Erin
A few days after the Alpha Sigma concert, I turn twenty-one almost silently and without fuss — exactly how I want it.
My sorority sisters bake me an adorable pink cake with white, polka-dot frosting, and my parents call me to let me know they’ve wired some birthday money into my account, but other than that, it’s a normal Monday.
It’s perfect.
Around nine, I’m just about to take off my makeup and pull out my planner to see what Tuesday has in store when my phone lights up with a text from Skyler.
- SOS. I know it’s your birthday but I need you. Can you throw on something cute and come to Ralph’s? -
I groan, thumbing out a polite “no” as fast as I can, but before I can send it, another one from her comes through.
- Please. It’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask you to come if it wasn’t. -
This time I groan louder, but I know I can’t leave my Little hanging. She’s pretty self-sufficient, even when she has boy or family drama going on, so the fact that she’s asking for me tells me she really does need someone.
I send a text back telling her to give me twenty minutes, rummaging through my clothes hamper to pull out the same dress I’d worn all day. It’s a little too pink for Ralph’s, but I don’t feel like putting together another outfit, so it’ll do.
When my makeup is touched up and my hair is re-straightened, I grab my phone and purse and head downstairs. The house is surprisingly quiet, only a few sisters studying silently in our small house library, and I wave at them on my way out the door.
There are usually cabs waiting all along Greek Row on the weekends to shuttle students to Ralph’s and other off-campus bars, but since it’s a Monday, I have to call one, and I wait patiently at the pickup point at the end of the road, going through social media on my phone as I wait.
I glance up when a cab from a different company than the one I ordered pulls up, dropping three tipsy students off before it pulls away again. Two of them stagger toward Greek Row, but the other stands completely frozen, eyes on me.
“Erin?”
I squint through the darkness, and when he takes two steps toward me and the light from the street light catches his face, my entire body goes into fight or flight mode.
The hair on my arms sticks straight up, a chill racing from my heart to my toes as my pulse races to catch it.
I want to run. I want to knee him in the balls.
But more than anything, I don’t want to do either of those things.
Because the last thing I want to give him is the satisfaction of knowing he’s had any kind of effect on me at all.
“Oh, hi, Landon,” I say casually, dropping my gaze back to my phone and pretending like I’m typing out a status update.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Can’t believe we’re running into each other,” he offers with a laugh that makes me want to grind my teeth and punch him in the mouth all at once. “How was your summer?”
“Fine.”
Every inch of me squirms the closer he moves toward me, and a small part of me dares him to try something. I took self-defense classes all summer long and I’m dying to use them on him if he even so much as puts a pinky finger on me.
“Hey, look, I’m actually glad I ran into you.
I wanted to thank you,” he says, and I pause, fingers still hovering over my phone.
“For being cool about what happened that night of formal. We were all so drunk,” he adds with a laugh.
A fucking laugh. “And it just got a little crazy. I appreciate you not being dramatic about it and causing more trouble than there needed to be.”
Nausea rolls through me like a bad shot of alcohol, burning its way down my throat and back up again as I fight against it. My blood is cold, hands shaking as I grip my phone harder.
How fucking dare he.
The urge to send my knee flying into his groin and break his nose is almost too strong to contain now, but I use everything my mother taught me and do just that, settling for a sinister laugh of my own before tucking my phone away inside my purse just as my cab pulls up.
I step toward him, looking straight into his eyes, which makes him take a full step back.
“No worries. Your dick is so small, I barely felt anything, anyway.”
His smile drops, and I blow him a kiss and wave my fingers in his face before dipping inside the back of the cab.
“Ralph’s,” I say to the driver, and then I nearly pass out, black and white spots invading my vision as I press one clammy hand hard against my forehead.
I focus on my breathing, inhaling for eight seconds before holding the breath and letting it go even slower.
I knew I would eventually run into Landon, but the way he just acted — so casual, like what happened didn’t matter — it hurt worse than if he were cruel about it.
The farther we drive away, the harder it gets to breathe. I just want to go home, to my bed, but then I hear my mom’s voice telling me to be strong, to not let that fucker get even one ounce of power from my emotions.
He hurt me, and now I want revenge.
In the back of this cab, I vow that I’ll get it this semester. I don’t know how, or when, but I will. And until then, I’ll remind him every chance I get that what he did to me doesn’t change who I am.
But even lies with intentions to heal are still lies.
My heart’s still racing when the cab drops me off, and I walk as best I can with my ankles still shaking as I make my way to the entrance.
Before I can tug the door open, Clinton flies out it, ushering me to the side of the building while casting a look over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t seen.
“Uh, hi to you, too, Bear. Care to tell me why you’re blocking my entrance to Ralph’s and sneaking around like a 007 agent?”
“Skyler doesn’t need you,” he says. “There’s a surprise party inside. For your birthday.”
My racing heart stops altogether at his words, deflating like a balloon as I cover my face with one hand and groan. “No. No, no, no, I don’t want a party.”
“I know. I know, that’s why I stopped you before you went in. I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed.”
He’s dressed in a bright orange polo and dark jeans, his sneakers matching his shirt, and a flat-billed hat finishing off the look.
His cologne is strong and sweet, making me want to curl into him, my body reacting to the way his large arms nearly burst out of his sleeves before I can remind myself why that’s a stupid reaction to have.
“Look,” he says, bending down a little to catch my eyes with his. His hands find my arms and he steadies me, squeezing them gently. “Just pop in, act surprised, stay for a drink and then you can fake sick and I’ll take you home, okay?”
“No,” I say automatically. Ten minutes ago, I could have done what he was asking, but after running into Landon, just standing on my own is taking everything I have. “I can’t.”
“Come on,” he urges. “Your sisters planned this for you. It’s your twenty-first birthday, Erin. Just have a drink and—”
“I DON’T WANT A DRINK!” I scream, breaking loose from his hold on me. “That last time I drank I was fucking raped, Bear,” I remind him, my voice cracking on the word as tears threaten to break. I hold them back, not wanting to let the pain out. “And the time before that, I…”
My voice trails off, realizing what I was about to say, but Clinton doesn’t let it go.
“You what? Slept with me?”
I shake my head, biting back the tears and wishing I could tell him it’s so much more than that. If he only knew what happened after, he would understand.
But it would also kill him.
And he doesn’t deserve that.
He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest with his eyes on the parking lot behind me. “Fine. Just leave. I’ll tell them you got food poisoning and you were throwing up the minute the cab dropped you off so I sent you back.”
I nod, glancing at him with the only thank you I have in my eyes. I can’t say another word, and he doesn’t ask for one, just sighs and shakes his head as he starts toward the entrance again. I take out my phone to call the cab back, but before I can dial the number, his voice stops me.
“I know what happened that night, Erin. I was there. I saw it,” he reminds me, his voice the shaky one now.
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m pushing.
You may have toughened your skin over the summer and shoved all your feelings on it down into some box with a bolted lid, but one day that lid is going to pop off from the pressure, and I just want you to know you have someone to go to when it does. ”
His words are like numbing cream, drying up my tears as I hold the phone to my ear to order another cab and he disappears inside again without another look from me.
He may believe he’s right, but I can’t — because going through the pain of opening that box again would be more than I could handle.
It would kill me, and I’m not ready to die.
So, as I climb into the back of the new cab, I seal the box shut a little tighter, add a few more bolts, and swallow back the tears I never want to let fall again.
Maybe someone can see my scars, after all.