fact, I’m great with it.” My gaze shoots back to his. “Thanks for walking my girl home, Austin.”
Thanks for walking my what … where? I don’t understand what he’s playing at. He stands aside and opens the door wider, motioning me in. I glance up to say goodbye to Austin and see a huge grin on his face. “Well, all right then,” he says while clapping his hands together loudly. As I move past him, he grabs me by my waist and pulls me into him. “No wonder Greer was so pissed,” he whispers. “You sure you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”
I nod my head yes but murmur, “Hell, no.”
He chuckles at me and knocks his knuckles against my chin. “As long as you’re aware of that.”
“You ‘bout done hugging up on her?” Ransom demands.
“Ah, yeah, bro. She’s all yours.” He leans in and bites my cheek before he licks it.
“Ugh, nasty, Austin!” My reaction makes them both howl with laughter before Austin moves away to go to his own apartment.
“Nasty Austin,” he calls over his shoulder. “Has a nice ring to it!”
My lips twist, and I can’t help a small laugh as I move past Ransom and into his apartment. “I kinda love your cousin,” I admit, as I sling my book bag on an empty chair.
His brows rise.
“Not like that. As a friend.”
If possible, they go even higher.
“Not like that kind of friend. I’m capable of more than just that,” I bite out.
“I was kidding, Denver. I know you and Austin are just friends. He wouldn’t …” His voice trickles to a stop.
My back stiffens and my hackles rise. “Wouldn’t what? Be with a slut like me?”
“No … I wasn’t gonna say that.”
“Not gonna say it, but definitely thought it. Got it. I’m not good enough for your cousin. No problem,” I seethe over his low opinion of me, despite the fact that I’d earned it, and he’s still willing to help me. Which brings me to, “And why’d you call me that?”
“I—” he cuts himself off. “Call you what?”
I notice he doesn’t correct my assumption about not being good enough for Austin. “You told Austin I was your girl. Why?” God, why did I love that so much?
He swallows hard before throwing himself on the couch. “I’ve come up with a plan, and I think it’ll be easier if people just think we are together.”
I cock an eyebrow at him and rest my hands on my hips. “Easier how? What kind of plan?”
“Well, it’ll be easier to explain why you’re here, even though I’m not planning on advertising that. It’s a co-ed building so you won’t stick out or anything, but when people ask, that’ll be our response.”
I nod as I wait for the rest of his explanation.
“Come sit,” he tells me. I move to the couch, sitting on the edge. “Relax, Denver. It’s nothing too painful.” I reluctantly lean back on the couch. “I’ve done some research, and I think I can help you since you want to keep this quiet. As a matter of fact, that’s my first condition. You want me quiet, you stay here.”
Now I’m really intrigued. How does one research moving past being fucked over by her best friend even though she totally deserved it? Oh, wait. I didn’t tell him that part. “What exactly are you ‘helping me’ with?” I ask instead, ignoring his condition for the moment.
He doesn’t mince words. I guess I need to get used to that if I’m going to accept his help. “Dealing with what happened with your body while you were being assaulted.” He throws his hand up when he sees my head shaking. “Nuh, uh. No argument,” he says. “You were assaulted. You’re going to learn to accept that too.”
Deep down, I know he’s right. It’s just hard to fully accept that when you know the root of the problem resides solely with you. “Umm … OK,” I mumble. “Anything else?”
“Yes, we’re going to figure out why you see yourself as a slut, and why you’re OK with that.”
Oh, that’s easy. “Well, I’m a slut because I use others for sex without remorse,” I state. “So, don’t get your hopes up on finding out anything to contradict that little fact ‘cause what looks like a snake in the grass is usually just that.”
His eyes sadden with disappointment, and a pang of regret twists at the thought of letting him down. “So you enjoy sleeping around and hurting people and don’t want that to change?”
Wasn’t that what I was seeking when I came to college? A way to escape all that? I didn’t think I would find the man of my dreams or any fairy bullshit tale like that, but I thought I could find a guy who would help me forget, one who didn’t love me, and wouldn’t be hurt by me and my … need.
He snaps me out of my reverie. “Daddy issues?” he jokes.
“Daddy issues?” A jaded laugh rips through me. “Daddy issues is the side item. Mommy issues is my main course.”
“Great. Fuckin’ double dose,” he mutters.
That causes me to laugh harder. “Yeah, you may have your work cut out for you, so let’s just focus on the first thing for now.”
He gives me another disappointed look and pulls some papers from the table next to him. “I was awake pretty much all last night researching. In my experience, even if it feels like you are alone, you rarely are. Whether it’s how we feel, or our experiences, or our … dispositions, chances are, someone out there in this great big world has felt it, gone through it, and acts like us. So I Googled it.”
I pinch my lips together to keep from cracking up. “You Googled it?”
“Yep,” he says with a grin.
Oh my God. I’m going to die, but I have to hear him say it. “What did you Google exactly?”
“The possibility of whether or not one can orgasm during an assault,” he states.
Wow. He said it. And I burst out laughing. “I—” Nope, I’m still not done laughing. My laughter bounces off the walls of the living room. Tears leap to my eyes. I don’t know why it’s so funny. But it’s just … so funny.
“She laughs at me,” he murmurs, while staring at me like I’m an alien.
“I’m …” Wheeze. “So …” Cackle. “Sorry.” He waits stoically for me to calm down, and I’m so close. But then he cocks an eyebrow, and I’m off again.
“This shit’s from Science Today and Psychology Now,” he deadpans. “I printed up some online discussion forums that I thought were enlightening too.”
“You’ve got to admit that’s funny,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye. “You. In the middle of night. Googling whether or not it’s unheard of for someone to get off on being raped. That’s hilarious,” I cajole, as I tap his knee. “Picture it, John.”
I suck in a breath; my laughter dies a quick death. I’d just called him John, and he’d never invited me to. I’d never heard anyone call him that. And it seems so intimate, but so natural too.
His look goes distant, and he taps the papers on his leg before thrusting them at me. “Your first assignment—go in the bedroom where it’s quiet, since I’m sure Pete and Maggie will be here soon, and read over these things.”
“SO, GOOD NEWS.” I wave the articles in the air. “I’m not alone in my freakiness,” I tell him with little enthusiasm as he lies beside me on his bed. I’d finished reading quite some time ago but stayed here trying to process it all. According to multiple sources and multiple definitions, I’d been date raped. But who are they to say what happen
ed with me and Greer? I mean, I don’t totally buy into that.
And, according to experts, the number of both females and males who report arousal or orgasm during an attack are around 2 out of 5. That’s pretty significant when you think about it. Most of those occurred in a date rape situation that involved either drugs or alcohol. So check and check for me, right? “They” also stated they believe that number to be even higher. They feel most people experiencing this would be ashamed to admit that little detail since the victim fears being viewed as a freak who enjoyed being raped or even fantasized about being raped beforehand. Of course, they explained arousal and orgasm as natural physical responses to a stimulus. Nothing at all to be alarmed about.
Reaching out slowly, he runs his hand up my arm and squeezes my shoulder before I curl into him. It feels good here, wrapped in his arms. It shouldn’t, but it does. Apparently that’s my MO. I’m the girl who enjoys things she shouldn’t.
“You’re definitely not a freak,” he says as he runs his hand over my hair. He always does that. I like that. Scratch that. I love that. “Everything they said makes sense. The trick will be accepting that, little fighter.”
“Nope, I’ve already accepted it. I’m healed. Thank you for everything, Ransom.”
“Whatever,” he mutters, and I can imagine him rolling his eyes at me.
“I’m serious. I get it. You’re right; they’re right. It makes total sense. A physical reaction to stimulus—like a fear response or adrenaline rush can’t be controlled—neither can an orgasm.”
“Yes,” he agrees softly.
“Welp, there we have it. I can go back to my dorm now. Your work here is done. Thank goodness for Google.” His hand stills.
After a few seconds, he states, “The nightmares.”
Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) Page 24
