11. Trust Fall
Chelsea
I think I’m falling in trust with Trevor Matteny.
I wasn’t expecting it to be so easy with him, and at first, that made my guard go up. I wondered if I was slipping back into old habits and trusting too easily, but then I realized I wasn’t just handing over my trust. He earned it.
And while I’m incredibly grateful he continues to be respectful, I can also sense him holding back.
Like right now, as we stand in the middle of my kitchen, kissing. We came in here to get hot cocoa, but then he smiled at me and ruffled his hair… and here we are.
But as usual, he’s being tentative about it. While I appreciate him being respectful, the more he shows me his vulnerability, the more he shows me the way he respects my boundaries, the more I know I’m safe with him.
So when his hands slide down my back until they’re almost brushing my ass, then he yanks them away, I groan and pull back in frustration.
“Sorry. Was that too much—”
“You have to stop doing that.” I put my hands on his shoulders and stare into his eyes.
“Stop doing what?” he asks.
“Deciding what I want.”
His eyes go wide. “I’m not trying to decide what you want. I’m trying to respect you.”
“You are.” I sigh and take his hands. “Look, I know everything about this is colored by how I reacted that first night and what I’ve told you I’m ready for, and while I appreciate your concern and I value your respect, you not giving me the chance to tell you or show you what I want takes my decisions from me. I don’t need you to guess or assume what I want. All I need you to do is respect what I say or the clear signs I give.”
He stares at me for a moment, his face going through a range of expressions, each one too fast for me to read.
Finally, he purses his lips. “Have I been doing that a lot?”
He’s so genuinely concerned it’s adorable. “Not a lot. Here and there. But I don’t want you holding back or acting like I’m fragile. I’m trusting you to respect any boundary I set up. I need you to trust me to know what they are. Can you do that?”
He dips his head. “Yes.”
“Good. Because you wanted to grab my ass when we were kissing, didn’t you?”
His cheeks tinge pink and a crooked smile appears. “Maybe.”
I grab his shirt and tug him closer. “I was waiting for you to do it. I wanted you to. Yes, I plan to take things slow when it comes to… sexual stuff. But kissing and getting a little handsy, maybe even grinding… I’m okay with that. If, for some reason, I’m not, I’ll tell you. So, can you please do whatever feels natural—what you want to do—and trust I’ll be clear if it’s too much?”
“Yes.” His voice is thick and gravelly.
“Good boy.”
He groans a little, making me smile, but he steals the laugh trying to bubble out when he captures my lips in a rough kiss, and fuck . I like this side of him. I can feel it lurking beneath the surface—the rough bossiness and possessiveness. And I want more.
I lean into him and flick my tongue against his lips, begging him to play with me. But he takes it a step farther by shoving his tongue into my mouth and owning it. Then his hands are on my waist again and slipping lower, but just when I think he’s going to squeeze my ass, he grabs it and lifts me up, setting me on the kitchen counter as he rocks into me.
“This good?” he breathes against my lips.
“Perfect.”
I wrap my arms around his neck as he kisses me again. He’s perfectly nestled between my thighs, and that buzzing awareness hits—the underlying current of desire. I want more. In the past, I’d already be going for his shirt or brushing my hand over the bulge in his jeans, but I actively don’t allow myself to do that.
I always used to rush, but with Trevor, I don’t want to do that. Instead I focus on the pressure of his lips against mine, the way he’ll occasionally drag his teeth over my bottom lip, giving me the slightest hint of pain. I savor the little hums of pleasure he makes and how warm his hand is on my thigh. As I let my hands roam, I explore the defined muscles of his back, then lean into him when I feel a different muscle press against my thigh.
Kissing when I know it won’t lead anywhere else is different from anything I’ve done before. I like it. I like the safety of getting lost in him while knowing we won’t cross any lines. His tongue twists around mine, and I almost moan. He feels so good. His chest presses into mine giving my hard nipples the slightest friction, and I let one hand slip down and grab his butt.
He groans against my lips, then breaks the kiss and leans back, panting.
“Sorry. This time I’m stopping for me. Otherwise…” He looks down at his crotch. “I might’ve made a mess, and I’d like to save that happening until a time when we get to do it together.”
My body flushes at his words.
“I like that idea. And trust me, you weren’t the only one turned on by that.”
My stomach whirls… with excitement. It’s still a new feeling. I haven’t been excited about the possibility of anything sexual since before I was assaulted. Trevor is rapidly changing that, which sets off that voice inside me, telling me I need to be honest about my past. I can’t try to cross any sexual lines with him until I do. I’d be lying if I said fear of crossing those lines is what’s holding me back. I know it’ll be a process for me whenever we step over those lines. It may not be easy, or I could be building it up more in my head. But I know it’ll create a mix of emotions in me, so he has to know.
Falling in trust .
The thing holding me back is how cozy and comforting our relationship is right now. I don’t want to lose that by adding the heaviness of my past to it. But as my therapist said before, I control how that factors in.
Tonight?
I don’t want to.
There’s something else I want to tell him tonight. I’ll do that first. And then sometime over the next few days, we’ll set aside a time to sit down and talk. I’ll tell him everything.
I make a mental note to put it on my calendar later. If it’s on my calendar, it has to happen. That’s the rule.
Now his eyes drift to my chest where my nipples are no doubt poking through my bra and T-shirt. He smiles, then kisses my neck.
“Trev…” I groan.
He steps back and puts his hands up. “Nope. You saying my name like that? Fuck, Chels. It’s so hot.”
I laugh and hop off the counter. “Sorry. I’ll get back to making hot chocolate. Don’t want to give you blue balls.” I run my finger under his shirt along the top of his waistband. “Even if teasing you is my favorite kind of fun.”
“Mean,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling. “Need any help?”
“Nope. Go set up the next episode of Haven . I’ll bring the hot cocoa over when it’s done.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me to him for a chaste kiss, then as I walk toward the fridge, he smacks my butt.
I look over my shoulder at him, giving him my biggest smile, because I like settling into this space in our relationship. Something more open.
Relationship.
Yeah, it’s time to tell him.
I pull out all the hot chocolate ingredients, including the raspberry syrup I didn’t tell him I made, and make up a batch of raspberry vanilla hot chocolate. Once it’s all done, I top the mugs with whipped cream, raspberry sauce, and then a vanilla sandwich cookie for good measure.
Trevor’s eyes get big and he gets that childlike smile on his face when he sees me walking over to him.
“What’s this?” he asks as I hand him his mug.
I set my mug on the coffee table, then sit down.
“The boyfriend special.”
He slowly turns to me, eyes even bigger. “Boyfriend? Really?” And then that childlike smile appears again, and I almost melt on the spot.
“Let’s not pretend that isn’t what you’ve been this whole time.”
He sets his mug down, then wraps his arms around me, kissing me deeply. It’s not the wild kissing we were doing in the kitchen. It’s slower, gentler, but all-consuming.
He rests his head against mine and cups my cheek as he pulls away.
“Get ready for me to become the ultimate fantasy book boyfriend. Now that I have the official title needed.”
I bite back a laugh, smiling up at him. “Guess we’ll see.”
Then I lean forward and grab my mug, heart beating hard with all the swirly, gooey, emotional things.
Making this official and telling him about my past is giving him a new level of trust and feels like cutting myself open and bleeding out all my pain. But if anyone is worth seeing everything I’ve kept locked inside—every painful, heartbreaking moment—it’s Trevor. Especially since I can see a future with him, and I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. Ever .
I get a twisty sensation in my gut that’s starting to feel familiar. How can I be thinking about a future with him after such a short time?
Because it feels right .
It feels right in a way very few things in my life have.
Every summer spent working at the campground with my family feels right.
The first time I played volleyball felt right.
Choosing counseling as my major in college felt right.
Moving to Old Lake Town and taking the internship with Promise felt right.
And now my relationship with Trevor.
I curl into his side, and he plays with my hair, and I know I have to face it all, tell him my past, because the last thing I want is to keep holding back from the man I’m falling for.
I loathe night classes. As I walk out of my ethics class, I promise myself for the third time I will never sign up for a five o’clock class ever again. It’s only once a week, so it’s two full hours—when the professor doesn’t run over.
Most people make a beeline for the door, complaining about the professor as we go. She’s nice enough, but goes on and on and on . About ethics of all things. I didn’t want to take the class in the first place because I hate ethical debates—we live in a world of gray, not black and white—but it filled a credit I needed while not taking away from internship time at Promise. I figured a two-hour class once a week was manageable. I was wrong, and I’m going to hate myself every Monday—of course it’s on a freaking Monday—for the rest of the semester because of it.
I stop by the bathroom because I didn’t feel like waiting in line during our break in the class, and then head downstairs. There are a handful of people in the lounge by the door where there are vending machines, and I consider grabbing a cup of crappy vending machine coffee, but don’t.
Home is only five minutes away. I can make coffee—or better yet, hot cocoa—when I get there.
I pull the strap to my messenger bag over my head and tuck it slightly behind me, then aim for the doors to the building, where two girls are entering.
They’re close to each other, talking and looking over their shoulders.
When they catch sight of me and a couple other girls ready to walk outside, they stop in front of us.
“You might want to wait or go out a different door. There’s a guy outside acting creepy. He was staring at us, following us, and yelling things, asking if we’d sleep with him or if we were sleeping with each other. Be careful.”
My stomach drops, and my gaze snaps to the doors. I see the guy milling around out there, and instinctively back away. There are a few guys in the lounge, but not one of them makes a move to help any of us.
Shouldn’t be surprised by that.
Or the panic that’s settling in.
My limbs feel like jelly, and my heart’s beating way too fast.
Breathe.
There’s another exit on the far end of the building on the next floor up, since the building is built into the hill. It’s farther from my car, but I could loop around the building if I needed to. And hope the guy doesn’t see me or follow me.
Fuck.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
I hate this feeling.
The fear and weakness this awakens in me.
I force myself to take a deep breath. I can handle this. I’m a strong, badass woman.
Who is feeling triggered right now.
So triggered, I almost yelp when my phone goes off while I’m holding it.
After another breath, I turn my screen on and find a text from Trevor.
Trevor: Miss you.
Without thinking, I push the phone icon next to his name and put the phone to my ear as I walk up the hallway.
He answers on the first ring. “Hey, babe.”
“Hi. Um, are you busy right now?”
“No, I’m just leaving the library and about to head to my car.”
Okay, this can work. He can talk to me the whole time, and he’ll know where I am in case of emergency. Hopefully it’s nothing.
“Good. Could you stay on the phone with me for a bit?” I’m walking toward the other door now, my heart still pounding.
“Why? What’s wrong?” His voice fills with concern.
“I’m just leaving my night class, and these girls said there’s a guy outside who was following them—”
“Where are you?” His voice is rough and a little murdery.
“Carlan Hall.”
“Stay there. Stay inside the building. I’ll be there soon.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Chelsea.” His voice is firm and insistent. “Are there other people inside the building?”
“Yeah, in the lounge.”
“Good. Stay near other people. I’m going to hang up now, but call me if he comes inside, okay?”
A rush of air leaves my lungs. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t ever thank me for stuff like this, Chels. Stay safe. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”
“Bye.”
He hangs up, and I walk back to the lounge, still in shock. Yep. I’m definitely falling in trust with him. But I might be falling in something else with him too.
It’s barely been five minutes when Trevor comes through the doors of the building. His eyes land on me before he’s even through the second set of glass doors, and I get up to meet him. The tight hug he wraps me in seems as much for him as for me. I melt against him, basking in the peace I feel. Because when I’m in his arms, I’m just… safe.
“Okay?” he murmurs into my hair.
“I will be. I just want to go home.”
“I’ve got you. Let’s go.”
“Out this door?” I choke out.
He leans back and looks into my eyes. “I can handle him. If he’s bothering us, he won’t be bothering someone else. Trust me?”
I do. The absolute certainty of those words shouldn’t surprise me. He’s shown me over and over again, and when I crave safety, I want him.
“Yes.”
He takes my bag and slings it over his shoulder, then wraps his other arm around me, pulling me tight to his side. Kissing the side of my head, he whispers, “I’ve got you.”
I wrap my arm around his back, fingers curling into his sweatshirt, and try to remind myself I’m safe, even if all I can think is that I want to be anywhere but here. Especially when the front door opens and the cool air hits my face.
When we step outside, the guy is a bit farther up the path, looking toward the entrance at the top of the stairs. We’ll have to go right past him.
Breathe , I remind myself. I can’t be catatonic right now. I have to face this.
I’m safe. I’m not alone.
Trevor holds me tighter as we get closer, and the guy’s eyes fix on us. They’re hazy like he’s drugged up.
He tilts his head and then gets this almost predatory smile on his face. “Mm, you’re real pretty.”
I swear to the goddess, Trevor growls.
“She belong to you?” the guy asks as we move past him.
“You need to back off, man,” Trevor says.
“Aw, come on. We could share her.”
Trevor stops, his body going rigid. He spins, blocking me with his body while still keeping one hand on me.
“You need to back the fuck up.”
The guy raises his hands. “I was just asking.”
“Well, don’t. You need to walk away and stop harassing people.”
But Trevor doesn’t wait to see if he does. He turns back around, tugs me close again, and hurries toward the stairs. Thankfully, the guy doesn’t make a move to follow us.
I’m a little shaken, but it’s clear the guy needs some help.
That’s when I notice the flashing light at the top of the stairs. When we get up there, two campus police officers are waiting there.
“Hey, I’m Trevor Matteny. I’m the one who called. It’s that guy down there. He looks drugged out of his mind and he’s saying inappropriate sexual stuff to women.”
“We’ll take care of it,” the first officer says, then they head down the stairs.
“You—you called the police?” I ask in surprise as he guides me to the parking lot.
“Yes. It needed to be done. The fact that none of the people in that lounge did anything…” He shakes his head in frustration. “Everyone should feel safe to walk across campus—leave their classes—and that guy clearly needed help.”
He helps me into the car, and I’m still so stunned, trying to make sense of everything.
Of course he called the cops. Trevor cares. He’s one of the good ones. I think Rae told me something like that. Or maybe it was Sarah. It doesn’t matter who. It’s the truth, and I know it in my bones.
Trevor sits down in the driver’s seat and heads for my apartment, as I sit here, fidgeting, overwhelmed with feelings. My fear is rapidly fading and my anger is seeping in.
Anger that the baseline for men is to feel comfortable sexualizing and going after women. I don’t care if he was high or drunk or anything else. Plenty of guys do it without. Maybe that guy wouldn’t have hurt me. Maybe some other guy who I wouldn’t have thought twice about would’ve been the dangerous one.
When we get back to my apartment, I fling the car door open, desperate for that cool air to wash over me, maybe give me a hint of calm, but nothing does.
“Chels?” Trevor appears at my side.
“Come on.”
I’m in a spiral of anger and frustration at men, at our society that accepts treating women like trash, at myself.
When we get to the third floor, I shove my apartment door open and chuck my bag on the floor.
Trevor follows me in, watching me like he did the night we first met, when I ran away. I might be just as jumpy, but that was a very different emotion. That was pure panic. I’m not panicking anymore.
“This is going to sound stupid, but I don’t know how else to ask… are you okay?”
I spin to face him, swallowing hard, and shake my head. The words start flying out of my mouth.
“No. No, I’m not okay. I’m mad. I’m mad that men ever make women feel unsafe or like objects for their sexual pleasure. Get a fucking sex toy, you pathetic pieces of shit. Hey, a sex doll won’t talk back, either. They won’t fight back. Not that I can say much. I didn’t exactly fight tonight. I fell apart. I mean, what if you hadn’t been there to save me? I should be stronger than this by now! I’ve healed. Or I’m healing. And I want to be able to fight back, not cower in fear. Why is my first response to panic? How do I stop that? How do I stop being catatonic and learn to fight past my fear—my trauma? I—I want to be strong enough…”
I drop onto the couch, my head in my hands, crying. Tears that make me feel even weaker.
The couch shifts next to me.
“So, I never want to pressure you to talk, but you just said a bunch of things that I don’t know what to do with.”
My head snaps up, and I meet his gaze. Shit . That’s not how I wanted to tell him this. We were going to cook dinner together tomorrow night, and I was going to tell him, but… no point in waiting now.
“Do you want me to get Robbie?” he asks.
I rest my hand on his thigh and shake my head.
“No. I need to tell you something.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do. I’m ready for you to know.”
As soon as I say the words, that ugly shame hits me all over again.
Why does rape have to be such a dirty word?
Why am I the one who has to face the consequences?
Why am I the one who has to deal with people’s opinions and judgment?
Why am I the one who has to deal with the scars of this for the rest of my life?
I can’t change any of that.
But I can say fuck shame . I can own what I’ve been through and do my damndest to hold the world accountable so there will be one less girl like me out there one day.
I turn to Trevor and take his hands, focusing on him. This isn’t about me pouring out my soul. This is about trusting him. Letting out the final part of myself that I’ve been hiding. Because this is official now, and as our relationship moves forward, he deserves to know. And I deserve to have unwavering support as I continue to heal from this.
I bite my lip as I breathe deeply through my nose. His eyes are so gentle, and his expressive features are filled with concern for me .
“I’ve held back telling you why I left Syracuse because I know what I’m about to say will change things—add a weight to our relationship—but it’s important to me that you know. Before our relationship goes any further, I need you to know because it ties into why I have to ease into any kind of sexual relationship and my ability to trust. But you’ve shown me how deeply I can trust you, so…” I take another breath, then force out the words. “I was drugged and raped at a party sophomore year of college.”