I don’t recognize her at all.
I hear that heavy sigh of Connor’s and I know he’s rubbing the top of his head. That’s Connor. Predictable. “I just . . . I think I’m in love with her.”
My body hunches in on itself as if just punched. Ohmigod. He just said it. He said it out loud. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I was afraid of this. Now it’s real. I think I’m going to be sick. Seriously, I am two seconds away from diving to the porcelain bowl.
This. Will. Crush. Him.
And Connor doesn’t deserve to be crushed. He may not be right for me but he doesn’t deserve this. Yet no matter what reason I give, whether I blame it on him or me, whether I tell the truth or not, I’m going to hurt him. I have to resign myself to that fact because no matter what, he and I are done.
Ashton’s irritated tone surprises me. “You don’t love her, Connor. You think you do. You barely know her.”
My reflection nods her head back at me. She’s agreeing with Ashton. That’s right. Connor doesn’t know me at all. Not like Ashton knows me.
“What are you talking about? It’s Livie. I mean, how can you not love her. She’s fucking perfect.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Too fucking perfect, Connor. I quietly slide my coat on over myself, pulling it tight to my body, aching for Ashton’s warmth.
There’s a long pause, and then I hear the bed creak and Ashton’s heavy sigh. “Yeah. I’m sure she’s fine. You should go and check out the campus, then. Maybe she’s at the library.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, bro.”
The lightest sigh of relief escapes me as I lean back against the wall.
“I’ll try her one more time on her phone.”
My phone.
Fuck.
I watch the reflection in the mirror of this girl—this foreign woman—go from a slightly pale complexion to stark white as Connor’s ring tone sounds faintly from the phone in my purse. My purse, which is sitting on Ashton’s nightstand.
It rings and rings and rings. And then it stops.
Dead silence.
Deader than dead. So dead that I could be the last person left in this world.
And then I hear Connor ask slowly, “Why is Livie’s purse here?” Connor’s voice has taken on a tone that I’ve never heard before. I don’t know how to describe it, but it makes my body suddenly turn cold with dread.
“She swung by to say hi and forgot it, I guess.” Ashton’s a fantastic liar, but even he can’t pull that one off.
The sound of footsteps approaching has me shuffling away from the door.
“Livie?”
I purse my lips tight and clamp my hands over them and close my eyes and stop breathing. And then I count to ten.
“Livie. You need to come out here right now.”
I shake my head, and the movement dislodges a stifled moan.
“I can hear you, Livie.” After another long pause, he starts pounding on the door, rattling the entire wall. “Open the damn door!”
“Leave her alone, Connor!” Ashton bellows behind him.
It stops the pounding but not the yelling. The yelling only gets more vicious. “Why is she hiding in there? What the fuck did you do to her? Did you . . .” There’s a strange jostling sound in the room. “How drunk was she when she came up here, Ash? How drunk?”
“Really drunk.”
I glare at the door. What? No, I wasn’t! Why would he say that?
There’s another long pause. “Did you force her into anything?”
With a resigned sigh, I hear Ashton say, “Yes. I did.”
I feel like someone has just struck a match and stuck it into my ear, hearing words that turn my beautiful, remarkable, unforgettable night with Ashton into a drunken rape story. I instantly know what Ashton is doing. He’s making an excuse for me. He’s making himself out to be the bad guy. To take all the blame for what I initiated. What I wanted.
I throw the door open and storm out. “I was not drunk and he did not force me into anything!” The words come out in an angry gasp. “He has never forced me. Never once.”
The two men turn to face me, the one on the left wearing nothing but track pants and shaking his head in a “why-did-you-come-out-here” way, the one on the right full of shock and barely concealed rage.
“Never once.” Connor’s tone has evened again, but I don’t think it’s a sign of him calming. I think it’s a sign of him ready to blow. “How many times have there been, Livie? And for how long?”
Now that I’ve set the record straight—that what Ashton and I shared was not a crime scene—my anger has vanished, leaving me trembling and unable to speak once more.
“How long!” he repeats in a bark.
“Always!” I burst, wincing as the truth comes out. “Since the first second I met him. Before I met you.”
Connor turns to look at his roommate, his best friend, whose eyes haven’t left mine, an unreadable expression in them. “Un-fucking-believable. That night with the tattoo . . . You’ve been fucking her since then?”