Authors: Ava Claire
He didn't say a word, his attention clearly
elsewhere as we pulled back onto the road. Now that we weren't
listening to the maddening needs of our bodies, was he still
wondering why I stood up for him at all? Was he wondering if he
deserved the crow he was fed at dinner?
I reached over and touched his arm but he
jerked like I'd just sent an electric current through my
fingertips--or like I was the last person on earth he wanted to
touch.
I retracted my hand immediately, turning my
attention back to the world outside the window. I couldn’t help but
take it personal, especially after what we’d just shared.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly, reaching for my
hand and giving it a squeeze. "I just have a lot on my mind."
"Mind sharing with the class?" I said
quietly. I meant it as a joke, but there was nothing humorous in my
tone and he didn't even crack a grin. I nibbled on my lip and tried
to wrangle the frustration that boiled in my veins. Being combative
wouldn't do the stifling awkwardness any favors. "Now
I'm
sorry."
He gave me a hint of a smile, one side of his
mouth tugging upward slightly before it flatlined. "It's okay. I’m
just still trying to deal with what happened at dinner."
"Well good," I said with a sigh, finally
feeling like we'd reached common ground. "Because they had no right
to--"
"I'm not talking about your mother or
Alicia." He cut in brusquely.
I yanked the front of my shirt closed, my
fingers blistering against the buttons. So I was back to playing
the villain. "I see."
He made a scoffing sound that was 99%
frustration. "I'm not talking about you either, Cass. I'm talking
about myself."
I opened my mouth in confusion. Mad at
himself? But--I snapped it closed as the why’s settled on me like a
wet blanket. For the past fifteen minutes, I'd completely forgotten
about his sins.
"I still--" He cleared his throat, like the
words were painful as they tried to claw their way from his mouth.
I traced the tight line of his jaw with my eyes, dropping to his
iron grip on the steering wheel. Even in the dim light I didn't
miss his bleach white knuckles.
"I've forgiven you," I offered gently, trying
to diffuse the situation. "You know that, right?"
He nodded, a quick dip of his head that I
would have missed if I blinked. "And I don't even have the words to
describe what that means to me."
I reached over and stretched my fingers over
his knee, stroking it until I felt the tight muscles relax. "You're
talking like you didn't think I'd forgive you."
“If memory serves, you threatened me bodily
harm if you even saw my face again.” His eyes cut to me and the
smile on his lips lingered. That dancing warmth returned, flitting
across my chest and settling in my core.
“Well you’re not out of the dark yet,” I
said, my voice a little too high to be taken seriously and from the
laugh that spilled from his mouth, he was far from concerned about
the wrath of Cassandra Woods. It probably didn’t help that even
with the windows cracked, sex hung hot and sweaty. Still, there was
something darker ebbing there too. He needed to hear something
other than ‘I forgive you’. He needed to hear that I thought he was
a good person. Someone deserving of forgiveness.
But before I could say anything further he
powered on the radio, silencing any attempts at further
communication.
****
I did a silent fist pump of victory as I
stepped off the stairwell. The top floor of the library was pretty
much a ghost town with the exception of a library assistant pushing
a creaky book cart down empty aisles. It probably didn’t hurt that
Thomas was only a month into the semester and it was 10pm and two
hours before the library shut its doors. I preferred to study when
I felt like it was just me and the books, the only other sound the
whisper of the AC.
I knew better than to tarry and wax lyrical
about having the row of cubicles all to myself because the sooner I
did my reading and finished up my stats problems, the sooner I
could get back to Chance. After our rendezvous on the road back to
town, he made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about dinner at
all and after my third orgasm of the night, I gave no complaints.
He even gave some incentive to up my productivity--he’d have my
favorite pizza waiting and for dessert, he’d have me.
I sunk into the seat near the back, unloading
my tote bag. By the time I was done, I’d erected my very own
Leaning Tower of Pisa. I pulled my Stats book from the top and
flipped to the post it tab I used to mark the homework assignment.
I picked up my cup of coffee and took a sip as I eyed the first
binomial distribution question.
“
A study finds that 4% of American teens
have unconventional piercings (piercings other than the ear). You
randomly sample thirty teens. What is the-”
“Cass?”
The eraser of my pencil froze on the paper at
the sound of my name. At the sound of the voice.
Alicia.
I forced my eyes to stay on the page and
pretended I didn’t hear the interruption, even though the question
could have read ‘blahblahblahblah’ as far as my comprehension was
concerned.
She took a step closer and I shot my gaze to
where she stood, taken aback when I saw chipped polish and ashy
toes. But that wasn’t the tell-tale sign. The neon sign that
something was up was the fact she was wearing scruffy black flip
flops and they weren’t Rainbows or any discernable brand. I slowly
drew my gaze upward, shock making me forget all about dinner.
Sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt. Once I got to her bare, makeup-free
face, I nearly lurched from my seat.
“Alicia, what’s wrong?”
Her blue eyes rounded in confusion. “What?”
Her shoulders relaxed as she gestured at her outfit. ‘OH, uh,
because of all of this.”
“Yes,” I nodded forgetting every beef we had
since the beginning of time. Alicia Rhodes didn’t step out of the
house without looking like something out of a magazine. Her nails
were always manicured and her toes polished, even if she wasn't
planning on displaying them. She never wore sweats, even to the gym
and I didn’t even know she owned a t-shirt. Makeup was a ‘duh’ kind
of thing and on the rare occasion she wore ponytails, she turned a
“I don’t care today” kind of hairstyle into something glossy and
chic. My best friend, easily the most coifed and stylish person I’d
ever seen, looked like a mere mortal--which meant something had
gone horribly wrong.
My mind shot to Mrs. Reynolds. “Is your mom
okay? Your dad? “ He was technically her step dad, but she was
closer to him than the man she not-so-affectionately called the
Sperm Donor.
She shook her head. “This isn’t because of
them.” Even red and swollen she managed to give me a pretty
impressive eye roll. “This is because of
you
.”
“Because of me?” It came out louder than I
intended and in the silence just after, the library assistant
rounded the corner, making sure to give me a look said, “SHH!”. I
scowled at her but lowered my voice a couple of notches. “You’re
saying you look like someone died because of me?”
I hoped that the “d” word would give her some
perspective but there was no such luck. She held onto her pissed
off expression for dear life.
“My mother served up a colossal dish of
World’s Worst Best Friend, Daughter, and Host after the two of you
left. I ate two
whole
pieces of quiche and a slice of
chocolate cake just to get her to shut up about it, then I had to
get on the treadmill for two hours because I felt so guilty.”
“You felt guilty about
that
?” I said
pointedly. “Not disrespecting me, my date, and threatening to get
him fired?”
“And I only got like, three hours of sleep,”
she blasted on, not even acknowledging what I said. “Three hours of
sleep, Cass.”
“How tragic for you.” I turned back to my
book. “Take care.”
“Take care?” she hissed. “That’s all you have
to say?”
I let out a bitter laugh, staring up at her
like she was a petulant child. “Are you being serious right now?”
She opened her mouth to say something smart no doubt, but I just
shooed her away with a hand. “I’ve got homework. Someone else will
have to listen to the sad tale of your life.”
“So you’re not apologizing then.”
I started highlighting random things, trying
to look busy and nonchalant instead of listening and getting
angrier by the second. “I’m not the one who owes the apology.”
She leaned in closer, a rough looking french
tip nail pointing at the text page. “I thought the whole point of
highlighting was to focus on the ‘highlights’--not mark up
everything.”
I readied a retort but blinked, my eyes
widening in horror as I looked at what I’d done. The whole entire
section glowed neon. I flipped the page and kept reading, putting
aside the highlighter before I did anymore damage. “I don’t need
your help studying.”
“But you obviously need it in other areas.”
She paused. “Like romance, for instance.”
I tightened the hand in my lap to keep from
screaming in frustration. When I met Alicia, I thought her
stubbornness was endearing. I needed the dose of drill
sergeant-ness, someone that had a goal and would not budge, would
not stop, until that goal was achieved. It was clear that her
current goal was to hear me say that I was wrong and she was right
and there wasn’t a damn thing endearing about that. “Please just
go.”
“Not until you understand that I’m trying to
be a friend here,” she insisted. She was rooted in place and I had
no doubt that she wouldn’t move from that spot, but I begged her
anyway.
“Please, Alicia,” I implored, massaging my
temple. “I don’t want to get into it right now.”
“Nope.”
The rumble of someone clearing their throat
drew our attention elsewhere and we both turned our heads toward
the sound. The library assistant stood a few feet away, her mousy
features narrowed in displeasure as she glared at us.
“Do I need to call campus security?”
I looked at Alicia, then back at the woman
who honestly looked like nothing would make her happier.
“Really?” Alicia whispered heatedly. “You
have to think about it?”
“No,” I told the assistant with a placating
smile. “We’ll keep it down.”
“Good,” the woman said sternly. “This is a
library.”
We watched her saunter away, waiting until
she disappeared into the stairwell before eyeballing each
other.
Neither one of us blinked, waiting for the
other to back down. I half expected a tumblewood to blow across the
aisle behind Alicia. I took in her puffy features, the adamant set
of her jaw, her chest heaving up and down, and her nostrils
flaring. I pictured Mrs. Reynolds laying on the guilt like icing on
a cake and Alicia angrily stuffing food in her mouth. I saw my
friend’s tennis shoes slapping the belt of the treadmill as she
tried to run from her guilty conscience. I relaxed a little,
realizing that maybe it needed to be said, even though I thought it
was obvious. Her guilt wasn’t because she indulged. Somewhere, in
the cracked wall she built that kept her from forgiving Chance(or
me for letting him back in), she felt guilty for the way she
acted.
“You were rude to Chance.”
She reared back in surprise, clearly
expecting something more along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’.
“Regardless of my history with Chance,” I
said, “You were rude to him.”
She recovered, shrugging a shoulder. “So
what?”
“You were rude,” I repeated, trying to drill
the point home. “Do you know what it took for him to even agree to
go to that dinner? Knowing he had to face my best friend and mother
and the reminder of what a horrible person he was?”
“Is,” she growled. “What a horrible person he
is
. Once a cheater and a horrible person, always a cheater
and a horrible person.”
“No,” I shook my head. “He won’t do it again.
And I made the decision to forgive him.”
“And as your friend-”
“As my friend, my
best
friend,” I
emphasized, “You should have asked me why I forgave him.”
She hesitated, like she missed some step,
some bullet point in the instructions. Still not admitting fault,
she went to the neighboring cubicle and brought over an empty
chair. She plopped down, crossed her legs, and raised her chin.
“Alright. Why did you forgive him?”
I closed my textbook, my fingers glossing
over the sleek cover. It was brand spanking new, same as all of my
textbooks. Shiny. Perfect. Just like Chance and I were.
“When I first saw Chance, I knew he was
something special. Before he even looked up and noticed I was
watching him, before we even said a word to one another, I felt a
stirring inside of me.”
Alicia made a face.
“Not in any sexual way, Perv,” I laughed.
“But it was like this current. Like my body was telling me to take
notice. That he was important.”
“And then you talked and lived happily ever
after,” she cut in snidely. “Oh wait, I know the ending to this
story.”
Her vitriol like sandpaper against my skin
but instead of getting into another argument, I swallowed the
anger. I had to get this all out and make her really, truly
understand. “You’re right. I thought he hung the freaking moon. He
was nothing like the guys I knew, nothing like anyone I had ever
met and I didn’t see any faults. He was perfect.
We
were
perfect. Which is why when he told me he was a Dom, I couldn’t
handle it. Instead of hearing what he said, all I heard was noise.
I only heard that we weren't perfect and I wasn’t enough--”
Alicia held up a hand. “Are we veering into
victim blaming territory? Because if you start talking about how
his cheating was your fault--”