Wild Thing

43. Forty-Three

Forty-Three

DYLAN

Tuesday

I don’t recommend experiencing two break-ups within a week.

It had barely been two days since my world had collapsed with Brax, but here I was again—back in White Point and about to destroy another relationship.

Even though I had mentally braced myself for this conversation, nothing could have prepared me for Zack’s reaction.

When Zack arrived at my apartment, I saw the shock on his face the moment he stepped through the door. There was no doubt I’d been the victim of violence.

My face was now an angry shade of purple, bruised and swollen, the deep gash on my hairline still raw, but in the first phase of healing.

At first, pain and concern filled his eyes as he rushed toward me. Without a word, he pulled me into his arms and held me.

Zack pulled back just enough to cradle my chin in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my skin as if trying to soothe me, but when he leaned in to kiss me, I turned away.

Hurt flashed across Zack’s face. I wondered if he thought it was because I couldn’t bear to be touched, not after what had happened with Steven.

But it wasn’t that.

“So what happened Dylan?” Zack’s voice was cautious, the beginnings of suspicion obvious.

We sat down at the dining table and I told him that Steven and I had been at the gala dinner, and then we had a couple of drinks at the hotel bar. I left out the part about why I’d been drowning my sorrows.

Instead, I focused on what happened next, telling him how Steven followed me to my room, how he claimed he wanted to make sure I got back to my room safely. That part still felt like a sick joke when I thought back to it.

I told him of the violence and the brutal reality of what almost happened. I detailed how Steven pushed me into my room, and how I’d fought back with everything I had in me. My chest tightened as I remembered how I’d screamed and begged for him to stop.

Zack’s face was a storm, his brows knitted together in fury, his jaw clenched so tightly that I thought it might snap.

I got to the part where Brax burst through the door. Zack's entire body went still.

“So if this, Brax guy, hadn't shown up," his voice was low. "Steven would have raped you.”

“Yes.”

“And who exactly is Brax?”

I let out a shaky breath.

Everything hinged on what I said next.

How much detail do I go into? How much torture did I want to put Zack through?

“My client’s builder,” I said, my words flat and detached.

Zack’s expression was one of relief. “Well, thank god he was there.”

I lowered my eyes and waited for him to figure it out.

It didn’t take long.

I raised my eyes to him. I watched his eyes narrow as he pieced everything together in real time.

"Why was he there? How did he get into your room?”

I lowered my eyes again. “He had a roomkey."

Zack went deathly still.

His voice was wary, as he whispered. “Why did he have a key to your room?”

It was time to fall on my sword. The guilt burned through my veins as I took a deep breath and began to reveal the whole chaotic situation.

From running into Brax, to the history we shared, to the joint work project, and then finally, the affair.

Zack’s expression was unreadable at first. He was still. Too still. I waited for him to say something. But nothing came. He dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his knees.

“Did you have sex with him?”

“What?” I wasn't expecting that question straight away. “That’s–”

Zack lifted his head sharply and looked at me with cold, dead eyes. “Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

“Zack, I–”

“It’s a fucking yes or no answer!”

I swallowed hard, knowing that there was no coming back from this. I owed him the truth. “Yes.”

"Yes, what?!"

I wasn't sure why he wanted to hear me say it. It felt twisted. I dropped my gaze to the floor and shook my head.

Zack stood angrily, and before I could protest, he grabbed me by the chin, forcing me to look up towards him and into his intense, furious stare. "I want to hear you fucking say it!"

My eyes darted from left to right. I inhaled a sharp breath.

"Okay," I held his stare. "I fucked him."

"More than once?"

I took another deep breath in and whispered. "Yes."

He let go of my chin and snatched his jacket that was draped over the chair. He stomped towards the door.

I called out after him.

“Zack! I’m sorry, Zack! This is not how I wanted this to end! Please, I–”

He stopped in his tracks.

He stiffened, slowly turning to face me. His eyes were raging with anger and disgust.

“Sorry? You’re a fucking liar, Dylan. The whole time you were away, you were telling me that you needed space to think about us and our future…all the while you were fucking your ex-boyfriend and supposedly getting sexually assaulted.”

“Supposedly?”

“Well, how do I know what’s real?” His eyes were slit as he questioned me. “You’re a liar. Maybe you just liked it rough.”

My jaw was wide open as his words struck me, like I’d been punched in the stomach. It killed me to think he'd think I'd lie about being sexually assaulted.

I swallowed a sob.

He turned back towards the door. His hand hovered on the door handle.

“I might love you right now,” he said, his voice jagged. “But one day I won’t.”

I sat there, numb, and waited for the final blow.

He paused, the final, cruel words hitting me harder than anything he had said before. “And when that day comes, I hope you think of what you did… and want to die.”

Zack didn’t wait for me to respond.

He left, but not before he slammed the door so hard the windows rattled. He left me sitting at my dining table, despondent and miserable.

I wondered if it was arrogant of me to have wished for forgiveness. To hope that, maybe, somehow, there was a part of him that could understand why I had done what I did.

Or maybe I was fucking crazy for even thinkng that.

Even though I had been suffocating in his control, Zack didn’t deserve the betrayal. He deserved to have the life he had always wanted. The stable, suburban dream.

Something he would never find with me. I was never going to be capable of giving him that.

And maybe, in some twisted way, I had known that from the start. But knowing it and feeling it were two different things.

Despite the ugliness of the conversation and finality of the breakup, there was something else I felt.

Relief.

It was done.

It was finally over.

The weight of the lies was gone.

I could start to heal and move on.