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So, when he pulls me to the bed, I go. When he takes his jeans off, after a moment of hesitation, I step out of mine. I always imagined when I finally undressed in front of Danny, it would be sensual. Seductive. That just watching it would make him unravel. But this is awkward and methodical, as if we’re undressing for an examination. My sweatshirt is still on when he climbs onto the bed wearing only his boxers.

“We don’t have anything,” I say, stalling and hoping for a last-minute reprieve.

He reaches for his jeans. “I got condoms from Luke.”

Which explains the look from Luke when I arrived. His anger. And fuck you, Luke, for having condoms in the first place. For judging me for something you’ve been doing for years, without fail.

He climbs over me, and I press clammy palms to the mattress, trying to ignore the way my chest is tightening, the way my stomach rolls. Is it because of Justin? I guess I can’t know for sure, but I don’t think it is. There have been times with Danny when I was more than ready—like at the sorority house last year—but this? It just feels like something that shouldn’t be happening.

He pulls my panties down before he removes his boxers. I think there will be more—I think he’ll reach between my legs or into my bra because even Justin did that much, but he just reaches for the condom and then, after a moment of uncertainty, hands it to me. Like I’ll know what to do. Like I’ve ever been a willing participant.

I swallow down a flare of resentment and hand it back to him. He hesitates, then tears it open and inexpertly, uncertainly, puts it on.

I’m still dressed from the waist up, and every light in the room is on when his weight settles over mine. I’m too warm in this sweatshirt, with his weight above me, and I begin to sweat. My stomach is so locked up I can’t get a full breath.

After a moment of fumbling, he pushes inside me. I’m not ready, and it hurts, but what am I supposed to say? How could he ever not blame me for what happened if I told him what Justin used to do to make this better?

My mind goes somewhere else, pretending I’m not even here. I’ve got experience with this, with letting my mind wander until it’s over. He suddenly groans, then stops, less than a minute in.

I’m slow to understand that…that was it. I feel used and relieved at the same time. I exhale as the knot in my stomach finally starts to unwind.

He rolls off me, painfully quiet. Maybe he’s embarrassed? I want to reassure him that it’s okay that it went the way it did and that we can try again in a while if he wants, but I don’t. I can’t stand to suggest doing it again. Not yet.

He glances down. “I guess I’d better get this thing off.”

I nod, letting my eyes close as he walks into the bathroom. I once thought if he and I were sleeping together that it would bridge the impasse between us, but it’s even wider now than it ever was.

When he reenters the room, he turns off the lights and climbs in beside me, pulling the blankets over us.

“Did you…” he begins, before trailing off.

It takes me a second to even understand what he’s asking, because how could he possibly think I came from that?

“It’s…” I begin, and then stop. “I think maybe it takes longer for girls.”

His jaw clenches as he rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Did you finish with him?”

For a moment, I simply don’t understand the question. “What?”

“Did you finish with Justin?”

It lands like a slap in the face. “God, Danny. I can’t believe you’d bring that up now.” I don’t know if I’m more enraged that he would ask or embarrassed by the answer, but I have to lie because he will never, ever understand the truth—I’m not even sure I do. “Of course I didn’t.”

He slides an arm under my head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

And then it’s silent. I don’t want him to try again—the mere idea makes my chest constrict—but maybe he should because something needs to be salvaged here, and I think it’s us. I think we need to be salvaged because I’m not happy, and I haven’t been happy for a long time, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending this is all okay.

I drift off after a while, still wondering how to fix things. When I wake in the middle of the night, he’s sitting up in the darkness with his face in his hands.

“Hey.” I sit up beside him. “What’s going on?”

His eyes squeeze shut. “I feel like I made a bad decision. We should have waited until we got married. My father’s sick. The least I could have done is honor his values.”

All the air seems to slip from my chest. I slept with him when I didn’t want to because I thought I could improve a bad situation. But it only made things worse.

“Okay.” I exhale silently, gathering my thoughts. How do I fix this now? How do I fix this moment? How do I fix the two of us?

He swallows. “It’s not your fault.”