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“Tell me then …” he whispers. “Tell me the truth, and I might just care enough to leave you alone.”
My lips part, but my voice chokes up completely from his lips grazing my skin right beneath my ear.
“You can’t, can you?” he whispers, and I can hear him smile.
Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and my pussy is left throbbing with a need I didn’t know I could ever feel. Fuck.
“Fuck you …” I growl as I quickly pull up my panties. He smirks with pleasure, as though he’s just won the grand prize.
Right then, the door opens, and a teacher steps inside. She stops the moment she notices Cole standing there, half-naked like some rock god on stage. He doesn’t even grant her one look. All his attention is focused solely on me, and I don’t know if I should be mortified by her catching us or scared of the consequences of Cole fucking Travis setting his eyes on me.
The teacher swiftly passes Cole and enters a stall, which breaks his attention.
Then the bell rings. He makes a face and shakes his head. “You got off lucky, Mo …” he muses, and he grabs his shirt and throws it over his shoulder. “You won’t be so lucky next time.” As he turns around to walk off without even putting on his shirt, he still manages to throw me a wink … one that dizzies and confuses me more than ever. Because I swear to God I’ve never wanted any guy more than I want Cole Travis.
And it’s going to destroy me.
Chapter 13
Monica
“So tell me, Monica. How have you been?” my therapist asks. “Is everything going well at your new school?”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. “I don’t know … okay, I guess.”
“It must be quite the change,” she says.
“Yeah …” I reply. “I mean … everything’s new. I have to get used to the new schedule and new classes.”
“And what about friends?” she asks.
“I have one good friend right now, Melanie. She’s nice.” I smile. “She keeps inviting me to stuff, so I don’t feel left out.”
“That’s nice of her,” she replies. “You must feel lucky with a friend like that.”
“Yeah, I mean, Sam was like that too, but I don’t see her as much as I used to nowadays.” I choke up a little. I really miss my girl. “But I guess that’s a part of changing schools.”
“You can still meet up with her if you both want to,” she says. “Nothing wrong with that.”
I rub my neck. “I know, but I don’t really know what to talk about.”
“You can talk about your new school and what you do with your friends,” she says.
“It’s just weird,” I say. “But I know, I should talk more with her. She’s the only one who knows …” I avert my eyes. “About what happened to me, you know.”
“She was there when you needed her,” my therapist says. “And she will be as long as you keep her in your life.”
“I don’t want to push her away,” I say.
“Then don’t. Meet up. Invite her.” She shrugs. “What could happen?”
I nod. “You’re right. Maybe we should hang out more.”
“It’s good to connect the old with the new.”
“Because it helps with letting go?” I ask.
“Because it helps you accept what happened to you,” she answers, leaning forward. “Talking about it helps.”
But that’s just it. I don’t want to think about it. A part of me wants to run away and never look back. But trauma doesn’t work that way.
I sigh again. “I don’t think I can move on from it. But I want to. I just want to be normal. I just want to be me. You know? Be the smart-ass, have fun, hang out with boys.” I close my eyes, trying to find that happy-go-lucky girl again that I once was, full of energy, no fear, no anger. I hung out with all the boys. I belonged, and I fucked and had fun. Now all I see is threats. Everywhere.
“Think of yourself as a painting that never finishes,” she says. “You’re never the same you.”
“I’m too young to think about all that,” I reply.
“You have a right to feel that way, Monica.” She nods. “Just make sure you take things slow if you choose to start hanging around boys again.”
“I know.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Is there … a boy you’re talking to right now?”
Why does she always notice? Am I such an open book?
“Well … we’re not actually talking. Not much anyway.” My cheeks glow red hot.
“Do you feel you’re ready?” she asks.
I hate those questions. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t I be? It’s been so long.”
“That’s up to you to decide.” She shifts in her seat. “Have you told anyone about him? Your mom or your friends?”
I gulp. “Well … Melanie sort of knows, but not really.” I lick my lips. “Then there’s Ariane.” When she looks confused, I add, “My cousin. She knows him, apparently.”
