Chapter 16
“So, tell me everything.”
I let out a groan, knowing I can’t keep dodging the topic forever.
Tracy and I are at our favorite little hole-in-the wall dive bar. From the outside, it looks like a dump. And the inside doesn’t look much better, if I’m being honest. But they have top-notch cocktails, and some of the best small plates. We’ve already devoured half their menu, each picking three things we want and splitting them.
I’ve already grilled Tracy about every aspect of her trip to Europe, made her fill me in on all the details of the housewarming party, and even managed to waste a little time discussing the weather.
The weather.
But there’s no more avoiding it at this point. I shift in my seat at our booth, fingers toying with the straw wrapper I’ve shredded to bits.
“It’s complicated,” I say, grabbing my water and chugging the last of it down.
I’ve had two drinks over the course of the last hour and a half, and now I”m chugging water by the glass, trying to get it out of my system. The downside to living in the middle of nowhere: I can’t exactly call a cab to get home anymore.
“Ughhh, Riley,” she says, exasperated. “I know this already, but you have to give me something.” She reaches up and pulls the ponytail from her hair, the long blonde strands falling around her shoulders in waves.
I’m envious of it. How she can have her hair up all day, and the second she lets it down, boom, magical beachy waves. The second I let my hair down after having it in a ponytail, I’ve got a massive kink that travels all the way around my head and I look like a fricken mushroom.
“Have you had sex yet?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair and getting out the knots.
I give her a pointed look.
She laughs, grabbing her drink and taking a long sip. “That look either means you did, and it was terrible, or you haven’t yet.” She pulls the little red straw from her glass and points it at me. “I’m going with the latter, because that man looks like he fucks like a god.” She fans herself dramatically with a napkin. “I bet he’s the type that just goes all night long until your legs don’t even work anymore.”
“Trace,” I sigh. “Would you be serious for a second?”
This thing with Emmett is driving me absolutely mad, and as much as I love Tracy and her fun personality, I need her to take me seriously. Because I’m so damn confused when it comes to him, and I don’t know how to make sense of anything anymore.
She straightens immediately, leaning into the table to say softly, “Just tell me. I can already see how torn up he has you. Tell me what’s going on.”
I can feel my eyes misting, and Tracy reaches across the table to grab my hands. Her thumbs rub soothing circles on my skin, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to get it together.
I hate that even when he’s not around, he has my emotions all over the place.
“I’m just so confused,” I finally admit. “I don’t even know how to wrap my head around what’s going on between Emmett and I.”
Tracy says nothing, just gives my hands a squeeze and waits for me to go on. I let out a shuddering breath and squeeze her hands back, silently letting her know I appreciate her.
“You know how with Trevor, everything just seemed so perfect at first?” She nods. “Well, Emmett’s the exact opposite. There’s so many reasons I should avoid him. That man’s a walking red flag.”
“But you still like him.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t even know,” I admit. “He makes me feel alive and excited and… there’s this desire that I’ve never felt for anyone else before and it scares the shit out of me.”
“So, what’s holding you back?”
I give her a meaningful look. “After closing, he wouldn’t give me my house keys until I let him go down on me.”
She tries to hide her grin and fails. Miserably. “Did he at least make you come?” she asks with a sparkle in her eye.
“That’s not the point,” I huff out. “The point is, he’s manipulative. The man is used to getting what he wants, regardless of the consequences.”
Realization dawns on her. “And you’re afraid it’s going to turn out the same as it did with Trevor.”
I nod, and Tracy considers me for a moment. I can see her trying to figure out how she wants to word what comes next.
“I’m not saying one way or another what you should do,” she starts. “And I’ll support whatever decision you make. But you have to talk to him, Riley. If you think you might actually like him, just tell him you’re not okay with him doing things like that. Either he respects that or he doesn’t.”
She makes it sound so simple. So easy.
“But,” she continues. “You also can’t let what happened with Trevor hold you back. Trevor was a piece of shit. But Emmett’s not him, Riley. Don’t let your past experience prevent you from ever being with someone again.” Then, more firmly, she adds, “Don’t let Trevor hold that kind of power over you.”
She’s right. Everything she says is right. But I’m afraid to admit to her what scares me the most. What I haven’t even been willing to admit to myself yet. Because what kind of person does it make me? What kind of pathetic woman would I be to admit what has truly been eating at me?
Tracy must sense I’m not telling her everything, because she pulls her hands back and crosses them over her chest. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asks, eyebrow raised in question.
It’s like the woman has a direct link to my brain at this point. Or I’m terrible at hiding my emotions. Either way, I’m not sure if I should be grateful or worried that she can read me like a book. On the one hand, she knows when I need something but am too afraid to speak up. But on the other, I can’t hide a thing from her.
I give her a self-deprecating laugh, looking out the window by our booth into the dark alley. “I don’t even want to tell you.”
“Nothing you say would make me think less of you,” she says, and I look back to see the empathy on her face. I honestly don’t know what I did in life to deserve to have her as a friend.
Exhaling harshly through my nose, I finally say the words out loud. The words I didn’t even dare to string together in my own mind. “I think I like it.”
“What?” she asks, looking at me curiously.
I look back out the window, unable to make eye contact with her as I bare my soul. “I think I like it when he controls me. When we’re fooling around.”
She shrugs. “So you like being submissive in the bedroom. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of women like it.”
I risk a glance at her, shame heating my face. “But after what Trevor did—”
“Trevor wasn’t dominant, Riley,” she cuts me off. “Trevor was abusive. There’s a difference.”
I can’t figure out how to parcel out how I’m feeling, but I try. “But it feels… wrong? Like my brain and my body aren’t on the same page. After everything I’ve been through, I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t want someone who forces me to do things.”
“Is he forcing you, though?” Tracy asks. “If you want it and consent to it, he’s not actually forcing you, is he?”
I don’t respond, considering her words. I never told him yes. Because I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Of giving him that win that he so desperately seems to want. But I also didn’t exactly tell him to stop. And we both know I enjoy it. That every time he touches me, my body responds with a burning need.
“Oh my god, you did consent, right? He didn’t actually force himself on you?” she rushes out at my silence, alarm all over her face.
“No! No, he didn’t. I wanted it. But—”
“But what? There are no buts here. You either consent or don’t. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to relinquish control in the bedroom. And it’s okay that it turns you on. Because you want it. With Emmett.”
She sighs, leaning forward into the table before continuing. “The reason you’re so conflicted is because when Trevor—” she looks down at her lap, struggling to get the words out. “When Trevor forced you,” she makes air quotes around the word, “you didn’t want it. It was rape, Riley. So your mind is confusing it with Emmett dominating you. That’s why you’re feeling so ashamed, and why you’re having a hard time accepting that it’s okay to want it.”
I know she’s right. Logically, everything she says makes sense. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. And I’m not sure if it’s fear or shame or something else that’s making it so hard to accept, but it still puts knots in my stomach that I’m so eager for Emmett to treat me the way he does. That my body craves every little speck of attention it can get from him, while the rest of me is trying to put distance between us.
Especially when I still can’t figure out his end game. And I know for certain it would absolutely break me if he used me and tossed me aside. But at the same time, I don’t even know what I want from him.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that he’s an arrogant, manipulative asshole,” I tell Tracy, trying to lighten the mood.
“Well, I am dying to meet him on Saturday, then. You really know how to talk a person up.”
We both burst out laughing, and even though it still feels like I don’t have anything figured out, I’m at least grateful I have Tracy. That no matter what, she’ll support me and fight for me. And that’s more than I can say about anyone else I’ve ever had in my life.
It’s late by the time I finally turn down my driveway. Tracy and I ended up ordering dessert, and before I knew it, another hour had passed. I was half tempted to crash at her place, but decided against it, wanting to sleep in my own bed.
It’s odd how a person’s predilections change over time, but ultimately stay very much the same. When I was growing up, I hated sleepovers, always preferring being at home. I don’t think I really knew why at the time. Both my parents were largely absent, so it’s not like I wanted to be home with them. But in hindsight, I realize that was the appeal of it. I could just be and not have to worry about anyone else. I remember spending endless days locked in my room during the summers, only leaving to make myself peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I’d go days without seeing anyone, and I loved every second of it.
To some, that existence would be lonely. But to me, it was paradise. It was where I felt most at home. Just me, my bed, and whatever my mind wanted to do that day. No one to answer to. No one to judge me. No one to bother me. No one to tell me what to do.
But after I left Trevor, I couldn’t stand sleeping in the same place for long. Where I once used to take solace in having my own space to return to each day, I then found nothing but terror in it. I was constantly itching to run, to be somewhere new. As if I could outrun everything that haunted me. That maybe, if I just kept going, eventually his memory would get left behind and I’d find some semblance of peace again.
Turns out that’s not how it works.
And once I finally grasped that, and Tracy convinced me to stick around and quit running, I found myself reverting back to how I used to be when I was younger. Seeking comfort in my own space. Creating a little safe haven that was all mine.
So now here I am, back to wanting nothing more than to sleep in my own bed. To return to my little nest of solace.
The best indicator of future behavior is past behavior, Riley.
Maybe Emmett was right after all. Maybe humans don’t really change all that much over the course of their lives. Maybe the behaviors we learn growing up are ultimately the ones that end up sticking with us.
Or maybe I’m just reading too much into my sleeping habits.
Pulling up to my house, I park the Audi and make my way up the front porch steps. When I get to the top, I pause. There’s a bouquet of roses in a glass vase sitting in front of the door. My eyes make a quick scan of my surroundings, as if whoever left them there might still be lingering nearby.
Of course, there’s no one there.
Grabbing the bouquet, I head inside, turning on the lights as I go, and set them on the kitchen counter. They’re gorgeous, and I can’t help the smile that finds my lips.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve gotten flowers in my life, and they’ve all been from Tracy. Trevor was never the flower type, saying he didn’t see the point when they would just die. Which is funny, because he loved giving me gifts. It was one of the reasons I was so smitten with him at first. No one had ever spoiled me like he did.
I lean forward to smell the bouquet, its sweet scent reminding me of summer days and carefree nights. There has to be at least three dozen red roses with little sprigs of baby’s breath placed beautifully throughout. I turn the vase, searching for a card, but don’t find one. Not that it matters. I know exactly who they’re from.
Sliding off my shoes, I grab my phone and head upstairs to shower, texting Tracy as I go.
Me: Thank you for the flowers. They are gorgeous
Tossing my phone on the bed, I strip off my clothes and head into the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. By the time I finish and slide into bed, there are a couple of texts from Tracy.
Tracy:I’m glad you like them, but I didn’t send them lol
Tracy:Maybe it was Emmett ;)
My stomach does a flip. Part of me wants that to be true–that Emmett cared enough about me to surprise me with flowers. Because that means I’m on his mind. That he’s thinking about me and not just because he wants something. But part of me fears they’re not from him. That his attraction to me doesn’t extend beyond anything sexual. That he’s just enjoying fooling around with me until he tires of it.
I don’t reach out to him. Not ready to open myself to the hurt I’m afraid his answer will bring.