Page 167 of Break Away
The laugh that came out of me sounded closer to human that time, and Bliss’s face crumpled again.
“No crying at my laugh,” I warned.
“I’m crying at your everything.”
“That seems medically broad.”
“Aura,” Charm said softly.
I hated how much I loved hearing my name from her. Not careful. Not pitying. Just mine.
My arms folded around my middle before I could stop them. “I fucked him.”
Bliss froze.
Charm’s face went blank in that expensive way she had when her soul left her body to consult legal counsel.
I nodded once, miserable, damp, and still tasting Easton on my mouth. “Yeah.”
Bliss blinked hard. “Tonight?”
“No, B, during the Lincoln administration.”
“Do not sarcasm me while I’m processing.”
Charm’s eyes swept over my clothes again, but not in a way that made me feel judged. It was more like she was reading the scene backward from the twisted shirt, crooked shorts, shaking hands, and bruised mouth I couldn’t hide. “Was it… did you want it?”
I met her eyes. “Yes.”
Her shoulders lowered by a fraction.
Bliss stepped closer. “Was he cruel?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “And no. It was rage and pain and love and every ugly thing we never buried right. It was both of us trying to punish the past out of each other and finding out the past has teeth.”
Charm closed her eyes. “Ay.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Bliss’s voice trembled, but her grip on my hands remained firm. “You are allowed to want him and still be hurt by what happened. You are allowed to have chosen it and still feel wrecked after. Those things can sit in the same room.”
“They’re apparently renting the room and refusing to leave.”
Charm’s thumb brushed the back of my arm. “What happened after?”
I looked past them at the rain moving in silver lines through the parking lot lights. Easton’s window was somewhere up there, dark or lit, I didn’t know.
I wouldn’t look.
I couldn’t.
“He told me to get dressed.”
Bliss’s face changed. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No.” I caught her sleeve before she could fully become a Bennett. “He was trying to stop us from doing something worse.”
“After coffee-table sex in the sadness apartments, I feel like worse needed a formal definition.”
