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I wanted to lie down and take her in my arms so badly. Smooth her hair and stroke her cheek like I deserved her. Tell her I’d keep her with me always, like that high school fantasy she’d shared. But it would just make this pile of shit even higher.
I stood up.
“This can never happen again.”
Her eyes went wide with shock. Then they narrowed. She sat up, naked, beautiful, but her defenses were back and her posture was tight. She twisted her hair into a bun, grabbed a pencil from her nightstand, and stabbed it through.
“What do you mean,this?” Her voice shook on the last word.
“Fucking in your room. For free.”
She stared at me, her gaze dark as coal. By now, I knew Christina’s body intimately. I’d never seen her so silent or so still.
“What happened to you?” When she finally spoke, her whisper was colorless. “Why is everything a transaction?”
“Victims talk about what happened to them, Christina. I’ve made choices. We are who we are.” I pulled on my shirt and shorts, wet with rain.
Only her lips moved. “I see.”
“I’m glad you do.” I made my voice cold. I was trying to be strong, but when it came to her, I was weak. “We’ll continue our arrangement as planned until graduation. I’ll see you in my room tomorrow night. I know you need the money. No more sessions without pay.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Her dark eyes glinted with anger. She leapt out of bed, the stillness shattered, clutching the covers to her chest. “You asshole! Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t even have the money, I know you don’t! Get the hell out of my room, Patrick. Get out!”
I left without looking back. It was the only way.
25
Heart-Shaped Box
Christina
Dropping to my bed, I curled up in a ball and hugged my knees. The thrusts of Patrick’s body were everywhere. On me, in me, filling my room. The cheerful clutter and bright photos on the wall mocked the empty ache inside me.
For a long time, I didn’t move. Twinkle lights blinked around my window and damp wind gusted through the screen, stirring the papers on my desk. I’d opened that window so Patrick would be comfortable. So he’d feel at home.
My heart-shaped box sat on the desk, the lid off. Money stared me in the face. I didn’t react, didn’t dive for it or turn away.
When the sky was completely dark, I put the lid on the box and hid it in my desk drawer. Pulling on an old sweatshirt and stretched-out yoga pants, I grabbed the pink raincoat Sydney had talked me into buying.
The rain beat down as I crossed campus. No one guarded the back door of Kappa Sig tonight. Grateful for the privacy, I stomped the water from my sneakers as I walked in.
Upstairs, the hallway was quieter than usual, the volume of music lower. Most of the doors stood open, with guys inside parked at their desks, studying for finals.
Patrick’s door was closed. Blank. A white slate. Only the rim of light underneath showed that someone was home.
I knocked once, then again, louder. No one answered. Inside, the floor creaked.
“Patrick,” I said through the door. “I’m not here to play games.”
Nothing.
“Please talk to me.”
No response.
“Does it turn you on that I’m begging through your door?” I looked up and down the empty hall, hoping the music masked my plea. “Because I thought you were better than that. I want to talk to you.You.No strings.”
I pressed my forehead to the door, ready for it to fly open and tip me off balance. But it didn’t.
