Chapter 9 Lia
LIA
Iwake with a jolt, heart hammering against my ribs. The unfamiliar weight of an arm drapes across my waist, and for one disorienting moment, I can't remember where I am. Then it all rushes back—Vane, prom, the sex.
Oh god. The sex.
The red glow of his alarm clock reads four thirty-seven AM. Vane's breathing is deep and even behind me, his chest rising and falling against my back. I carefully slide out from under his arm, wincing as my body protests. I'm sore in places I didn't know could be sore.
What the hell was I thinking?
I gather my scattered clothes in the dim light, pulling them on as quietly as possible. My prom dress feels ridiculous now, like I'm wearing a costume from another life. I stuff my torn underwear into my clutch, shame burning through me.
I find my shoes by the door and carry them with me. The apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator as I let myself out, carefully turning the lock on the doorknob before pulling it closed.
Outside, the early morning air hits my face, sobering and cold. I pull up Google Maps on my phone—there's a 24-hour Walgreens about ten blocks away.
The pharmacist barely looks at me when I approach the counter, but I still feel like everyone can see what I've done written all over my face.
“I need the morning-after pill,” I whisper, unable to meet her eyes.
She looks up then, her expression softening. “First time?” She asks gently.
I nod, blinking back tears.
“It happens, honey,” she says, reaching for a small box. “Take it as soon as possible with some food. Might make you feel a little nauseous, that's normal.” She rings it up and slides it into a small bag. “There are instructions inside. You'll be okay.”
Her kindness almost breaks me.
I swallow the pill with a bottle of water and a candy bar outside the store, then start the long walk home. The sky is just beginning to lighten, streetlights still glowing against the pale blue. By the time I reach my house, my feet are blistered from walking in my prom shoes.
I take off my shoes and climb the oak tree outside my window with ease—a skill from middle school sneaking out that I never thought I'd use again. My window slides open silently, and I drop onto my bedroom floor with a soft thud.
I peel off my prom dress, wincing as the zipper catches on my hair. The expensive fabric pools at my feet like a deflated dream.
In the bathroom, I turn the shower as hot as I can stand it.
Steam fills the small space as I step under the spray, scrubbing until my skin turns pink.
The water can't wash away what happened.
Still, at least it rinses off the physical evidence—the smell of his cologne, the stickiness between my thighs.
My reflection in the fogged mirror looks different in some way. Same amber eyes, same face I've always had, but there’s a change. I trace the faint mark on my collarbone where Vane's mouth had been particularly enthusiastic.
“Shit,” I whisper, pressing my fingers against it.
I pull on an oversized T-shirt and shorts, collapsing onto my bed. My phone buzzes from inside my clutch. I ignore it, knowing it's probably Vane wondering where I went. Or worse, asking if I enjoyed myself.
Did I?
The question loops in my mind as I stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling—relics from middle school I never bothered to remove. Last night had been intense, overwhelming. Vane knew exactly what he was doing, and my body had responded embarrassingly fast to his touch.
But now, in the harsh light of morning, all I feel is confusion and a gnawing sense of regret. Not because it was bad, but because it was good—better than I'd imagined—and I'm not sure what that means.
My phone buzzes again. I groan, reaching for my clutch and fishing it out.
Three messages from Vane:
Where'd you go?
Seriously, Lia?
At least let me know you're safe.
I toss the phone onto my nightstand without responding. What could I possibly say?
I stare at the ceiling, my heart hammering in my chest. What was I thinking? I'm Lia Morgan. I've never gotten less than an A- in my life. I'm the girl who organizes study groups and volunteers at the animal shelter on weekends.
I am not the girl who sleeps with Vane Blackwood.
My phone buzzes again, making me jump. Another text from him. I grab it, my finger hovering over the notification.
At least tell me you're okay.
A wave of panic crashes over me. I can't do this—whatever this is. Last night was a mistake. A moment of weakness. A temporary insanity that cannot, under any circumstances, become something more.
Three more weeks. That's all I have to get through until graduation. Then I'm off to Columbia’s summer program for incoming freshmen. I've worked too hard for too long to let some guy—especially one like Vane—derail everything.
I take a deep breath and type a reply.
I'm fine. Don't contact me again.
My thumb hovers over the send button. It sounds harsh, even for me. But I need to be clear. No ambiguity. No room for interpretation.
I hit send.
Almost immediately, the typing dots appear. I quickly silence my phone and shove it under my pillow. I'm not in a position to deal with his response right now.
Three weeks. I just need to avoid him for three weeks. We only have chemistry together, and I'll beg one of the other students to switch lab partners with me. I'll skip debate club meetings. I'll eat lunch in the library. I'll be fine.
I pull the covers over my head, trying to block out the memory of his hands on my body, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
My phone vibrates under my pillow. I ignore it.
Three weeks. I can do this.
I stare at the ceiling, my breathing finally slowing as exhaustion creeps in.
This isn't me. I don't do impulsive. Every aspect of my life runs according to plan—color-coded planner, meticulous study schedules, college applications submitted months before deadlines.
Even my room screams order, with books alphabetized and clothes sorted by color and season.
Control isn't just something I like—it's who I am.
But last night... last night I surrendered it all.
The memory hits me in flashes: Vane's hands in my hair, the way I arched into him without hesitation, how I begged—actually begged—for more.
My cheeks burn. I let him take charge completely, following his lead like I'd forgotten every boundary I'd ever set.
My perfectly organized life had spiraled into chaos in a single night, and I'd welcomed it.
I grab my planner from my nightstand, flipping to today's date. The neatly written tasks mock me—study for AP Government, email Mrs. Chen about a recommendation letter, and confirm summer program housing. Normal, controlled, responsible Lia things.
Where exactly does recovering from losing virginity to Vane Blackwood fit into that schedule?
My fingers trace the precise handwriting on the page. This is who I am—not the girl who threw caution to the wind last night, who let herself be completely vulnerable, who surrendered control so willingly.
I need to get back on track. I need to reclaim the reins of my life before last night's momentary lapse becomes something more permanent. Because the scariest part isn't that I lost control.
It's that for those hours with Vane, I didn't miss it at all.