I stir my yogurt but when I bring the spoon to my mouth the thought of putting anything in there makes me gag. “I’m serious, Nate,” I say, staring at the spoon. “I need to know how drunk you were when you came into my room last night.”
His dimples pop as a slow smile curves his lips. “Not so drunk that I don’t remember how you rocked my fucking world.”
A tear slips over my lashes and courses a crooked path down my cheek. “I didn’t want to have sex with you last night, Nate. I said no.”
The smile falls off his face and his eyes widen. “You said yes. I definitely remember that.”
“I was mostly asleep when I said that.” I lower the spoon and scrub the back of my hand over my face. “But when I woke up, I said no. I asked you to stop. I tried to push you away.”
I stiffen as he slips off the counter and lowers himself into the chair across from me. “Baby girl, I’d never hurt you. I…didn’t hear. I swear.”
I flinch when he reaches for my arm.
“Fuck,” he growls under his breath. I lift my head when I see him stand and pace toward the family room. “You don’t know what it was like, hearing what that cocksucker did to you. I want to rip his fucking dick off for fucking with you.”
A cold shiver fingers up my spine with the realization that this is what last night was about. Nate didn’t like that I fucked someone else.
“He didn’t fuck with me. I wanted to sleep with him.” I spin on Nate, suddenly finding a small reservoir of strength hidden inside the memory of how Caiden made me feel. “He didn’t rape me. You did.”
He lowers his eyes and rubs them. “I don’t even know what else to say, except I’m serious, Blaire.” He lifts his gaze to mine again, and I’m not sure what I see there. Remorse? Or just fear. “I really like you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. Just give me a chance to make it up to you, okay? We can slow way down. No sex. We can just hang out…spend some time together. Do normal shit, movies and whatever.”
I feel my body go weak and start to shake as the little bit of strength I found evaporates. I go to the family room and sink into the sofa before my legs give out, curling into a ball in the corner and pulling my knees up, resting my forehead on them.
I can’t begin to decipher what I’m feeling. He raped me, but it’s Nate. My Nate. He was drunk. Maybe he really didn’t hear me.
“I promise, Blaire,” he says, from the doorway to the kitchen. “I won’t touch you again until you ask me to. Okay?”
I feel myself nodding against my knees, though it’s not a conscious gesture.
“Listen…I’m gonna go. Give you some space.”
I stiffen as I see him in my peripheral vision, moving slowly closer, as if approaching a skittish animal. I work hard not to flinch again as he leans down and kisses the back of my head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear.
Then he’s gone.
Chapter 20
Caiden
Jail really isn’t much like they make it out to be in the movies. There are no three hundred pound guys with bandanas and tattoos who want to make me their prison bitch, the guards seem like pretty regular guys, and I don’t see much of a “black market” other than an old man who trades desserts for cigarettes that he keeps down his pants. Maybe it’s because I’m in county instead of the state penitentiary, but it isn’t all that bad. Rent’s free, so there’s that. The gym, where I spend most of my day, is decent and there’s no monthly fee. The food’s horrible, but so was most of what I cooked for myself, so I can’t complain on that front.
Most everyone keeps their heads down, minds their own business, and does their time. But there are two guys on my block who have an issue with me, apparently. The bigger one is about my height and has a few pounds on me, but he’s not as cut as Jones. He’s got a beer gut and looks soft, so I’m pretty sure I could take him if push came to shove. The little one is maybe five seven and wiry. I could snap him like a toothpick. I call the little one Hans and the big one Franz because they watch me in the gym, though I’ve never once seen either of them lift a weight. Every time I walk within earshot, they grab their dicks and mutter things about fucking babies up the ass. I figure if I can steer clear for two more weeks, they’re someone else’s problem.