I followed suit.
“Colt,” Jessa called from the other side of the door. “The door’s locked.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m coming.”
He turned and left, whatever had burned between us, whatever connection we’d had, disappearing into a puff of smoke.
I went back to my computer.
I didn’t know what else to do.
It was impossible to concentrate.
I couldn’t believe I’d slept with him, right there on the couch. I kept glancing over there, like it was the scene of a crime.
I wondered how many girls he’d slept with on that couch. Probably dozens.
The thought filled me with a sick jealousy.
How could I feel this way about someone I hardly knew?
As the hours went by, the panic began to build in my chest.
I’d slept with him.
Kissing him was one thing.
But sleeping with him?
I was supposed to go see Declan tonight. How could I tell him what had happened? Did I even have to tell him what had happened? We’d promised each other that we’d never be with anyone else, that we’d be each other’s first everything. But we couldn’t cross that line when we were in the system – if we’d gotten caught hooking up in our foster home, we’d be separated forever.
Declan had been willing to risk it.
But I knew that if he was caught with me, they’d blame him. Sure, it would be bad for me – I’d be moved, and it would always be in my file that I had a sexual history with another foster kid. ‘Sexually acting out’ they called it, as if two teenagers hooking up was something nefarious and not completely normal.
But it would be worse for him.
It was always worse for the boy.
I typed his address into the computer, searching for clues as to what his life might be like.
His apartment building seemed to be in a nice area of town, and it made me glad. I wondered if he lived alone, if he had a roommate, what kind of job he had.
When I googled his name, nothing came up, and I wondered again how Colt had found him.
“You still going?” a voice asked.
I turned to see Colt standing behind me, his voice low and dark.
“Oh,” I said. “What?”
“Deacon,” he said. “You’re still going to see him?”
“Declan,” I said.
Colt rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Are you going to see him or not?”
“I’m not sure.” For the first time in my life, something was stronger than my desire to see Declan. It was my desire for Colt. He stood there in front of me, in his t-shirt and jeans, sexy and gorgeous and beautiful, and the need to be close to him pulsed inside of me, pushing everything else out.
I wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his hands on me and his body on mine. It was a pull stronger than anything I’d ever felt before, more intense than my need for Declan, more intense than my need to cut.
Tell me not to go, I pleaded silently. Tell me to stay here, with you. Tell me you don’t want me to see him, that you don’t want me to be with anyone but you.
Colt turned. “You can take my car.”
“What?”
He shrugged, then moved to the other side of the office, pulled a file folder out of the cabinet and began looking through it. “I’m staying late,” he said. “I can get a ride home with Ava.”
I felt the sharp sting of tears against my eyes.
Disappointment filled my belly.
But I should have known better.
I should have known better than to fall for Colt’s act, his ‘Olivia, are you okay’ act, the way he’d been gentle with me, how he’d taken care of me last night, how he’d acted like he cared.
The truth was, he didn’t care.
He didn’t care about anything except that he’d gotten to fuck me.
He was like any other man I’d known in my life. They didn’t care about anything but their dicks, and as soon as they got what they wanted, they were just on to the next, ready to cast you aside like you were nothing.
So I did what I’d always done when something horrible happened to me, when something was so painful that I didn’t want to deal with it. I stuffed it down as far as I could, further and further, to a place where it would lie in wait until it would inevitably resurface at some point and make me want to cut myself.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I can get there on my own.”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
He turned and walked out of the room, and I felt myself start to fall apart.
Stop being weak, I told myself. Stop. This is your own fault. You shouldn’t have had sex with him, what is wrong with you?
I’d ruined everything, for a guy who didn’t even care about me.
I needed to get out of there.
I needed to get away from him.
I would go see Declan.
He would take care of me, and if he wouldn’t, well, then I could go back to the Walnut Street shelter.
Anything was better than this.
I grabbed the ten dollars that was sitting on the desk, the money Colt had given me this morning for lunch.
I picked up the iPhone and hesitated, wondering if I should I take it.