AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And I’d write them down. Sometimes I’d mentioned a guy I had maybe gone out with once the previous year. On a date, or to a party.”
“Sure. You’d tell the journal about your life.”
Well, I was telling my sister. And you know what? There’s no need to keep that to myself either. “I was writing to Willa,” I say softly, my voice breaking briefly.
“That must have been hard,” he says, squeezing my forearm for a moment, then letting go.
“It was, but I needed it. I still need it. I tried to tell her everything in my journals. They were just mine.” I draw a breath for fuel, hating what Brandon did but feeling compelled to share it anyway. “But one time when Brandon slept over, he skipped his morning class to sleep in. I went to the lecture, leaving him alone in my dorm with my journals for maybe an hour. And I didn’t know it at the time, but he read them all. Every single private thought I’d written down. Whether it was one of those uncomfortable thoughts I mentioned, like about a teacher, or whether it was a recap of a date from my freshman year, or whether it was a book I read that made me want to try role-play,” I say, a fresh wave of hurt washing over me. “Sometimes I even wrote the specific fantasies down.”
“That’s a disgusting violation,” he says with vitriol.
“And then, bit by bit, day by day, he took that info and used it against me in subtle, manipulative ways. At a study sesh, he’d saywould you ever want to go into the stacks…with your bio professor.Or he’d ask me about a guy I went out with a while ago.Was Carson a good kisser? Are you sure you didn’t think of anyone else when you kissed him? Or even something more insidious.Remember when you said you wanted me to handcuff you?I didn’t remember every detail I’d ever written down, but he’d stay on it, trying to trip me up.”
Finn huffs an annoyed breath, like he wants to wring Brandon’s neck. “He manipulated you. He gaslit you.”
I hadn’t thought of it like gaslighting, but maybe it was. But it was also embarrassing. I was so fooled. “He was clever. I can’t believe it took me a few weeks to puzzle together where it all came from.From me,” I say, still ashamed he tricked me so deeply.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Finn says, perhaps wanting to reassure me, or maybe to protect me from the stories I told myself about my past. “You have a good heart. You probably couldn’t conceive that he would trick you like that.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “Sometimes it takes us a while to see how we’ve been used.”
I’m about to ask how he’s been used when he adds, “What happened after?”
I need to finish my story before I ask for his. “I broke up with him. I never slept with him. And honestly, I didn’t want to sleep with anyone for a long time. I shut down, Finn. I was basically dormant sexually until several months ago, after a lot of therapy and a deeper understanding of myself. That’s when I realized I was truly ready. That I wanted sex a certain way. That I wanted to be…dominated. That I wanted the fantasies. And that I wanted someone who wouldn’t manipulate me. Someone who’d do the opposite—who’d role-play with me, not against me.”
“You found him,” he says, simple and clear.
Yeah. I did.
Too bad I can’t have him.
“Anyway, thanks for listening. I just wanted you to know that when I said I was glad it was you, I’mreallyglad it was you.”
He’s quiet for a long beat, blowing out a breath. “Je ne regrette rien.”
I don’t know French, but I understand context clues. “I regret nothing,” I translate.
“Oui,” he says, then nods to my empty cup. “Do you need another?”
I’m grateful for the shift in mood. “I want to explore the city today, so I think I do,” I say.
Finn calls the waiter over and, as promised, orders in French. When the waiter leaves, I narrow my eyes. “That was unfair.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you sound sexy even ordering in your bullshit French.”
He laughs. “Maybe I was trying to impress you.”
“It worked.” I take a moment to soak in the atmosphere, the vibe of the hilly neighborhood. Across the street is a boutique withLes Jolies Jupesscrolled across a window display of short dresses and trendy ankle boots. Beside that, a narrow staircase with a wrought-iron railing. Posters line the brick wall, advertising the Moulin Rouge. This was on my list too—just soaking in the ambiance.
“Have you been here before?” Finn asks.
I turn back to him, shaking my head. “First time. But I’ve wanted to come here. I planned out many fictional visits.”
“What do you think so far? Does this compare to the trips you took in your mind?”
I pause for a few seconds, tapping my chin playfully. “I think I need to see more of the city to draw a conclusion. And I’m pretty busy the rest of the week…”
I don’t want to presume he’ll join me. His words were clear at McCoy’s in Manhattan. His actions, too, the next time I saw him at the bookstore. Even if he held my hand minutes ago, that doesn’t mean he’ll spend the day with me.
