I just couldn’t fucking handle anything deeper. Not after all we’d already shared. The stories I’d told him—the truths previously long-buried, which not even Lizzy or Kat knew…I couldn’t believe I’d told him that shit. I’d never told anyone. Not my parents, not my friends at school, certainly not any authorities. The only people who knew were me and the men who’d done it to me.
Had I been defaulting to old habits, after talking about it? Maybe. Once I’d gotten past the blunt trauma of it, I’d devolved immediately into a party girl of all-new proportions—no more drugs, no more overindulgence of alcohol. Just enough to kill the inhibitions and loosen up, and then I’d chased sex. Sought out any male who could make me feel good.
I’d sought pleasure as my only reason for existence. Hoping to fill the void. Hoping to fuck away the memories that haunted me. Hoping to fuck away the pain I’d felt, when I had woken up and knew what had happened, the hazy understanding that I’d been violated numerous times by numerous men. I’d turned into someone who used sex as my escape instead of chemicals. Used pheromones and oxytocin rather than vodka and oxycontin and tequila and THC and wine and cocaine.
I’d succeeded, to some degree. Never thought about that day.
Or rather…rarely.
Never had bad dreams about it…almost ever.
When I thought of sex, I thought about good things. The great sex I’d had in the years since. I’d refused to let those assholes ruin it for me.
The bathroom was wreathed in a dense fog of steam; I’d spaced out. I adjusted the temperature to a heat I could stand, climbed in. Rinsed off, scrubbed away, somewhat reluctantly, the last vestiges of Titus. Washed my hair, conditioned it.
Refused to think about the man on my bed.
I expected him to be gone when I emerged—I’d been in there more than half an hour. But, when I opened the bathroom door, wrapped in a towel with another around my hair, he was naked on my bed, phone in his hand, sipping a beer he’d helped himself to from my fridge.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, lifting the bottle. He had another one on the nightstand; he twisted the top off and extended it to me. “Here.”
“Yeah, Titus, I mind—you can fuck me, but you can’t have my beer.” I sipped. “Thanks.”
He laughed, his eyes on me. “How can you be even sexier just out of the shower than you were in a killer mini skirt and all made up?”
I shook my head. “You’re crazy.”
He took a big swig of his beer, then slid to the edge of the bed, his eyes hungry. “For real. Every time I see you, every different outfit, wearing nothing at all, with makeup on, no makeup on, like this in just a couple’a towels? You’re fucking sexier than ever… It’s crazy as hell and I just don’t understand it.”
“I think it’s just you,” I said. “You must have done something to your brain.”
He shook his head. “Nah, honey.” He reached for me. “You’ve earned a little payback, I think.”
“We started with payback, Titus,” I said, reticent to start anything else—emotionally, I mean, not physically.
He sensed it. “Yeah, I guess so. But what you did was…fuck, man, it was crazy.” His eyes hunted mine. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
I shrugged, trying for a breezy, sexy grin. “You never know what you’re gonna get with me.”
“No kidding. You keep me on my toes.”
He stood up, and the intense sexiness of his body was so overwhelming I wanted to ignore my emotional and mental imbalance and just have my way with him again. Those fucking abs. That V-cut. Jesus, that cock. I wanted it inside me. God, he’d made me feel so good.
He towered over me. Stared down at me. “Laurel, what’s up?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You’re a shitty liar.”
I huffed. “Why do people keep saying that? I am not!”
“Maybe I can just tell, then. So.” He trailed a fingertip over my breastbone, through errant droplets of water. “What’s up, Laurel? Talk to me.”
I guess maybe he deserved a little more truth. “It’s just that, actually—the talking.” I swallowed hard. “That stuff we talked about—what happened to me. I’ve never talked about it. I’ve never spoken of it with anyone, not with Lizzy or Kat or anyone. Not once since the day it happened. And I guess I’m just…” I shrugged, honestly not knowing what I was.
He nodded. “I get it.” He gestured to the bed. “I can go, if you need to be alone. I’m just not the type of guy to…” A shrug as he tried to find the right phrase.
“Ejaculate and absquatulate?” I filled in, with a snort.
“Abs-skwa-what?” he said around a burst of laughter. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Absquatulate. It means to flee, or leave abruptly. My friend used to say it, back in college. She came across it in a blog post about little-known words and thought it was fucking hysterical. And she used to complain about guys who would, you know, hump and dump, pounce and bounce, or, ummm…oh, I know—nail and bail. There’s a million, each worse than the last, and when Evelyn came across that word, it became her go-to. Ejaculate and absquatulate.” I shrugged.
“God, I’m gonna have to remember that one,” he said, still laughing. “But yeah, that. I’ve never been a guy to ejaculate and absquatulate.”
“It’s okay, Titus. I’m fine. I just…” A shrug. “I guess maybe I just need some time.”
He nodded. Dressed quickly. Held his beanie in his hands. “Laurel, I still feel like I’m missing something, here.”
“You’re not. It’s really fine, Titus.”
“See, I’ve always been of the opinion that when a woman says fine, it’s never a good thing.”
I laughed. “I am definitely one of those women, I admit. I can put a hell of a lot of different meanings into ‘fine,’ depending on the situation. But in this moment, I swear, I mean it in the literal sense. I am okay. Today was just a lot.”
“As long as you’re sure.” He twisted the beanie into a tight roll. “Because honestly, I don’t really want to leave, you know. I like you. I like hanging out with you. Doesn’t even have to be anything else.”
If he stayed any longer, he’d end up calling me a shitty liar again. Just hold on to the lie a little longer, I told myself. He can’t see through it.
“Titus,” I sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”
He bent, cupped a hand tenderly around the back of my neck, and kissed me.
God damn the man.
How dare he be able to kiss like that?
He backed away, leaving me utterly shook, breathless. Because that kiss had been a statement.
“I see you, Laurel McGillis. I may not have much of an education, but I’m not stupid. I see you.” His fingers grazed my cheek. A smile graced his lips. “I’ll give it to you, and no arguments. For now.”
I swallowed. Words had abandoned me.
He backed away another step, toward my bedroom door, eyes narrowed, jaw tensed, the smile gone, a billion thoughts burning on his beautiful face. “Fuck,” he snarled.