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I lift a hand behind me to cling to him as we both come down from the high.
We’re both still dressed, connected only at our most intimate place. He stays hard inside me longer than anyone ever before and I love that he holds our connection long after the event has passed.
We linger and it’s so damn beautiful.
He finally pulls his fingers out of my mouth and the hand that was ruthlessly gripping my hair only minutes ago now gently combs it back from my face.
I think I’m going to swoon from the gentleness.
Because it’s dark and he can’t see, I don’t fight the tears that continue to flow down my cheeks. I don’t want him to know this is the most intimate part yet.
That maybe even more than the sex, more than the pain, this is what I crave.
A soothing, loving touch from the same hand that brought the hurt.
This is what I need.
Both sides.
Jekyll and Hyde.
I need them both to love me.
Which is why I die, I die, when seconds later, he whispers, “shit,” and jerks away from me. “Fuck, Miranda. This is wrong. I don’t know why I— I was on my way home and that’s where I should have gone. But then I remembered all those texts and worried you’d be waiting out back in the alley all alone.”
Oh shit. The texts. I completely forgot about them. But he’s right, I said I’d be waiting out back of the club tonight. I just figured, after the way we left things, he wouldn’t want—
“And then you weren’t there and I came in and saw you with him—”
He cuts off again and I feel him stand up. He moves away from me. I barely hear his, “I’m sorry,” before the flashing lights of the club burn my eyes as the door is pushed open.
I get only the barest glimpse of Dylan’s silhouette before he’s gone and the door slams shut again.
Leaving me alone.
Used and discarded, with his cum still dripping out of me.
I blink and I’m back there. In that room. There weren’t any windows in that room either. It stank of cigar smoke and male sweat.
And just like now, I was used like a whore and then left on the floor when they were done.
Christ, are you just gonna lay there? Have some dignity, you useless cunt. Get up.
But I’d been too exhausted, ridden too hard for too long.
What a worthless bitch.
They laughed as they closed the door on me.
At least Dylan didn’t laugh, but here I am again.
Why did I ever think pursuing Dylan was a good idea when I’ve fought so hard to get my life back after Bryce? Or is this what I think I deserve? To be broken and left alone in a closet.
When I try to climb up to my knees, I can’t. I just can’t. I collapse back to the tiles, sobbing so hard I wouldn’t be able to see even if there was light.
So I don’t see when the door opens again.
And I jump out of my skin when the hand touches my shoulder. I scramble backwards. I guess I can move after all. Terror will do that to a girl.
“Hey, hey, it’s me.”
Light suddenly illuminates the closet and there Dylan is, crouched over me, his phone lit up like a flashlight.
“Jesus.” He looks me up and down and his forehead scrunches in remorse. “Come here.” He drops the phone and pulls me to him, pressing my face against his chest.
I know my face is a mess and I try to pull away. “No, my mascara—”
“Hush.” He pulls me tighter to him.
I don’t relax against him.
He left me here.
Just like him. Just like Bryce.
And I felt every inch as worthless as I used to.
I try to push away but he folds me tighter to his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his mouth right against my ear so I can hear the words in spite of the club music outside. “I’m so fucking sorry, Miranda.”
For a long minute, he just holds me.
He holds me until I give in and sink against him. Right after I do, I feel the tremor go through his body. Like he was terrified I wouldn’t forgive him.
When I finally pull away, I look up at him. “You hurt me,” I whisper.
I know he hears me because his eyes widen in horror. I grab his arm and clarify. “Don’t you ever leave me like that again. I can’t— I don’t know what this is, but if we do it, you can’t leave me like that after—” I break off, shuddering. “I just can’t handle that, okay?”
He nods. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
It’s only when my phone buzzes on the tile that I realize it must have fallen out of my bra when we were having sex earlier. I bend over to pick it up and Dylan grabs my hand and bends with me, like he’s unwilling to break contact with me.
