He gives several more deep thrusts before a low groan erupts from his chest and he collapses on top of me. His mouth finds mine and it’s the final nail in my casket of hysteria.
I give his shoulder a hard shove, gasping for breath as I burst into sobs, my panic overriding all my protests that I’m safe. He rolls to his side as I scramble off the bed, standing in the middle of his bedroom, trying to figure out what to do.
I have to get out of here. Now.
“Lexi?” Brandon has bolted upright, terror on his face. “Oh, my God. Did I hurt you?” His words are drenched in horror and self-loathing. It somehow makes things worse.
I shake my head as my sobs burst free and I pick up my dress, struggling to put it on.
“Lexi?”
He leaps from the bed and grabs my shoulders to get my attention, but his touch only intensifies my panic. I violently jerk away and collapse into a heap on the floor, close to hyperventilating.
Brandon falls to his knees next to me. “Did I hurt you?” He asks again, his voice insistent.
“No,” I force out between sobs.
We sit like this for a while, me on my butt, my legs twisted awkwardly to one side, and Brandon on his knees in front of me, studying me with equal parts sympathy and horror.
He shifts uncomfortably and I notice that he still hasn’t disposed of the condom.
I tilt my head toward the bathroom. “Go.”
He looks uncertain, as though this is a test.
I close my eyes. “Please. Just go, Brandon. Give me a moment to pull myself together.”
When I hear the bathroom door close, I slump to the floor.
Pull myself together. What a joke. Lexi Pendergraft, Southern University’s campus freak-show.
But I know Brandon will keep my private humiliation to himself. He’s too much of a gentleman, too much of a nice guy to hurt me or ruin my reputation, even if his complaints would be legitimate.
Frigid. Ice Queen. Freak.
But it’s his kindness that is my undoing now. Brandon is the type of guy I’ve dreamed of since high school. Smart. Good looking. Ambitious. Kind. Attentive. Brandon McKenzie is the kind of guy girls line up to date. I know in my heart that this was my last chance to salvage this relationship, and I blew it.
When he finally emerges, worry and exhaustion knotting his brow, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed fully clothed. He squats to pick up his clothes and puts them on in a silence that threatens to impale me with my own humiliation. As soon as he’s fully dressed, I stand and move to the door, picking up my purse from his dresser. We walk out to his car, and when he opens my car door for me—even after what I just put him through—fresh tears sting my eyes.
We drive in silence until he parks in the lot next to my apartment, the apartment I share with my brother Reed and his girlfriend Caroline.
I take a deep breath and blow it away. I must address this. I must try to right this in some way, even if the attempt is feeble. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I wish…”
Brandon picks up my hand and presses it between both of his palms, the touch gentle and reassuring. “I know.”
“I just… I…”
“Shhh.” He lifts my hand to his mouth, his lips brushing my knuckles before he sets my hand back in my lap with a surprising gentleness. His hand withdraws and rests in his own lap. The significance of this action is not lost on me.
“Do you go back to Nashville tomorrow?” I ask, my voice cracking slightly. This is a nonsense question and we both know it. I already know the answer, but I’m desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence.
He clears his throat and shifts his legs, the leather on his seat creaking. “Yeah, after my last final.”
The silence that follows hangs like a heavy veil, choking the air from my lungs. “Thank you,” I finally say.
Those two words uncork his emotions. “Thank you? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I cringe even though his anger is directed toward himself, not me. And that upsets me more than anything else. “I’m sorry.” Fat tears spill out, falling down my cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”
“Then whose fault is it, Lexi?”
Mine? But even while buried under a mountain of guilt, I know the source of this monumental disaster doesn’t rest at my feet. It rests at his. That monster did this to me. I may not bear physical scars from his attack, but some days I wish I did. A physical sign would be tangible proof of the injuries I sustained last April. Instead, my trauma is locked inside my brain, where only I can sense it. He has forever ruined me. Tonight is proof enough of that.
But I can’t tell Brandon any of that. I’m here at Southern University to escape my past, with my new last name and my brother as my guard dog. Brandon has no idea what happened to me last spring and I have no intention of him ever finding out. Especially now. “Not yours.” I finally say, looking out the windshield into the parking lot.
“Not mine.” He shakes his head with a bitter laugh, picking at a loose tear in the leather on his steering wheel. “Not. Mine.”
I realize that Brandon will forever blame himself for this moment. His psyche might not ever recover from the stupid girl who freaked out when he fucked her. While the ultimate trigger for tonight’s debacle lies at his feet, it’s my responsibility to fix this mess I’ve made. Still, I’m not sure how. A tear falls down my cheek.
“Am I that revolting, Lexi?” Pain fills his words.
I shake my head, clamping down the anguish rising up inside. “No, Brandon. I swear to God—it’s not you. It’s me.” I swallow and grab the end of the belt of my wool coat, twisting it in my hand. “I’m just broken.”