Chapter 18 – Leslie
Iwas a mess. More than usual, even.
It had been a week since I’d seen Mason, and even though I was pissed at him, I couldn’t stop dreaming about the fucking asshole. Couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d felt inside me, urging me toward bliss I couldn’t have imagined. I hated him, but I wanted that feeling back, and I couldn’t get there with my own hand.
It was more than the sex. I’d played the Mulan soundtrack over and over, like it would bring back that feeling of safety and joy I’d had when he’d hummed “A Girl Worth Fighting For” to me in his low, husky baritone.
It didn’t. He’d ruined Disney for me.
My phone taunted me every night. I’d open the text message between us, only to close it and throw my phone across my bed as if it had burned me. I’d expected him to text me, or find me, or something, but it was like he’d actually listened when I’d told him to stay away.
And I missed the stupid fucker.
Maybe he had lied. Maybe I didn’t matter to him at all. And wasn’t that a mind-fuck, realizing that I wanted to matter to him, after everything he’d done?
I kept trying to tell myself it was for the best. There was no way I could have a relationship with someone so cruel. And I couldn’t be with my stepbrother, it would kill my mother, his father, and we’d never be able to show our faces at home. It was too embarrassing, shameful even.
So then why did I want it so badly? I lay awake at night in bed, thinking of the way he’d felt, around me, inside me, on top of me, and I wanted him back. I tried to get off, but all I could see was him, and it was like now that my pussy had had the real thing, she didn’t want my hand as a consolation prize.
I wanted Mason. But I couldn’t have him, or be with him, and it was pretty obvious that even though he was pissed at me, he was fine with moving on and going back to torturing me.
I was not looking forward to class this morning, either, knowing he’d be there, but maybe it would be okay if he sat somewhere else and ignored me.
I stumbled my way into the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I didn’t even have time for a shower, and I hoped my hair wouldn’t look too awful if I pulled it into a top knot.
“You look wrecked,” Lucy greeted me in front of the sinks, same as last time.
“I feel wrecked,” I told her, handing her her shower caddie. “Do I want to know how you’ve been brushing your teeth?”
She waved me off. “I have an extra. Besides, we’re focusing on you. Does the feeling wrecked have anything to do with Mr. Hottie who left your room the other morning? I saw what happened in the cafeteria the other day. That was brutal.” She shuddered in commiseration.
“It was. Are you trying to rub it in my face?” I didn’t have the time or energy for coy pleasantries today.
She put her hands up. “Hey, hey, I’m on your side. I want to be your friend. I was observing that things looked bad between the two of you. I’m sorry.”
I sighed. “It’s not bad… or it is bad…it’s confusing. I’m confused.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m running late to class, and besides…” I trailed off. I desperately needed a friend to talk to, but telling a stranger I’d just lost my virginity to my stepbrother was not on the list of things I wanted to do today, or ever.
“How about we hang out in my room later, drink tequila, and you can tell me what’s going on? I’m telling you, I’m deeply curious. Whatever it is, it looks messy and you probably need someone to vent to so we can swear off men forever together, right?”
I laughed, then glanced at my phone. “Shit, I’ve got to go.” I brushed my teeth, threw my hair up into something resembling a top knot, and ran out of the bathroom.
“Room 309! Don’t forget!” she called after me.
I stoppedat the cafeteria to grab a quick breakfast, alone, like I had for the past week. And, just like I had for the past week, I could barely chew and swallow a banana, much less anything more substantial. Between the anxiety from Mason’s silence, and the shame that swirled in my head every morning after dreaming about him the night before, I felt too nauseous to be able to eat. It was affecting my energy and mood and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide under the covers.
That said, I forced myself to eat a banana and two bites of toast. As I chewed, I felt eyes on my back. I turned. Mason sat with Emory and his other friends. Emily was nowhere in sight. His intense, almost warm look turned into a glare as he took in my cafeteria tray.
Yeah, that was it. If he wasn’t going to talk to me but just glare at me from afar, for no discernible reason, then I was getting out of here. Besides, I didn’t want to be late for our class.
I foundan empty row of seats, wanting to be alone with my thoughts. No luck; Dan joined me immediately.
“You okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
I pasted a smile on my face. “Fine!” I chirped.
“Okay….” he said, clearly not believing me. “By the way, your stepbrother is watching us.”
Of course he was.
My phone buzzed.
I expected it to be something along the lines of… stop talking to other men, so I was surprised when it read, Are you eating?
My practically empty stomach churned. He saw me too clearly.
I ignored the text, focusing on what Professor Evans was saying about The Scarlet Letter—specifically the way female desire was both demonized, and how women were equally infantilized and vilified when it came to sex…at least in the book.
I knew something about that, didn’t I? I’d had no agency the other night, and I felt vilified for how much I wanted Mason. Although, who was vilifying me? Mason certainly wasn’t …In fact, he’d done the opposite: taking responsibility for what had happened the night he drugged me, demanding I not shame myself for wanting him or for what was happening between us.
Iwas vilifying myself.
And while he’d completely taken away my choice that night, and I couldn’t control the fact that I wanted him, I got to decide what I did next.
I didn’t have an answer to that, and unfortunately as class went on, I began to feel weak and had a harder time focusing on the discussion. I didn’t even notice when Professor Evans dismissed the class.
“Ms. Berger?” Professor Evans stood over me, a worried expression on her young face.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“You don’t seem okay.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just need to get home. Sorry I was so quiet in…class today. Sleeping poorly.”
“Mmhmm,” she said. “I think?—”
“I’ve got this,” a low voice said. “Leslie, what’s going on?”
Mason crouched next to my desk, a hand on my thigh as he looked into my eyes.
“I’m fine,” I said again, stronger this time. “I need to go, though.”
“Okay, then stand up,” he said. “Let’s see how ‘fine’ you are.”
He and the professor exchanged a look, and then he stood and both backed up to let me up. I slid out from my desk and I must have risen too quickly because I immediately felt dizzy and stumbled. And I would’ve fallen, if it weren’t for Mason. The moment I lost my balance, he was there, scooping me up into his arms.
“You don’t have to carry me,” I protested weakly, even as I was distracted by the safety of his strong arms. I didn’t trust him, but I knew he’d die before he’d drop me.
That didn’t make him any less of a bossy asshole.
“You aren’t in a position to tell me what to do,” he told me firmly. “You obviously can’t walk right now, probably because you barely ate this morning.”
“Try the past week,” I muttered.
He growled. “We’ll be talking about that.” To the professor he said, “Can you hand me her bag? I’m going to get her home and get some food in her. Make sure she rests.”
“Of course.” Professor Evans grabbed up my bag and handed it to Mason, who slung it over his shoulder like it was nothing. “Will you let me know how she’s doing?”
“I’m fine,” I said again, squirming.
He squeezed my thigh in reprimand. “I’ll keep you updated,” he told her.
“Feel better, Ms. Berger,” Professor Evans said, winking at me.
And with that, he carried me out of the classroom and building, ignoring the eyes and whispers on us.
“This is embarrassing,” I complained.
“You should think of that the next time you decide to go on a hunger strike,” he said as he walked, being careful not to jostle me. “Besides, I like having you in my arms—but next time it better be under better circumstances.”
“What, she can’t even walk on her own two feet now?” I heard a high female voice ask, and craned my neck.
And I’ll admit, I took some satisfaction in seeing Emily with a hand on her hip, looking hugely put out by Mason carrying me.
Mason glared at her. “Emily, fuck the hell off.” Ignoring her gasp of outrage, he lifted me higher in his arms and placing a light kiss on my forehead. “You can close your eyes, butterfly. You’re safe…for now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I yawned, suddenly feeling very tired.
“It means that bad girls who don’t take care of themselves get punished by their Daddy. Part of the whole care and protect package. Now shhh, I’ve got you.”
The words were oddly comforting, even as they spread heat through my abdomen. But the dizziness and exhaustion overwhelmed me, and as unbelievable as it sounds, I fell asleep in his arms as he carried me home.