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When my head started to grow a little fuzzier, I mumbled out an agreement as quickly as I could. All I really wanted was to be home in my bed and somehow, letting Tristan drive me had to be better than a stranger in a cab.
“Thank you,” I murmured out.
When reality blurred, time blurred with it. I could hardly remember the walk out to Tristan’s car, but as the engine roared to life, I did remember the soothing relaxation it brought to my muscles. When my eyes were closed, it was easier to pretend I was somewhere else, and with the hum of the motor in my ears, I chose the one place I hadn’t let myself think of in years.
I dreamt I was in Michael’s car again, that I’d fallen asleep in his warmth. In a different world, I never would have gone to that stupid party. In a different world, Michael never would have told me that he didn’t want me, would never have been so frightened when I told him I wanted him to be my first. We’d sit in his car all night long, and he’d tell me all the stories that he was too scared to tell me the first time. He’d tell me about his parents, about his school, about the awful events that led him to me. And I’d tell him how much I needed him. In the safety of his car, I’d tell him how I’d never really stopped thinking about him, how I’d never felt so complete as when he was by my side. With my eyes closed, it was easy to pretend all of that.
It was even easy to pretend that it was Michael’s hand that was creeping up my thigh.
It was the purr of satisfaction that reminded me of reality. Even in my fantasies, I couldn’t escape that awful memory. The last time Michael found out how wet I was for him, he nearly bit my head off. He was angry that someone like me could ever fall for someone like him, angrier still that those nights we spent together couldn’t just end with a one night stand. Michael wanted to fuck me and leave, but some part of me always thought that he knew how much it would destroy me. And maybe that’s why my eyes jerked open.
Michael would never be happy about how much I wanted him.
Because Michael was just as broken as I was.
My body was still so heavy as it slumped forward. Heavy enough that, as the car slammed to a stop, I hadn’t been able to sit upright on my own. Tristan switched his car into park and unclipped his seatbelt before pushing me back against the seat, and his chuckle twisted at my stomach. I didn’t realize how weak I’d truly become until Tristan climbed out of the car and crossed to help me out of my seat. The only way I couldhopeto stand was by clinging onto him, and even that was becoming useless. Had I always been so sloppy as a drunk? Had my body always been this difficult to move? The truth was, I’d hardly had anything to drink since that night with Josh, since I watched Michael—
“Where am I?”
My eyelids were too heavy to open completely as I focused on putting one foot in front of each other, but my nose had never led me astray. I could smell Marianna’s cookies baking down the street. I could smell Harrold’s pot smoke wafting over from his back porch. I was home, but as we stumbled forward, it felt anything but safe.
“I said I’d bring you home.”
I clung to Tristan’s side as he lead me up the front steps of my house. “I know.” In the slivers of vision I had left, I could make out Tristan sheepishly brushing snow off the bench I kept out front, laying me down when my weight became too much. I hardly felt the icy cold on my thighs, and there was no embarrassment when my tired legs splayed open. “I know,” I slurred again.
“I’m gonna take care of you, alright?”
“Alright.”
It almost sounded like a nice idea. After Michael, I’d hardly been able to find someone to share a coffee with. A friend was almost completely out of the question, but when I finally felt his icy hands on me, I started to remember why. Michael had warned me, hadn’t he? That my scars made me a target for people still lost in the dark, made me a target for people like him. Life sprang back to my body when I felt Tristan’s hands begin to run over my skin, and I jerked up all in one motion. Moving my body was hard enough— when Tristan pushed me back down into the seat, I didn’t stand a chance.
“Stay still,” he hissed, his hands attempting to run over my body again. “I’m just looking for your keys.”
“Liar.” The word hardly made any sense as I spit it, but when he tensed, some part of my brain clicked back to life. My eyes opened, and when they connected with Tristan’s, I forced out the accusation again. “Liar.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
If he was trying to help me, if he wasreallytrying to help me, he would have checked my purse. He would have lifted my mat. If he was trying to help me, his hands wouldn’t have been running along my thighs, my stomach, my breasts.
“I wanna go home.”
“I’m trying to—”
“I wanna go home.”
I tried to get to my feet again, tried to throw my body forward. Fear was bringing a new fight to my muscles, and when Tristan pushed me back down, I was able to let out the squeal of pain I’d been hiding before.
“Get off me,” I choked. “Getoffme!”
“Keep your voice—”
Everything fell silent when that sound came, the angel from across the street. Sabrina was a single mom to a teenager, working nights so she could be available during the day. Conflicting schedules meant we’d only spoken twice, but as her front door swung open, she seemed like a greater friend than any I’d ever known.
“Hel—”
My strangled cry was cut short by chapped lips, by a sickening hunger for something that wasn’t his. Tristan’s lips sealed my own, and all at once, my movements fell limp again. She wasright there. She was right there, and I knew if I couldn’t dosomething, she’d leave me alone with him again. Tristan’s groan shot my eyes open, and as his tongue snaked into my mouth, I did the only thing I could think of.
“Bridget?” Sabrina’s voice rang clear across the road. “You okay?”
