Chapter 9 #3
She peels off her mask, making a show of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me. That’s how you end up married to an insurance actuary in Iowa.”
I snort, the laugh surprising us both. “He wants to see me again.”
Andie leans on her elbow, squinting. “Is that what you want, though?”
I start to answer, but my phone buzzes. It’s Liam.
Meet me. Now. Five minutes. Loading dock behind student center. Come alone.
-L
The pulse in my wrist goes from zero to seismic. I stand, clutching the phone like it’s a bomb.
“Who is it?” Andie asks, reaching for the phone, but I pocket it quick.
“Library spam,” I say, and grab my coat.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she calls after me.
I don’t bother correcting her.
The night is colder than before, the air brittle and metallic.
The campus is nearly deserted, except for the blue glow of vending machines and the thump of distant music from frat row.
I walk fast, not thinking about the wisdom of following mysterious summons from men with a taste for secrecy and power.
The loading dock is a dead zone, all concrete and chain-link, the smell of wet cardboard and old cigarettes. Liam stands in the shadow near the dumpster, hands in his pockets, face turned away. The moment he sees me, he straightens, that raw, caged-animal energy radiating off him like heat.
I slow down, my nerves a live wire.
“Simone,” he says, voice low and harsh. “You couldn’t even wait a week before you started parading around with that clown?”
I bristle. “I didn’t know I was supposed to wait for anything. You made it very clear we were just “having fun.” Two consenting adults, right? No strings, no feelings.”
He flinches, barely, but I see it. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with that idiot.”
I fold my arms, ice cold. “I’m getting dinner and maybe a normal night for once. Is that so terrifying?”
Liam’s jaw flexes, a tic of anger—or fear, maybe, though he’d never admit it.
“You want to hear something about your new boyfriend? He’s gotten at least two girls at Century pregnant.
First one, he ghosted. Second, she had to transfer after he trashed her on social.
He’s not the good guy you think. It’s all an act.
It’s a ruse, Simone. Don’t be a dumb girl and fall for his schtick of a jock who’s going to the Olympics. ”
The words gut me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You sound jealous of Dylan.”
Liam flushes and steps closer, hands out now, but not touching me. “I am,” he says, voice thick with gravel. “You have no idea what it’s like, watching you with someone else.”
I tilt my chin, matching him glare for glare. “You’re the one who brought a date. Claire’s gorgeous, by the way. But did she know you were tonguing my pussy in a classroom thirty-six hours ago?”
He grits his teeth, so hard I think they might crack. “Don’t do this, Simone.”
“Do what?” I spit. “Act like I matter? You said I didn’t. That’s what you wanted, right?”
He reaches out, fingers closing around my wrist with more force than is strictly polite. “Stop it.”
I wrench my hand away. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and in that moment I see something raw and desperate under all the layers of armor and authority. It scares me more than anything.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, and the words are so quiet I almost miss them. “You make me fucking insane.”
I want to say I don’t care, that I’m over it, but the lie curdles in my mouth.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper.
His hand rises, hovers near my face, trembling. “I know. But I want to.”
There’s a breathless moment where anything could happen, and for a second, I want him to press me up against the dumpster and ruin me again. Instead, I step back.
“I’m seeing Dylan again,” I say. “And you should be with Claire. She seems good for you. And the right age.”
He closes his eyes, just for a second, as if shutting out a pain that’s older than both of us. When he opens them, the blue is darker, stormier.
“Be careful,” he says, and I know it’s both a threat and a plea.
I turn, not trusting myself to look back, and walk into the night. My heart is doing backflips, my skin tingling with adrenaline and the cold.
When I get back, Andie is asleep, one leg flung over the covers, mouth open in a blissful snore. I sit on my bed and take off my make-up, the color smearing on used cotton pads. I should feel victorious—two men fighting for me, proof that I’m desirable, wanted, alive.
Instead, all I feel is the ache. Not just in my chest, but everywhere, like I’m full of invisible bruises.
I open my diary and write:
“Liam says he wants to own me. I don’t know if I want that, or if I just want him. I kissed Dylan and it felt okay. Safe, but no fireworks. Almost like kissing a brother. With Liam, it’s a car crash I can’t stop watching. I don’t know how to be a person unless he’s with me.”
I stare at the words until the page blurs.
Eventually, I sleep. I dream of the ocean: bright water, endless blue, the slap of cold on my skin. I’m swimming as hard as I can, and there’s someone on the shore, waving, calling my name.
I swim and swim, but I never reach the land.
When I wake, the world is silent, and I am alone with the taste of salt in my mouth.