Since there are no messages from my brothers, I type one myself to our sibling group chat that Rafael created. My family seems to love having all these group chats.
Thank you, and I’m sorry.
They read it but don’t reply, not that I expect them to anyway. In this group chat, I’m the only one sending messages.
My brothers prefer phone calls.
Putting my phone away, I go to blow-dry and style my hair, smiling when the heavy locks cascade down my back, and pin them up with a clip. Then I proceed to do my makeup, and while getting ready might seem like a normal thing for most women…to me it’s a big fuck-you to my abuser.
Because of him, I spent my whole young adult life hiding away and wearing flannel nightgowns, doing my best to look ugly so he wouldn’t touch me. Not that it matters for men like him, they want to hurt you all the same. When I finally got out…I promised myself to always care about my appearance.
I watched makeup tutorials, bought all the skin care products, and studied fashion shows along with magazines.
I’ll never be beautiful in the classical sense again. He took that away from me. But he can’t take away anything else from me.
Once done, I pick up my summer yellow dress with polka dots that stops just above my knees and hugs my body tight.
Slipping into matching flats, I give myself a once-over, grab my purse and phone, and dash to the elevator.
Once downstairs, I decide to walk the distance to the coffee shop that’s close to me, only to stop dead in my tracks whenI see a man waiting for me outside, leaning against his black sports car that has several people snapping pictures of it.
Levi in the flesh, looking as handsome as ever, to my dismay, in blue jeans and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves that display his muscular forearms.
“What are you doing here?”
He removes his shades, and his burning gaze glides down my form, igniting the fire in the pit of my stomach, and I step back as if trying to protect myself from it because this shouldn’t happen.
I need more time to get a grip on my emotions. Instead, my body seems to go on high alert around him, begging to continue last night’s activities.
I guess my newly awakened sexual desires cannot be helped.
“Hello, Lavender.” His deep voice drums on my nerves, and I swallow when he pushes off the car and comes closer, his scent washing over me. “How are you today?”
“Splendid, as you see. What are you doing here?” I hold his gaze even though part of me wishes to hide away, as the sun is especially cruel to those who have imperfect skin.
“You look beautiful.” My eyes widen in surprise at this, warmth filling my insides, and I blink when he gently taps my nose. “You ran away from me last night.”
“Last night was a mistake.” He leans closer. “I was drunk.”
This should be as good an excuse as any…
I freeze when his hand wraps around my throat, his thumb pressing over my artery, and while the hold doesn’t cut off my oxygen supply, it’s firm enough to keep me in place and have the threatening sizzling energy rock between us. “Let’s make something clear,moy cvetochek. I’m not a saint and never will be. In fact, I enjoy the dark side too much to ever try to pretend to feel otherwise.” His wrist flexes around my throat, and it becomes hard to breathe for a second. “But I do not touchwhat’s not willingly offered or take advantage of women.” He loosens his grip, his fingers skimming over my throat. “Watch your mouth next time, and stop lying to yourself.”
A honking car in the distance snaps me out of my stupor, and I pull his hand away. To an extent, I understand how this might have sounded, though, and I feel the need to add, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He walks back to his car and opens the passenger door. “Get in.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I want to take you somewhere…interesting.”
This whole encounter is so surreal to me that I don’t know how to react. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”
His mouth curves into a smile, and his blue eyes darken, making my heart yearn for the ocean back home. It should be a crime for him to have this eye color. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because why would I get into a car with you and drive off God knows where? That’s how most criminal shows start, you know.”
“So you don’t mind coming on my tongue, but a drive in my car is where you draw the line?” A couple walks past us just as he finishes his sentence, while I’m standing, mortified, at what they heard.
