“You’re a lucky girl,” my mom says when I walk back inside. “That was incredibly sweet of him to let you stay.”
“I couldn’t leave you here to deal with everything on your own.”
I walk over to my mom and give her a big hug, still feeling the pain from seeing her cry in the car. It’s rare that she shows vulnerability, so when it does happen, it’s always hard for me to take in.
“Are you hungry at all?”
“Not really,” I tell her. “Honestly, would you mind if I took a nap? I didn’t sleep well last night and after this morning, I’m completely drained.”
“I think I might do the same thing.”
Lying back down in bed, I tuck myself under the sheets that smell like Micah. It fills my lungs as Kason fills my head. I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. Picturing him alone and broken punctures me severely. No one should ever have to experience the pain he’s clearly suffering from. Worried, I take my phone from the nightstand and shoot him a text.
Me: Are you okay?
I immediately kick myself and wish I could retract it, but it already sent. Of course he isn’t okay.
Me: Ignore that last text. Just message me back when you get this.
I lay the phone back down, but it never buzzes with his reply. Staring out my window, the sun blazes brightly, much too cheerful for a day like this. A day of goodbye and mourning. A day of utter misery. It should be storming instead.
I roll over and hug the pillow that Micah’s been sleeping on for the past week. A pillow that used to cradle Kason’s head as well, but it no longer holds his scent. The scent of the past that used to be my security. Funny how time changes things. How in a blink of an eye the world can shift so abruptly, without any warning.
I felt it four years ago when I woke up in that frat room. In a single moment, my world was flipped upside down. I remember praying harder than I had ever prayed before, bargaining with God to give me a do-over. Do-overs don’t exist, though. My path was altered, and that night will forever be cemented in the crux of who I am now.
But it didn’t just change my life; it changed Kason’s as well. And even though I know how I pulled through it, I’m clueless as to how it shaped him moving forward.
My heart tremors when I think back to Kason’s reaction when I told him Micah and I were getting married. To hear him say that he never unloved me cleaved me wide open. It awoke something inside me that I buried years ago, and now . . . all I can do is wonder where his heart is, even though it’s no longer mine to wonder about.
Again, sleep fails me as I toss and turn, finally grabbing the remote to the television only to get lost in a random movie. Halfway through, Micah calls and we talk for about an hour while he drives until he hits Alligator Alley and his service cuts out. I then call Kason, but wind up talking to his voice mail. Eventually, the movie ends, the sun sets, and Micah calls again to let me know he made it back to the condo. We talk a little more, and when we hang up, I drag myself downstairs to find my mother sitting out on the veranda.
“Did you get a good nap?”
I take a seat in one of the chairs by the fire pit. “No. I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re still wearing your dress.”
I look down at my black shift dress and then prop my bare feet onto the edge of the unlit brick pit. “Have you heard from Kason?”
“No.”
“I tried getting a hold of him, but he hasn’t called or texted me back.”
“You want me to try?” she offers.
“Do you think it would be a bad idea if I just drove over to his place to check in on him? It worries me that he’s all alone.”
“If you feel that’s what you want to do, dear, I don’t see any harm.”
I sit for a moment and contemplate going over there, and the more I think about it, the more my gut tells me I should.
“Can I borrow your car?”
“Keys are on the bar,” she says before I go inside and slip my heels back on.
I give my hair a quick combing with my fingers before heading his way. Somberness hangs overhead as I make the short drive, and when I arrive at his building and take the elevator up, I hope that this time, I can offer him solace rather than more hurt. That thought alone makes me question if I should even be here at all.
I stop in front of his door, listening to loud music coming from the other side. Shifting on my feet, I hesitate for a minute before finally knocking.
I wait, but no one answers, so I knock again, this time a little louder. Just as I’m dropping my hand back to my side, a girl’s laugh cuts through the music. My chest tightens, and something sparks to life inside me. What? I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel good. I take a step away from the door, and I’m about to walk away when the lock clicks and the door swings open.
A woman, wearing nothing but her underwear, stilettos, and way too much makeup, stands in front of me. “Can I help you?” she says with alcohol on her breath and red lipstick on her lips.
I stare in shock, locked in place while my heart screams at me to run back home, but I don’t.
She then breaks out in laughter, asking, “Do you speak English?”
“Who are you talking to?” another female voice questions, and when I look over the first girl’s shoulder, that’s when I realize these are prostitutes.
I reach out and force the door open, and the second I step inside, I’m horrified by the scene in front of me.
Beer bottles are scattered across the coffee table alongside a few unwrapped, used condoms. Kason sits on the couch, completely naked, while a woman with no bra grinds on his lap and shoves her breasts in his face, and I freak out.
“What are you doing?” I mutter, unable to catch my voice, and when I see the girl who’s on top of Kason reach down and grip him in her hand, I snap. “Get off him!”
“What’s your problem?” The other woman says as she closes the door, but I don’t even look back at her as I stalk across the room and grab ahold of the girl’s arm. “Stop touching him!”
I pull her back and finally see Kason’s face. He’s half-lidded and drunk, slurring, “Adaline?”
“What the hell?” the girl lashes as she slides off his lap.
I reach down and pick up Kason’s shorts, slinging them at him with a scolding, “Put these on.” In a flash, I gather the few pieces of clothing lying at his feet and toss them at the girls. “Get out! Now!”
They snap back at me, calling me a bitch, but all I can focus on is getting them out of here. They scramble, throwing on their outfits that barely cover them before stumbling on their platform heals as they scurry out. Once they’re gone, I lock the door and turn off the music.
Kason is slung down low on the couch, and my stomach burns in disgust as I try to digest what I just saw. “What are you doing?” My words come out loud and bitter. “Were those hookers?”
He doesn’t say a single word as he focuses in on me and leans forward with a beer bottle dangling from his hand. It’s only then that I realize he’s crying. My heart snaps, the bottle drops to the floor, and I’m next to him in a heartbeat. He falls into my arms, and I hold him as best I can, all the while terrified that this is what has become of his addiction.
His back trembles against my hands, and he grabs on to me. His agony pours out of him. It kills me to see him so broken.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pulling back, and when he lifts his head, I wipe his tears with my hands.
“Why are you here?”
“You asked me to stay, so I stayed.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. “You don’t want to be a part of this. I’m too fucked up for you to even care.”
“You can’t do this to yourself, Kason.”
“What did you think was going to happen when you left me? That this would all just go away?”
His words slap me right across the face. This is my fault. I left him to suffer alone. I just never knew that I’d be throwing him deep into the flames of his cravings. That it would ever get to this point. Not with Kason—not my Kason. I don’t want to believe that he’s this guy.
“You were right,” he tells me. “I knew it back then, but I was too afraid to admit it to myself.”
“Admit what?”
“That I have this sick addiction. That I’m severely fucked up and a disgrace you never should’ve gotten yourself involved with.”
“Don’t say that.” I take his face in my hands. “You are not a disgrace, Kason. Not to me.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. There’s a reason why you never came back.”
“It wasn’t because I didn’t love you,” I tell him, wiping away another tear as mine begin to fall. “But I’m here now.”
“I can’t watch you with him.”
“Micah left earlier today. It’s just me.”
He pushes back and moves to stand, faltering off balance into the coffee table and knocking over a couple of empty bottles. I grab ahold of his arm and attempt to steady him. Without his shirt on, I can now see that he’s larger than he used to be. Broader and more defined with deep cut muscles. I remember that he used to run as a way to try to distract himself from giving in to his urges, so I wonder if this stems from that.
“I can’t fucking think straight.”
“Maybe you should lie down.”
He doesn’t resist as I hold on to him and walk over to the door I assume leads to his bedroom. I’m right, and he stumbles straight out of my hands and flops facedown onto his large bed. I go into his bathroom and open a few drawers before eventually finding a box of medicine in the closet with his towels and linens. I dump a couple Tylenol in my hand and grab him a glass of water, only to find he’s already passed out. Giving him a little nudge, he stirs enough to swallow the pills before dropping his head back down.
Taking a step back, I watch him for a moment, sorting through the chaos of this evening. It’s disturbing to know how badly he’s still battling with himself. To see him resort to dirty prostitutes slays me wide open. I swear, the moment I put together who those girls were, I was overcome with an insatiable need to protect him in any way I could. That feeling still lingers. That I want to guard him and keep him safe from other risky behaviors he might be engaging in. It terrifies me to know who he’s been with, how many there have been, and what he’s been exposed to.
It’s the same way I felt when we were together. I always tried my best and gave my all, but I never forced him to recognize that it was actually an issue. After what I just saw, there’s no way I can turn a blind eye to this.
Stepping out of his room, I take a look around and begin picking up the mess. I toss all the bottles and then grab a wad of paper towels from the kitchen, gather up the condoms, and throw them in the garbage, shocked that this is even happening right now, that Kason is actually having sex with hookers. And the sick part is, there’s a dark shadow of jealousy in me.
After everything is cleaned up, I go back into Kason’s room to check on him. He’s still asleep. I should probably go home, but I feel weird leaving him like this. Still wearing my black dress from the funeral, I question myself a few times before opening his dresser and pulling out a pair of pajama pants and an old T-shirt. I slip into his bathroom to change, and his clothes swallow my slight frame, but I make do as I head back out to the living room.
There’s a throw blanket draped over one of the chairs, and I grab it before shutting off the lights and lying down on the couch. Unease captures me wholly as I lie here—here in Kason’s loft. Two weeks ago, I never would have considered that I’d cross paths with him, yet here I am, wearing his clothes while he sleeps in the next room. A part of me wants to cry, but I’m not even sure why. If only I could grasp on to one solid emotion and define it, I could possibly explain what it is I’m actually feeling. But I can’t. When it comes to Kason, I’ve always felt too much, too fast.
With the weight of the week wearing me down, I surprise myself when I start to doze off. I don’t know how long I sleep before a light wakes me. Blinking a few times, I slowly sit up and see Kason rummaging through the fridge. From the dark, I watch him as he guzzles down a bottle of water. When it’s all gone, he tosses it in the trash and then looks up. His eyes latch on to mine, and it takes a moment for him to finally speak.
“You’re still here.”
“I can go if you—”
“No,” he says. “It’s fine.”
Coming out of the kitchen, he walks across the dark room and over to the couch. I scoot to make room for him, and he sits next to me with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry. You should’ve never seen that.”
Wanting to finally be honest with him and tell him what I never felt I could when I was younger, I admit, “I’m scared for you. I always have been.”
His eyes drop, and he notices that I’m wearing his clothes. His gaze lingers for a moment, and when he looks back up, he surprises me when he confesses, “I’m scared, too.”
His admission strikes a chord in me, and I take his hand in mine. It’s a simple touch, yet it feels so complex.
“Are we being honest here?”
I give him a nod, and when I do, he falters, though he never takes his eyes off me. His look is transparent, and I’m amazed that I can still read his thoughts so well. He needs this—the clarity and what I could never say before, so I give him my approval to seek out what I had denied him.
“It’s okay. You can ask.”
His jaw clenches, and when his eyes water, I’m taken back to freshman year. “Tell me what happened. Please, just hand it over to me so I don’t have to question it anymore.”
And for the first time, I give him what he deserved to always know but what I was too weak to give him. His hand tightens around mine, and I can see him bracing himself for what we both know but were too scared to acknowledge.
“I was raped.”
Three words shatter both our hearts. It was one thing to tell Micah, but to finally tell Kason what it was that ripped us apart, claws its way through our ribs and right down to our souls. We collapse into each other’s arms and cry for all we lost because of that night. I held on to that secret only for it to tear us apart. And I keep wondering what would’ve happened to us if he had known.
“Why couldn’t you have told me? Why did you push me away?” His tears fall into my hair as he clutches me against him.
“I was scared. And I was young. I wasn’t as strong as I am now.”
He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “Was it that night you went out with your roommate? The day you moved in?”
I nod against him and then give whatever I can to help him fill in the gaps. “There was this guy I ran into . . . he had helped my mom and me move in earlier that day. He must’ve slipped something into my drink that night, because I passed out and still to this day have no memory of what he did to me.”
His hands thread through my hair and fall down my face as I feel every piece of his devastation, but I go on, needing him to know all of it. “When I woke the next morning, I was in a strange room and naked. At first I thought I had cheated on you, but my conscience kept telling me otherwise. I knew that I had been raped; I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know anything other than something really bad happened.”
“God, baby, I am so sorry,” his voice bleeds, and he has me back in his arms. “I wanted to help you so badly, but I was scared. I was so fucking scared that if I pushed too hard, you’d run away. But I knew. I knew in my gut that someone hurt you, and all I wanted was for you to come to me. To trust me and tell me. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to help you.”
“I was scared, too,” I reveal. “I knew how much you were dealing with, and how ugly your past was. It didn’t feel right to put this on you when you were battling your own wars.” More tears fall when I get the nerve to admit, “I didn’t think you’d be strong enough to help me through it.”
“You didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t even let me try to fight for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We didn’t have to lose each other,” he says, drawing back again.
“I felt so much guilt. I blamed myself, and I was so afraid that if you knew, you’d blame me too and never look at me the same way again.” He drags his thumbs under my eyes and collects my tears. “You always looked at me with so much pride, and I know how much it meant to you that I was good and wholesome. I couldn’t let you know how dirty I had become.” I weep through more tears that scald the tender skin of my cheeks.
“I would never look at you that way. What that bastard did to you didn’t wash away your innocence. You are still, to this very day, the most beautiful and pure girl I’ve ever known. It just kills me that you felt that way. That you couldn’t trust me with this. That you wouldn’t let me take care of you.”
“I couldn’t trust anyone with it. It took a really long time for me to admit it aloud.”
“But your mom. The day I found out you left, she said she knew.”
“She figured it out on her own, and I didn’t deny it,” I tell him. “I left, and everything got a lot worse before it got better.”
His expression shifts, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand before saying, “Let me guess . . . it was Micah.”
And suddenly, every choice I made feels like the wrong one. Guilt festers inside my chest as I start to realize that I might have made the biggest mistake of my life by not trusting Kason enough to tell him. Because seeing him right now, in this very moment, I have a hard time doubting his strength when it comes to me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper breathlessly and with so much remorse.
Before I know it, he has my face cradled in his hands. He’s so close that our noses touch, and I forget the world beyond the two of us when his lips touch mine. He pulls me to him, not knowing that I’m already pushing into him. It’s a kiss laced with salt that seeps out from our deepest wounds, and I can taste it—taste the love we once shared, a love that was so intense, so promising, and so undeniably right. It was boundless and beautiful, and he’s right, I threw it all away.
I touch his face, and his tears absorb into my palms as his taste in my mouth brings so many feelings back to life. The strongest one of all is guilt as it becomes a switchblade jabbing my gut. I rip my mouth from Kason’s.
“I can’t,” I mutter as Micah filters through the visions of what Kason and I once shared.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
His brows furrow and then smooth when he looks me dead on. My stomach dip-dives, and then completely somersaults when he asks, “Do you still love me?”
“You can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say, my voice trembling in fear for where this is going. “Because I made a promise to another man.”
“Micah,” he states, and when I nod, he counters, “You made a promise to me, too. That I was your forever. So, just be honest here. It’s the least I deserve.”
He’s right. I did make him a promise. And I broke that promise when I walked away from him. So, in the eye of this storm I feel responsible for, I swallow hard against my word and my values and admit what I know I shouldn’t be admitting at all. “Yes. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”