It has been just under five weeks since that first time Mr. Suit sat at my bar. And though she met him sometime before that, given he was already looking for her that day, I can't help but think she's erecting a fantasy around him. I worry about their nearly ten-year age gap, and how it could give him an advantage over her, psychologically. As mature and wise as Lex is, as much life experience as she might have, she's still a twenty-something-year-old college girl.
Lex asks me about my prank war and I tell her it's over. But I don't tell her what Giles did. It would be too difficult to explain why I forgave him. It would be impossible to put into words the way it just felt like the right thing to do, how my heart just believed his apology and hangs on the promise he'd never toy with me like that again. I know how stupid I'd sound. And that's why a part of me is afraid to even talk to Lex about Giles anymore.
On a practical level, I know I should keep my distance and not try to even broach a friendship with him. I know it's too risky, with him being the way he is and me being attracted to him the way I am. But the idea that he could continue to show me this new side of him is just too appealing to pull away from. I can't resist. He and I, we're drawn to each other in an almost reckless way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Giles
IT COMES AS A SHOCK to everyone that I'd rather just head home than go out to dinner with the group. I haven't heard from Julia since I left her at home this morning, and I want to make sure she's all right.
When I walk into the house, I see her keys and purse on the counter, but the place is quiet. There's light streaming out from her bathroom door, which isn't closed all the way. I pause in the middle of the hall, listening for sounds of sickness. Instead, I swear I hear several sharp intakes of breath, followed by a sniffle.
I'm at the door before I even think twice. "Julia?"
"Shit," she whispers, and then there's the shuffling sound of someone getting to their feet.
"Can I--"
I'm already half pushing the door open when her face appears in the crack. She freezes when she sees me, and I'm rooted to the spot as well. Her eyes are slightly swollen, her nose red.
"No, don't come in," she says, trying to press the door closed.
But I stick my hand into the gap. "Argh," I cry out and she immediately pulls back. I take the opportunity to wedge myself into the room.
She turns her back almost instantly, not wanting me to see her face. I get the urge to set a hand on her shoulder, but I don't. She takes in a breath then turns to face me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, taking a step closer to her.
Her voice is a croak. "Yeah, allergies."
"Really? You look like you're crying."
She sniffles and presses the back of her hand to her nose, then her eyes start filling with tears right before my own. They widen with each passing second as though horrified at what's happening.
Then she spins around and rushes past me and into her room. I'm right behind her, and before she can shut the door, I catch it and follow her inside. She sits on the floor by the foot of her bed, and I stand by the doorway, watching as she covers her face and lowers it to her knees. From the side table, her phone pings with a message.
"Go," she says, clearly embarrassed.
I walk over and sit down beside her. She doesn't look up and she's still sniffling. "First you need to tell me, whose face do I have to pound?"
She lets out a startled chortle between her silent crying. "Mine, maybe." Sucking in a breath, she adds, "God, I should've handled this sooner."
Her phone rings, but she doesn't move. The ringing cuts off. Her uneven breathing, her silent crying, and the embarrassment cloaked thick in the air makes my heart ache.
"Hey, talk to me. Maybe I can help." I put my arm around her shoulder and she stiffens, but doesn't nudge me away.
She lifts her head, but lays her chin on her forearm, where her arms are crossed over her knees. Her face is wet, and tears continue to roll, but the only noise she makes is the occasional sniffle. She's staring out, straight faced.
Once again, her phone pings with a message. Followed by a few more. Whatever is going on, someone's trying to get a hold of her.
There's a big part of me that wants to press her for details. But if she wanted me to know, she would've told me by now.
Instead, I say, "You have the most dignified cry I've ever seen."
She snorts, then covers the lower half of her face with her hand.
"Seriously, your stoic crying is a thing of beauty."
"Shut up." Her voice is stuffy from her clogged nose.
I bring her head against my chest. She resists for a second before settling there.
"I'm sorry," I say. "For whatever is bothering you."
"Do you want to know?" she asks in a small voice.
I should say no. I should tell her that it doesn't matter and that I just want to be here for her. But instead, I say, "If you want to tell me."
"You remember that sex tape I told you about?"
"Yeah." How could I forget?
"It was taken without my permission. My ex-boyfriend had a hidden camera to record our first time together. He uploaded it to a revenge website after we broke up."
"Fuck." Anger pools in my veins that this guy could be so fucking pathetic to do that to her. To anyone.
She tilts her head forward in half a nod. "My uncle had the footage taken down."
"That's great, right?" I'm not sure I understand her reaction, why she's crying if the problem's been resolved.
She swallows. "Those are my friends trying to reach me to tell me that it's no longer on the website."
"How do they...?" I trail off.
"Exactly," she says, wiping her face. "How do they know? Because they've all seen it. Because they all know where to find it and have looked at it, God knows how many times. It's been up for months and I have no idea how many..." She doesn't finish her sentence and I don't want her to.
A searing jab of protectiveness comes over me. "What the fuck is wrong with people?" I wonder aloud.
"I gave one person permission to see my body. One. And now...it's like, who the fuck gave the rest of them permission?"
"Disgusting," I say, resisting the urge to shift where I sit.
I'm uncomfortable because I know the truth. I know how most people would react to the news. I know how I'd react if a hot girl in my school had a sex tape. I'd be the first online to look at it, laughing with my friends, making sly comments about her body or the things being done to her. I wouldn't care if she meant for it to be seen by other people or not. I'd feel perfectly entitled to look. Because, why not? It's there. Everyone else is looking. What harm would it do?
But now? Sitting with Julia makes me feel sick just considering it. Julia didn't want to be someone's porn. That was a decision made for her.
"I thought I'd feel better once it was taken down but this," she waves toward her phone, just as it pings again, "it's like it's happening all over again. God, I feel like I'm going to throw up." She stares at the floor.
"It's gone now, Julia. I know it doesn't feel like a victory, but it is. It's gone." My words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, because I don't believe them.