Page 55 of Miss Behaved
Her hips rotate with the pump of my hand as she fucks my fingers. “I want you to make me come so hard, so many times, that I forget where I am or what I’m doing. I want you to make me forget you ever hurt me.”
She stops with a groan as I pull my fingers out of her and spin her around so fast it takes her eyes a moment to adjust.
“Wait,” I say, gripping the back of her neck. “Is that all this is to you?”
“No, I don’t know. I—”
“I can’t do this,” I admit. “I’m not going to fuck you just so you can work me out of your system.”
“You can’t just pretend we don’t have a past,” she says with hurt behind her eyes.
I back away, and her body sinks against the railing, the bottom of her dress falling back into place.
“I’m not pretending anything,” I say to her. “That’s the problem. I’m fully here, present in this. You’re the one who is drawing lines and keeping your distance.”
“Oh, so it’s on me now? You’re the one who offered yourself up in the first place.” She says.
“I know.” I sigh.
One more thing on a long list of regrets when it comes to a woman who sends my brain spiraling the second I’m around her.
“You can’t just start changing the rules out of nowhere. Because I have reasons for being careful with you. Reasons thatyouare to blame for. So if you want to have this conversation? Then let’s have it.” Monica clutches her body and shakes her head. “What happened ten years ago? Why did you make me think you cared about me? Why did you make me think I meant something more than any of the girls who came before me or after? Why did you take my fucking virginity and then walk away? If you want to talk about this, then let’s do it. Explain yourself.”
“There was nobefore, Mon.” I’m holding myself back from yelling, but the thundering in my chest is fighting to break out. “And this past fucking week, I’m beginning to think there never really was anaftereither.”
Her pupils dilate, and she shakes her head—to bring me into focus or to shake me out, I’m not sure. I lay my hands on her arms and hold her in place.
“You weren’t the only virgin that night,” I admit, and it feels like the biggest weight off my chest.
“But I thought—”
“I let you think that. I mean, fuck, I was eighteen and head over heels in love with a girl who didn’t look at me as anything other than a friend. So I let you think whatever you wanted. Maybe if you thought other girls wanted me, then you’d want me too.”
“You what?” She’s still shaking her head. “But you left.”
“I was a damn idiot, okay?” I hold her in my arms like she’s sand trying to slip through and I need more of it before we run out of time. “You were sleeping in that bed, and I had the only thing I ever wanted in my life. And all I could see in that moment was that you were perfect, and if I stayed I was going to end up like my fucking father and destroy you.”
“But you’re not him.”
I shake my head and take a step back. “I’m not a good guy. I might not be him, but his blood is still inside of me, waiting to drink me to death or rip me apart. And it’s not pretty, trust me. I lived with it for eighteen years. My father was an abusive asshole who beat the shit out of me and my mom. And that wasn’t even the worst part, because at least those bruises healed. What he did to my fucking head…” I run my hands through my hair and try to shake lose the tightness in my chest. “That shit lives with you.”
“Carson,” Monica says.
It sounds like pity, or guilt. I’ve heard it my whole life, and it’s the reason I never talked about my father with her. Because I didn’t need any more of it. But the lid has been pulled off and it’s all spilling out. So there’s no use holding back anymore.
“It killed me inside to go back there every summer, but I did it for you. You were everything to me growing up, and I probably should have told you that then. But I was a kid and stupid. Who knows, maybe I still am.” I shrug. “But wanting you and having you were two different things, because once we crossed that line, I knew you didn’t deserve what I could offer. And I couldn’t bear hurting you.”
Monica’s lips part, and a quick breath escapes. “But you did,” she says.
And I know that now. I want to tell her I’m sorry and that I didn’t mean to. That if I could rewind time I’d take it back. But that boy who walked out on her couldn’t have been the man she needed. And it took me a decade, maybe more, to become him.
“I should go,” I tell her, rubbing my palm over my face, realizing my only chance at not destroying the only woman I’ve ever loved is probably to do what I do best: disappear. But as I turn away, her hand latches onto mine, and she steps in close.
“What did you mean there was no after?” She keeps that inch of safe space between us. That line we hold, knowing once it’s crossed we’re tumbling over a cliff headfirst without giving a shit if the ground ever catches us.
I grab onto her other hand and squeeze.
“I wanted to think I was over you. I tried really hard to forget you any way I could.” I draw her hands up to my chest, and she plants them firmly on the center. “But when I walked away from you that day ten years ago, part of me stayed, and it wasn’t until I saw you again that I was made fully aware of that.”
