Chapter 13 #3
Despite Thad’s physical absence, he calls me constantly.
He wants to talk about the wedding, discuss our future, and I force myself to give answers that mollify him, making excuses whenever I can to get out of the conversations.
I say I’m busy with school, working on papers, that I need to focus.
I tell him I need the time now so that when I see him here, he can have my full attention.
That last works best of all, and I make sure to file that away.
The truth is, I'm spending every spare moment with Romeo—in my bed, in the library, once in an empty classroom after hours. He doesn’t take me back to his place, and I wonder why, but I’ve always assumed he was in a dorm.
Maybe it’s a guy thing… it’s too bachelor-y, or his roommates don’t leave.
I don’t ever think to ask, because every time we’re together, I can’t find thoughts for anything but him and how he makes me feel.
This infatuation is beyond anything I’ve ever felt. Each time, I tell myself it's the last time, and each time, I know I'm lying.
The guilt is eating me alive. I can barely look at myself in the mirror. I'm engaged to one man while sleeping with another. I'm lying to everyone—my father, Thad, my roommate, myself. But I can't stop.
Romeo makes me feel alive in a way I've never felt before. Not as Edgar Beauregard's daughter or Thad's fiancée. Not as the perfect Southern belle I'm supposed to be. Just as me. Savannah.
And that feeling is more addictive than any drug.
It's Vivian who finally forces me to confront reality. I come back to our room one afternoon to find her sitting on my bed, holding something in her hand.
"We need to talk," she says.
My stomach drops, and I peer closer, trying to see what’s in her hand. "About what?"
"About this." She holds up an empty birth control pill packet. "I found it in the trash. You're on birth control?"
Relief floods through me. "Yes. I started taking it a couple of weeks ago."
"Okay. That's good. That's responsible." She pauses. "But Savannah—where are the pills?"
I frown at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, this packet is empty, but if you only started it two weeks ago, there should still be pills left. Where are they?"
I stare at her, confused. "They're in my desk drawer. In the—"
I cross to my desk and pull open the drawer where I've been keeping them. The packet is gone.
"That's—that's impossible. I just took one this morning."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure. I take one every morning with breakfast. They were right here."
Vivian's expression is concerned. "Savannah, have you been forgetting to take them? Because if you're not taking them consistently—"
"I'm not forgetting. I take them every day. Someone must have—" I stop, a chill running down my spine. “Someone must have taken them.”
"Who would take your birth control?" Vivian asks. “No one really comes over here.”
I don't answer. I think about Romeo, about how possessive he is. About how he keeps saying he wants me to be his, completely, irrevocably. How he came inside me that first night, knowing I wasn't on birth control, and every time after, before I started taking the pills.
No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.
"Maybe I just misplaced them," I say, but my voice sounds uncertain.
"Maybe." Vivian doesn't sound convinced. "But Savannah—you need to be careful. If you're sexually active and you're not taking your birth control consistently—"
"I know. I'll—I'll get a new packet. And I'll be more careful about where I keep it."
But even as I say it, doubt is creeping in.
I get a new packet of pills the next day. I hide them in a different drawer, under some textbooks, but three days later, they're gone again. This time, I know I didn't misplace them. Someone took them.
There's only one person who has access to my room. Only one person who would have a reason to take them.
I try to push the thought away. I try to tell myself I'm being paranoid, that there must be another explanation. But I can't shake the feeling that Romeo is behind this.
I manage to get Plan B from the campus health center, just to be safe. I take it immediately, in the bathroom, making sure it's actually in my system before anyone can interfere.
The relief is overwhelming. At least this time, I've protected myself. At least this time, I've maintained some control over my own body. But the doubt remains.
So two weeks later, I make an appointment for an IUD. It seems like the safest option—something that can't be stolen or tampered with. The appointment is scheduled for Thursday afternoon. I mark it in my calendar and set three reminders on my phone.
On Wednesday, I get a call from the health center.
"Hi, Savannah? This Student Health calling to let you know that your appointment for tomorrow has been canceled."
My blood runs cold. "Canceled? Why?"
"It says here that you called this morning to cancel. Is that not correct?"
I feel my stomach churn. "No. I didn't call. I didn't cancel anything."
"Oh. Well, that's strange. Let me check—" There's a pause, the sound of typing. "It says the call came from your phone number. Are you sure you didn't—"
"I'm sure. I didn't cancel. Can I reschedule?"
"Of course. Let me see what we have available. The next opening for an IUD insertion is—" More typing. "Three weeks from now. October 15th."
Three weeks. Three more weeks of risk. I’d like to tell myself that I’ll tell Romeo no until then, that I’ll make him wear a condom, pull out…
but the truth is that I know I won’t do any of that.
I’m as addicted as he is, as desperate to feel him inside of me, that feeling of him throbbing in me when he comes, the thrilling danger of what we’re doing that feels so good in the moment and terrifies me afterward.
"That's fine. I'll take it."
As I hang up, my hands are shaking. Someone found out about the appointment and called from my phone. Someone who had access to my phone.
It can’t be Romeo. I can’t believe that.
But who else could it be?
I confront Vivian that evening, my voice shaking. "Have you been going through my things?"
She looks up from her laptop, startled. "What? No. Why would I—"
"My birth control keeps disappearing. My appointment got canceled. Someone is—" I stop, trying to control my breathing. "Someone is sabotaging me."
Vivian's expression shifts from confusion to concern. "Savannah, I haven't touched your stuff. I swear. But—" She hesitates. "Have you considered that maybe it's not me?"
"Then who?" I refuse to believe it’s Romeo. He’s never forced me to do anything. He’s always been worried about me. He doesn’t control me—he wouldn’t…
"I don't know. Who else has access to your room? Who else would have a reason to—" She stops, and I can see understanding dawning in her eyes. "Oh my God. It's him, isn't it? That guy you've been seeing."
Fear lances through me. I thought we’d been careful, making sure Vivian was never home when he was here. She knows I’m engaged… and if she were to say anything… "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Savannah, I'm not blind. You've been sneaking out at all hours. You come back looking—" She stops, clearly uncomfortable. "You're seeing someone. I don’t think it’s your fiancé. I’m not judging, just saying… whoever it is, he has access to your room. He knows your schedule. He—"
"No. He wouldn't. He wouldn't do that."
"Wouldn't he?" Vivian's voice is gentle but firm. "Savannah, if someone is tampering with your birth control, you need to—"
"He wouldn't—"
But even as I say it, doubt is eating away at my certainty. Romeo is possessive. Obsessive. He's told me repeatedly that he wants me to be his, that he'll never let me go. Would he sabotage my birth control to make that happen?
"You need to talk to him," Vivian says. "You need to confront him about this. Because if he's doing what I think he's doing—"
"He's not."
"Then prove it. Ask him. And if he admits it—" She stops. "Savannah, if he admits it, you need to end this."
Her words echo in my head long after she's gone to bed. I avoid Romeo for three days while I try to figure out what to do. But on Saturday, he shows up at my dorm again, and I force myself to keep some physical distance between us, to try to keep my mind clear.
"We need to talk," I say before he can speak.
"Okay." He looks wary. "About what? You've been avoiding me again."
"Have you been in my room? When I'm not there?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I watch his face carefully, looking for any sign of guilt, of deception.
"Why would you ask that?"
My heart is pounding too fast. "Just answer the question. Have you been in my room without my permission?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Too long. My pulse beats faster, painfully. "Romeo. Answer me."
"Yes." The word is quiet. "Yes, I've been in your room."
The confirmation feels like I’ve been struck. I stare at him, open-mouthed. "Why?"
"Because I needed to see you, be near you. Because I—" He stops, running a hand through his hair. "Because I can't stay away from you."
"That's not an answer. Why were you in my room? What were you doing there?"
Another long pause. He lets out a sharp breath. "What do you think I was doing there?"
"I think—" My voice is shaking. "I think you've been taking my birth control."
He doesn't deny it. He doesn't even look surprised that I've figured it out.
"Say something," I demand. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you didn't—"
I see guilt break through his expression, coloring his features in a way that I’ve never seen before. "I can't tell you that."
The words hit me like a slap. "You—you actually—" I can't finish the sentence. "Romeo, do you understand what you've done? Do you understand how—how violating that is?"
He hangs his head. He looks younger, guilty beyond belief, and my stomach churns with confusion. "I know." His voice is rough. "I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't have—"
I stare at him. "Then why did you do it?"
"Because I can't lose you!" The words explode out of him. "Because the thought of you taking that pill, of eliminating any possibility of—" He stops, his hands clenched into fists. "I can't lose you, Savannah. I can't."
"So you sabotaged my birth control? You canceled my appointment? You—" I'm shaking now, with anger and betrayal, and a startling feeling of grief. "You took away my choice. You took away my control over my own body. I trusted you—"
"I know. I know it was wrong. But I—" He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back. "Savannah, please. You have to understand. I've never felt like this before. I've never—I can't control it. I can't control how I feel about you."
"So you decided to control me instead?"
"No. That's not—"
"That's exactly what you did. You took away my ability to make my own choices about my own body. You—" My voice breaks. "You're no different than Thad."
"Don't say that." His voice is fierce, his eyes darkening angrily. "Don't compare me to him. I'm nothing like him."
"Aren't you? You're both trying to control me. You're both trying to take away my choices. The only difference is that you're doing it because you claim to feel something for me, and he's doing it because he thinks he owns me."
"It's not the same…” His voice is pleading now, begging for me to understand, but I’m too angry, so angry that I start to cry, despite how badly I want to keep from humiliating myself any further.
"It is the same! Don't you see? You're both—" I stop, tears streaming down my face now. "You're both trying to trap me. To keep me from having any agency over my own life."
"I'm trying to keep you with me. That's all. I'm trying to make sure you don't leave."
I see the moment he hears his own words, when it strikes him what he’s doing. His face crumples, his entire body folding in as he approaches me, hands held out. I back up, and he stops.
“I’m sorry.” He almost gasps the words. “Fuck… I fucked up. I’m sorry. I don’t… I’m not used to this. To caring about someone. Wanting something I might not be able to have. I feel insane, Savannah, and I know…”
He breathes in heavily, as if he’s on the verge of having a panic attack.
“You should go.” I feel guilty saying it, because looking at him, he’s coming apart at the seams. But what he did…
He looks stricken. "Savannah, please. I know I fucked up. I know what I did was wrong. But you have to understand—I love you. I'm in love with you. And the thought of losing you, of you going back to him, of you—"
“Love?” I whisper the word, staring at him wide-eyed. “This is dangerous, Romeo. This is obsessive…”
“I know.” His voice is strangled. “You’re fucking killing me, Savannah. I can’t stop. I know I’m fucking this up, but I can’t—”
My phone rings. We both freeze, staring at it as it buzzes on the coffee table.
Dad appears on the screen as it vibrates against the glass.
"Don't answer it," Romeo whispers. His voice is pleading. “Talk to me, Savannah—”
"I have to. If I don't, he'll just keep calling."
"Savannah—"
"We're done, Romeo. This conversation is over. Just… go."
I grab my phone and head for the door before he can fight me on leaving my own dorm, my heart pounding, my hands shaking. I need to put space between us while he figures out how to fucking listen.
"Savannah, wait—"
But I'm already answering the call as I step into the hallway. "Hi, Daddy," I say, trying to keep my voice steady even though I'm falling apart.
"Savannah." His voice is cold and angry, and my stomach drops to my toes. "We need to talk. Now."
In that moment, I know, with absolute certainty, that everything is about to get so much worse.