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I don’t know what I expect. An apology? I should know by now that will never happen. I could hold my breath until I dropped dead without hearing a single apologetic word. “You know what? Go to the cops,” he decides with a shrug. “Tell them what happened. Tell them you were out of your mind and not yourself. But if they come to me, and I play them this recording, who do you think they’ll believe?”
Now I feel filthier than ever. Used and discarded. “What is wrong with you?” I whisper. After everything I’ve seen from him, after everything he’s done, this is by far the worst. He’s evil. Not even the slightest bit sorry for how I’m feeling now.
“You knew I was a virgin. How could you do this to me?” Most of the anger has left my voice, and sadness and denial have taken its place. “How could you take this away from me?”
Colt loses his smug smile. His expression turns somber, and something like empathy flashes over his pale-blue eyes. For a fraction of a second, I think he might actually apologize. That must have been wishful thinking.
“Be glad this was your first time. You should be thanking me for providing you with such a pleasant experience.”
Because I can’t pummel him to death with my fists, and I don’t want him to see me cry, I run back to my room and slam the door hard enough that the walls shake. That’s not enough. I want to tear the place apart. I want to break every piece of furniture in this room and then throw it through the windows, so they break, too. Same thing with the bathroom. I want everything shattered, in pieces, the way I feel inside.
How could he do that? How could I let him? He stole my virginity. Yes, stole like a thief. It was mine to give, mine alone.
And nobody will believe me. I don’t even think my mother would. She’d blame me for mixing alcohol with one of my pills—if she believed me at all that Colt used me, which I doubt. Colt would never play that recording for her, and that’s the only real proof anything happened last night. He could just as easily say it’s something I made up in my head.
No, I’m not safe anywhere—with anyone. And in another few hours, we’re going to be family.
“Leni. What the hell is going on up here?” Mom is already berating me before she’s even opened the door. She’s wearing a white satin robe, her face devoid of makeup, her hair freshly washed and still damp. “Here I am, expecting you to come down to meet with the hair and makeup people, and you’re slamming things around. Have you forgotten what today is?” She snaps her fingers close to my face, something I’ve always hated. It’s not easy resisting the impulse to slap her hands away.
“I was about to come down in another minute or so.”
“Well, you had better. We have a schedule to keep.”
“Wait a second, please,” I blurt out when she turns away.
She sighs heavily before turning back around. “What?”
“Something bad happened. Something I need to tell you about. I swear, I didn’t do anything to bring it on. But it happened for sure, and I didn’t want it to.”
She holds up her hand, closing her eyes. “For God’s sake, please, could you let something be about me for once? Why do you insist on making everything about you?”
“I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”
“Right. Tell me another good one.”
“Please, please listen to me.” For once, be my mother. Care about me, love me. I can’t say any of those things, of course. She would probably laugh at me if I did.
“This is my day. Do you hear me? My day. For once, I will not let you make this about you. I’m sorry if you have a difficult time handling that, but that’s how it is.” She runs a hand through her hair, scowling. “It’s bad enough I’m going to have to explain to everyone why my mother didn’t see fit to come to my wedding. I won’t have you screwing this up for me, too, just like she has.”
My shoulders slump, and I look at the floor, dejected but not surprised. “You can tell me about it later, okay?” she adds, but I know better. She’ll conveniently forget all about this. “But it’s going to have to wait until my big day is over. Now come on. We have a lot to do and very little time to do it in.”
What else can I do? I can’t make her care. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make her care about me, to really care about something other than what I can do for her. She’ll never let me live it down, all the money she spent on my training, conveniently forgetting the fact that she was the one pushing me, always on my back, insisting I be the best.
