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When the light is off, I crawl onto the mattress with Katura and lie down, staring at the dark ceiling and listening for the sounds from the outside.
The splashes of the waves against the shore.
The strange birds in the distance.
The muffled sound of someone shifting in his seat, probably that guy, Owen. And a faint glow as if from a cell phone.
Cell phones don’t work here, do they?
Andhim.
The image of Kai is right in front of me. But it’s not the Kai from four years ago. Yes, the tanned face with a sharp outline of his jaw, the dominant but hostile gaze, and the smoldering black eyes belong to the boy I know.
But the rest of his body…
His neck is tattooed. So are his arms, the ink covering every inch and disappearing under the sleeves of his t-shirt.
When did he get tattoos?
He is the same but different. He was always strong and muscular from wrestling practice, a head taller than me. But now he is chiseled with muscles that strain his shirt, which makes him look even taller and larger. I’ve never imagined Kai Droga inked. He was a wrestler, clean and charming, a starboy heading for the nationals.
Now he looks like a bad-ass biker.
And his eyes…
I never forgot his gaze.
It used to be so intense and warm. He was the good one out of the bunch of privileged boys who ran the Deene University campus. The only one who wasn’t filthy rich or had influential parents. My first true crush. Theonlyone ever, in fact. I liked to think that he liked me too.
Until the night of the Block Party. When I suddenly was so drunk. When everything was dizzy and slow, and he led me to his room and took my virginity without my consent.
Or with.
That’s the problem.
That night was a blank. I don’t remember anything until the morning.
I will never forget the horrible feeling starting in the pit of my stomach that morning when I knew that things would only get worse. Much worse.
I wake up in someone’s bed, covered by a blanket that bears the trace of Kai’s cologne—the smell that I love so much. The scent that belongs to my boyfriend’s best friend.
I don’t remember getting here. Let alone anything that happened.
Shit.
I pull the blanket aside, and—
No-no-no-no-no.
I am wearing nothing but my panties.
And that horrible feeling in my stomach grows stronger, making me wanna vomit.
My head is a glass jar full of metal beads. My mouth is dry. I feel queasy. And sick.
Shit.
Didithappen?
