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He was never physically violent with me when we were dating, but the looming possibility of it was always there. It was there in the way he’d grit his teeth when I said something he didn’t like and would then endlessly berate me about it once we were alone. The way he’d yell and humiliate me when we slept together and he was the only one who got off.
Although, now I indubitably know that he was the problem, not me. Not only do I apparently have no issue with coming, but I can do it multiple times.
My mind wanders back to that hotel room with Gary like it has done more frequently than I’d like to admit over the past two weeks.
The raw passion and the vulnerability of that night haven’t been as easy to lock away in the dark corners of my brain as everything else.
I’d felt alive in a way I hadn’t in a long time. Maybe it was the anonymity and spontaneity of doing something that bold, something my parents would undoubtedly murder me for if they found out about it, but part of me thought Gary himself had something to do with it.
I wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed, what he would have done to me next when he’d already ruined me for every other man to come after him.
He would have taken my mouth, then probably flipped me so I was face down on the mattress as he…
A shiver ripples across my skin as I think of the possibilities.
When I snuck out, I hesitated halfway to the door, unsure if I should leave or stay. I’d turned around for one last look at his sleeping form, at the number he’d scribbled on the notepad.
And when I found myself ripping the page off and stuffing it into my clutch, I didn’t pause to question why I couldn’t just walk away without it.
Turns out, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d left it behind.
When I got home and undressed for the shower, I found his sleek handwriting on my skin, his number memorialized in black marker just above my pussy.
It took a week to successfully scrub it off my body during which time I touched myself endlessly to the visual of him writing it on me while I was passed out.
I thought about texting him several times since, but always stopped myself. What would I, whatcouldI, say? There was no way to open that door back up without unraveling the lies I’d told him. That I was only eighteen, that I was a student, that my name wasn’t Jenny…
His number burned a hole in my contact list instead, my heart skipping a beat every time I scrolled past his name.
“Babe?” Rex tugs on my arm to get my attention, like a child mid-tantrum calling for his mum’s.
I keep my face blank as I turn to face him, knowing my lack of reaction is what will annoy him most. Trying to pull my arm out of his grip will get me nowhere and he’ll enjoy my struggle too much.
“We have nothing to talk about, Rex.”
“I disagree.”
Something inside me starts to twitch at having his touch still on me, but I work to control myself. I’m a master at it, at controlling my emotions, my reactions, my entirelife.
“I miss you,” he purrs, getting closer. I hold back a flinch. “I want us to get back together.”
My stomach roils at the thought. I only dated him because he was an appropriate choice for me, one that would make my parents happy. His father had gotten rich in the oil business and my mum had veritably crowed when I’d announced the news of our relationship to her. She could see the headlines of the society pages already, “Oil Tycoon Marries Diamond Heiress in Lavish European Wedding.”
I’d gotten high on her praise, her rare approval of me more potent than any drug, and it’s what had allowed me to keep the relationship going for months when I should have ended it after that first time we slept together. When he took my virginity without a care for whether it hurt or if I liked it or not.
I held on for a couple more months until eventually I had to put my survival above her happiness. When I announced the news that I’d broken up with him, it’d almost killed her.
Or so she claimed.
She only calmed down once I promised that I’d find better. The next person I dated needed to be a prince or something, otherwise I’d have to bear continued comments about how disappointed she was in my partner for the rest of my life.
“Nera!” Coach Krav calls out, his thick Russian accent cutting across the facility. “Have you finished your laps?”
“No, Coach.” I reply, looking at Rex with a sly smile.
“Stop distracting my athlete, Carrington,” Krav barks.
I pull my arm out of his hold and start jogging backwards away from an annoyed looking Rex.
