Page 67 of Quiet Obsession
My self-loathing is at an all-time high, a constant thrum beneath my skin. I’ve ripped her innocence to shreds. She gave me something that’d never be safe in my hands, and I can’t give it back. I’ll have to live knowing she saw me as safe, and I blatantly proved I was the exact opposite.
Her first time should’ve been different. Gentle. Sweet. Slow. Soft kisses and whispered confessions. It shouldn’t have beenwith mebecause I don’t know how to give any of those things.
I hate how it happened. How rough I took her. How I let my instincts lead, desperate and greedy and so goddamn certain, when I should’ve questioned my every move.
She was avirginand I fucked her into a blur of sensations. Pleasure, pain, fear, ecstasy... control instead of care.
I didn’t ask if she was sure, I didn’t hesitate, Itookand it’s scary how naturally that came... pressing her into the mat, ripping her leggings off, driving into her hard, hungry, and vicious.
That’s the part that wrecks me most. That this is how sex will look to her. Not tenderness, intimacy, or safety, just a primal explosion of desire so sharp it leaves fucking bruises.
I down half the beer in one swig, every muscle in my body starting to relax. It’ll take much more to stop me feeling like shit, though, so I finish the first bottle in record time and Jed holds his hand out—a silent order to surrender my car keys.
There’s no point in arguing.
It’s a routine we developed after the first time I left thisjoint, my vision blurry after however many beers. I lost count at eleven. My legs were useless, but the keys to my car jingled between my fingers. Jed wrestled them out of my grip three steps out the door.
He gets me another beer, then another, and another. We don’t speak much. He knows me well by now, knows it’s safer to just let me vent inside my own head.
After five bottles, the effects of alcohol start to take. A calming buzz at the back of my mind covers everything I don’t want to feel. I turn in my stool, resting both elbows on the bar behind me, a fresh beer in hand.
“Can you at least take the shitshow outside tonight?” Jed asks, leaning into my peripheral. “The game starts in half an hour. You throw a punch and the whole fucking place will join in and trash the bar again.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I mutter, though we both know I won’t move for an hour at least, and by then, I’ll be too far gone to remember his plea.
Seven beers in I switch to whiskey, getting my buzz on faster. It’s a slow evening for a game night. Half the stools are empty and the TV hums over Jed’s head on low volume. I’m about to lose my fucking patience and take this hunt out onto the streets when five guys I recognize from campus stroll in. They always travel in a pack, chasing skirts.
They approach the bar, laughing too loudly, their obnoxious swagger grating my nerves. They’re dressed in polo shirts and khakis, their hair perfectly styled, muscular chests pushed forward, wide shoulders stretched under pastel cotton.
They must be on the lacrosse team.
All the pretentious, polished, rich kids play lacrosse.
My gaze locks on the one leading the pack. Ash-blond hair slicked back with enough product to reflect the overhead lights, shining like he just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.
Fuck, I hope it’s him.
I could smash his face into the bar top right now. He fits the picture of Evan I’ve built in my head over the last year so well it makes the rage humming under my skin double in strength.
But I’ll wait.
It’s not my first time doing this, not even the tenth, so I know guys like them can’t help but give you a reason to break their nose. People raised on Daddy’s money never learn how to treat anyone they think is beneath them.
I spin on my stool, pushing my empty crystal glass along the hardwood, and Jed grabs the bottle, refilling while the blond and his friends come closer.
“What are we having, boys?” one of them asks, scanning the shelves lining the back wall.
“Bud Lights all around,” the leader replies, parking his elbow three inches from my glass.
“Taking it easy tonight, Gabe?” One of them slaps him on the shoulder. “Tarryn said you’re seeing that ginger girl later. Worried about your performance under the influence?”
Gabe grins, his teeth as blinding as snow on a sunny day.
“Yeah. She’s playing shy, but I’m pretty sure she’ll letme break her in tonight.”
My jaw tightens and fist curls around my full glass. Jed pauses mid-pour, looking up at me with one raised eyebrow like he’s surprised I’m still seated.
“She looks like a prude,” another guy pipes in.
