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“Every year. On every single one of our birthdays.” He stops, staring at me. Waiting for me to put the pieces together on my own. I raise my brows and gesture for him to get on with it.
He scoffs in disgust. “You, the ever observant Elias Knight, didn’t notice Brielle has made it a point to always wear the favorite color of whoever’s birthday it is? You really never realized that? It didn’t matter what we were doing. She bought a pink gown when a charity gala fell on Hudson’s birthday. Her mom and aunt were pissed she didn’t wear the dress they had planned for her. She packed seven orange bikinis when we went to the beach for my birthday last summer. And every fucking year she wore emerald green on your birthday. Including her pajama sets because she knew you always wanted everyone to stay the night on your birthday. Knew you wouldn’t want to be alone. And every year for as long as I can remember, she showed up the morning of your birthday wearing fucking green, with her pillow, ready to burn pancakes and serve them to you with a smile, and you’re saying you never fucking noticed?”
I can’t say anything. Each word out of his mouth twists the knife in my back a little bit deeper. Of course I noticed. But I can’t admit that. Can’t admit that the green always drew my eyes to her. That I always thought it meant something more than it really did. That I never paid attention to the things she did for the other guys. That she wore their favorite colors too. That I understand what he thinks the red means. That I can’t let myself hope that he’s right. I can’t admit anything.
“She wore fucking red, E. She wore red on Zaide’s birthday while we’re spreading rumors about her having STDs and blowing professors. While we’re actively trying to ruin the relationship she keeps telling us she wants. She should hate us and yet she wore red.”
“It doesn't mean anything,” I force out through gritted teeth. It can’t mean anything. It can’t mean that everything we think is a lie, that everything we have done to her is wrong.
Pure disgust fills his eyes as he shakes his head. I barely even recognize him as something in my chest cracks open, making me feel breathless. “You keep telling yourself that, E. Just don’t forget, you still kissed her.”
Once again, I’m frozen in place. Stuck watching one of the most important people in my life turn their back and rush away from me.
Just like Bri, Ash doesn’t stop to look back.
I don’t see him or Brielle for the rest of the evening, and when I get back to the house, I ignore Hudson and Z, telling them I have work to do, and just head straight up to my room and lock myself inside. I try telling myself that everything that happened today doesn’t matter, that Brielle chose Carson, and we chose her downfall. She can’t just change the rules whenever she wants just to save her own ass. I don’t care what Ashton says, or what Brielle does, she needs to pay for what she did.
But then I think about that kiss, about how her lips felt against mine, about the sound of her moaning as I pressed myself into her, and everything else just falls away.
Why the fuck did she kiss me?
Why was it the best kiss I’ve ever had?
And why am I still being punished for her mistakes?
My cock is still straining against my jeans and I can’t take it. I head straight to my bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I go and let the water scald into my skin as I step under the spray. I want to feel the burn, I want the water to wash away every bad thing I have done, and every dirty thing I want to fucking do to the girl who betrayed me, but it doesn’t work.
I fist my shaft, squeezing it tightly, willing it to get the memo that she isn’t someone we should be fantasizing about anymore, but it doesn’t. If anything, I grow harder, and when I drag my fist back and forth I hiss at the instant relief. Fuck. How long has it been since I’ve done this? I can’t remember, but with the taste of Brielle on my tongue, it feels too good to stop. My cock doesn’t care she fucked us over, no the only thing it cares about is wanting to fuck Brielle. Remembering her breathy moans and gasps as her hands tugged at the hair around the nape of my neck as she begged me to kiss her harder.
My hand moves faster, stroking myself harder as I think about what it would have been like to drop to my knees right there in the stacks and have a taste of her for real. Of fucking her with my tongue while she writhed against me begging for more. Of making her scream so loud that Ash would have rushed to see what was going on, only to find her thighs clamped around my head and my tongue deep in her cunt.
Faster. Harder. Tighter.
I feel my release crawling over my skin like a fire I can’t put out and when I imagine Brielle coming in my mouth as she screams my name I can’t hold back. I fuck my fist even harder, twisting and pulling around the head of my cock until I am groaning loudly as my orgasm takes over. Jets of come spurt from my cock covering my fist and the wall as I lean one hand against the tiles and try and catch my breath.
This is fine. Just a little lapse in judgment. Everything can go back to normal now. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
I fuck my fist three more times to the taste of her lips and when I finally pass out it’s to the image of her red rimmed eyes and swollen lips, telling myself that tomorrow is a new day and this won’t ever happen again.
The next morning I force my usual mask of indifference in place and pretend that nothing has changed, until I walk into class and find her empty chair. A chair that stays empty for the entire lecture. Her tear stained face haunts me, making a sense of unease rise the longer I stare at the seat where she should be sitting. Her little friend keeps anxiously checking her phone and looking towards the door the longer class goes on. It makes my own leg bounce with pent up anxiety.
We should be celebrating. We finally got a real reaction out of her. More than just her telling us to fuck off. More than her just reminding us of how much she doesn’t want to be here. There’s no joy to be found in her moment of weakness. It isn’t like I thought it would. I don’t feel victory in winning the war.
I feel nothing but guilt, shame, and regret.
And when her friend huffs a frustrated breath, throwing a look of disgust our way before storming out in the middle of class, all I feel is jealousy.
ChapterNineteen
There areseventeen little cracks in the dorm room ceiling. I stare at them, counting them over and over and wonder if the cracks to my armor look the same. I didn’t used to be like this. I wasn’t the girl who was pushed around and bullied, abused. I guess I took for granted the four shields that were always there to protect me. Four shields that now hate me more than I hate myself, if that’s even possible.
I feel like I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t speak. I am just here in this bed, doing nothing but existing, taking up space, and regretting so many things. I didn’t even flinch when my alarm went off this morning, didn’t move when Shelby asked if I was going to class and I lied, telling her I would see her in Econ. And didn’t react when an email alert hit my inbox informing me of a meeting with the dean.
No, this is all I am doing today. This bed is my only safe place right now as I lie and stare at the spot I was forced to my knees yesterday. People are sexually assaulted everyday, it can happen anywhere, anytime, with anyone, but still you always think it will never happen to you. Until it does.
I don’t know how to face this.
What to do next.
