Don gives me a thousand dollars for “my trouble” as he called it. I wish he would’ve given me more. I tried to make him feel guilty over what happened with Greg, because let me tell you, I let him know exactly what happened—in full, explicit detail—when I ran into his office. He flinches with every detail I reveal, shaking his head as the words pour out of me.

I’ve never seen Don move so fast when he leaps out of his chair and heads for the room where Greg still was. I follow after him, secure in knowing Don is there to defend me, but when we get to the room, Greg isn’t anywhere to be found.

He simply vanished. And without asking for his money back either.

“Guess you lucked out, doll,” Don murmurs when we’re back in his office.

“Lucked out?” I ask incredulously. “Are you serious?” I can’t believe he just said that.

“Trust me, it could’ve be worse.”

“That creep tried to rape me,” I remind him.

“Yeah, and I’m giving you a thousand dollars, right?” Don sends me a look, one that says I shouldn’t argue with him.

Fine. I won’t argue. Not when so much money is on the line.

I say nothing as Don quietly opens up his desk drawer, draws out a fat stack of hundreds, and starts counting them out, one by one, until he hit one thousand.

“Sorry about that,” he says as he keeps his gaze fixed on his desk. Like he can’t look at me. “Don’t worry about that asshole. I’ll take care of him if he comes back. You can take the next few days off if you want.”

Without a word I grab the money, shove it into my purse, and walk out, never once looking back. There’s no way I want to hang out at this rat hole for fear I’d see Greg again—if that’s even his real name.

Over the next few days while I wallow in my misery, Savannah texts me a few times, asking why I’m not around and if I’m okay, but I ignore her. Rhett texts me as well, wanting to know if I want to get together sometime this week, but I ignore him too. Seeing Rhett is the last thing I want after what I went through with Greg. Not that Rhett’s to blame or anything, but I can guarantee he’s going to want to have sex with me, and there is no way that’s happening. Not right now.

I feel too battered and bruised. Too raw and…ugly. Yes, ugly. Greg called me terrible names. He wanted to hurt me.

And comparing what Greg tried to do to me versus my experience with Rhett the night before? How sweet yet aggressive Rhett had been, and how much I wanted him? My brain can’t compute all the conflicting thoughts.

I skip school, something I can’t afford to do, considering I’m already behind. But I know I won’t be able to concentrate on the lectures, so why waste my time? I stay in bed for three days straight, until my hair is stringy and greasy and I’ve been in the same clothes for so long I’m starting to smell funky. The entire time I do nothing but watch new movies on this illegal download site I find, and when that gets boring I watch a bunch of crime shows on YouTube.

All the tales of murder, double-crossing and serial rapists get to me. Make me think my life was turning into a made-for-TV movie—or at least excellent fodder for one of these crime shows. They always say “based on a true story”—and my true story is so messed up. It just keeps getting worse.

I cry too. I mentally ask myself a lot of questions. Like what the hell am I doing? Do I really want to be this person? I almost let some old guy rape me for thousands. Hell, I still got some of the money and I bet that pissed Greg off so bad.

So what does that make me? A whore?

Yes. In my eyes, definitely yes.

I had sex with Rhett just so I can get closer to his stepmother, aka my mother. How messed up is that? Is what happened with Greg karma trying to get back at me for what I’m doing to Rhett? I’m using Rhett, so Greg used me?

I’m starting to think that’s it. That’s why this happened. My decisions have led me down this path, and now it’s become so awful, so fraught with too many scary unknowns, I don’t think I can handle it any longer.

When I can’t take myself anymore, I finally get out of bed and take the longest shower of my life, almost as long as the one I took Saturday night, when I tried my best to scrub Greg off my skin. I threw away the skirt and panties because they smelled like him and his expensive cologne, and the scent made me want to vomit.

Just the mere thought of Greg makes me want to vomit.

After my shower, I lotion myself up good, blow-dry my hair, apply some light makeup, and then start packing. Like, anything I can shove into my one old suitcase that once belonged to my dad, it goes in there. I don’t have a lot of furniture or personal items, so anything left behind I don’t care about.

I need to get the hell out of here.

After grabbing the biggest tote bag I own from my closet, I throw my old purse inside as well. I sit on the saggy pleather couch and go on the Internet, searching for a bus ticket back to my hometown, finding one that would leave in about ninety minutes. I could take city transit to the bus depot and leave. Forget school and Rhett and my mother. Forget City Lights and Savannah and Don and Chuck. It’s best if I leave everything behind and pretend Jensen never existed.

Despite all the planning and time and energy I put into this, I need to abandon my revenge plan. It’s getting me into a lot of trouble. Trouble I don’t need.

Deciding I’d rather purchase the bus ticket with cash, I give up my ticket search and go into the kitchen, where I throw away everything that’s old or close to expiring. Once I have that clean, I go through the tiny cupboard I call my pantry, tossing out bags of stale chips and boxes of old crackers. I find a few snacks I can take with me on the bus, stuff I can eat later, plus a couple of bottles of water, and I shove it all in my tote bag.

The cash Don gave me plus the little bit I’d saved over the months is bound with a rubber band and stashed inside a flower-printed cosmetics bag my dad gave me when I turned thirteen. It’s faded now, and kind of hideous, but I’ve never been able to part with it.

My one sentimental piece beyond the earrings that belong to my mother.

After eating a giant bowl of cereal with the last of the milk from the fridge, I toss the plastic bowl in the trash along with the milk carton and then move through my tiny house to turn out all the lights. I lock the back door, make sure all the blinds and curtains are closed, and I finally grab my stuff and start to head out the front door. I’ve paid rent through this month, and there’s only a few more days left before a new month starts. When I don’t make my next regular payment, I know my landlord will come here looking for me. I should probably leave a note, but screw it. They’ll be able to figure out I’m gone.

Not that they’ll really care.

With an irritated huff, I throw open the door and stop short at what I find waiting for me on the front porch.

A bouquet of flowers in a glass vase, though they’re nothing standard like a dozen roses or anything like that. No, this arrangement is a variety of colorful, vibrant wildflowers, and they are absolutely gorgeous.

No one has ever given me flowers before.

I drop my tote to the ground and leave my suitcase standing upright as I bend down to pick up the vase. I bury my face in the flowers, their velvety petals caressing my cheeks, their delicious scent filling my head. There’s no card, and for the briefest, scariest moment, I wonder if they could be from Greg.

That means he knows where I live.

“I’ve been waiting for you out here for almost an hour.”

Whirling around, I watch in disbelief as Rhett walks across my weed-filled yard, a bashful smile on his face. I glance down at the flowers, then back up at him. I’m shocked that he’s here. After the ugliness of the last few days, his presence lights me up. Lightens me up. Makes me feel…

Hopeful.

“These are from you?” I hold the vase out.

He nods. “You like them?”

Ignoring his question, I ask, “What do you mean you’ve been waiting out here for almost an hour? Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did knock. A couple of times,” he answers, stopping just at the edge of my porch. “I guess you didn’t hear me.”

I must not have. I’ve been too busy packing and trying to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.

“Looks like you’re going somewhere.” He nods toward the suitcase next to me.

“Oh.” I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Inside, though, I’m a bundle of nerves.

Rhett is here. He came to see me. And he left me flowers.

What does this mean?

“Oh? That’s all you’re going to say?” Now he’s standing directly in front of me, the only barrier the vase of flowers between us. “I’ve tried texting you for days, but you haven’t responded.”

I’ve ignored all of his texts. I eventually blocked his number a couple of days ago so I wouldn’t see them anymore and be tempted to answer him.

So why does he stick around? No one else does in my life.

What makes Rhett the exception to the rule?

“I even tried calling you.”

A weak laugh escapes me. “I never answer phone calls.”

“I figured that.” Rhett chuckles, but he sounds nervous. And this makes my heart want to crack wide open. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since we were together Friday night.”

His admission makes my heart crack open even more. Why is he saying this? Why is he doing this to me?

“But I’m starting to think I’m the only one who feels this way, since clearly you’re doing all right without me.” He waves in the direction of my suitcase, like he’s upset. And maybe he is. Maybe he’s hurt because I ignored him, and now he’s giving me flowers and I look like I’m running away, which I am. I so am. I don’t deserve him. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

He turns and starts walking toward the sidewalk, and I watch his retreating back.

Let him go.

Let him walk out of your life.

You don’t owe him an explanation.

It’s better that he thinks of you as a fond memory versus that evil bitch who used him.

Let.

Him.

Go.

“Rhett. Wait.”

I chase after him, the vase still clutched in my hands, the flowers bouncing in my face. I grab hold of his arm and he stops, turning to face me. There’s high color in his cheeks, and his eyes are blazing with frustration and anger and…

Want. Lots and lots of want.

My body responds automatically. I want him too. Despite everything I just went through, I lean into him, wishing he would touch me.

But he doesn’t. He’s too angry to give in. I can see it in the determined set of his jaw, the wary way he’s watching me. He’s put himself on the line and I’ve done nothing but make him feel worse.

“I swear, Rhett, I didn’t hear you knock. And I—” Hesitating, I scuff my feet on the sidewalk, feeling stupid. “I blocked your number so I wouldn’t text you back,” I admit, my voice low.

He’s frowning, like he can’t comprehend what I just told him. “Why didn’t you want to text me back?”

“I was, uh, I was going to leave. My—my grandma is not in the best of health, and no one else in the family wants to take care of her, so it’s up to me.” There. That’s a nice lie that won’t hurt his feelings. “I need to leave tonight, and I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“More like I didn’t know how to tell you.” I’m messing this up, but are we really surprised? I don’t know how to have a normal relationship with a person. Don’t know how to start or maintain one either. “I really—liked you, and I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, because it couldn’t last. I’m not a permanent fixture here, Rhett. And that means I can’t be a permanent fixture in your life.”

He’s watching me, his gaze locked on my face, his expression so sincere, so earnest, it almost makes me want to cry. I prepare myself for what he’s about to say. I can tell it’s going to be something sweet and wonderful and his words are going to make me want to cave in and stay.

The last thing I should do is stay.

“Jensen.” He says my name like an endearment, and I can feel the tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “You should’ve told me all of this sooner.” He takes the vase from my hands and sets it on top of his car. In my despair to chase after him, I didn’t even notice we ended up standing right next to it. “I can help. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“You barely know me.” His hands feel so good when they gently clamp around my shoulders. Like he could pull me into him and offer up all his strength, all his warmth and I could absorb it. Feed off it. It’s so weird, but I instinctively know he’d take care of me, no matter what, and I don’t deserve so much faith. “Why do you even care?”

“I told you I want to get to know you better.” He hesitates, like he’s afraid to reveal more. But he takes a deep breath and forges on. “From the moment we first met, there was something about you. You intrigued me. You still do.”

I’m at a complete loss for words.

“Didn’t you feel the connection between us the other night? God.” He hauls me to him, holding me close, my face buried against the solid wall of his chest, and I breathe in his clean, fresh scent. It’s nothing like the cloying cologne Greg used. But Rhett still smells expensive, deliciously expensive, and thoughtful and caring and—

“Let me help you.” He slips his fingers beneath my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to meet his earnest, hopeful gaze. His fingers are gentle, a complete contrast to the way Greg touched me. “Do you need a ride? I can take you to your grandma’s house. Whatever you need.”

“What? Oh.” I’d already forgotten my lie to him. Not smart. I need to keep better track. “Maybe someone else can take care of her after all. I don’t know.” My excuses sound weak, and I clamp my lips shut.

“Okay then.” His fingers fall away from my chin. His voice is slow, and he’s frowning at me. I’m sure I’ve confused him. No surprise, since I’m feeling pretty confused myself. “You want to come back to my place?”

“Huh?” He wants to take me back to his palace? Well, I don’t know if he lives in an actual palace while he’s in college, but I know he does when he’s home with the parentals. He used to belong to a frat and lived in the house, but he moved out the spring of his junior year.

How do I know this? Googling him—he mentioned those interesting facts on an Instagram post.

God, I’m awful.

“Jensen. Hey.” He pulls away from me, still holding onto my shoulders, and I’m thankful he’s keeping me in place. My knees are so shaky I’m afraid I could fall. “Are you all right?” He touches my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers so gentle. “You’re acting kinda weird.”

I am. I always am. Can’t he see it? I’m fake. Fake as my pleather couch, fake as the CZ earrings in my ears. Fake as the name that he calls me.

There’s nothing about me that’s real.

My stomach churns as I blink up at him, and I swear I’m seeing two Rhetts. Like he’s a twin egg that split in two. Does that even make sense? No, of course not.

“I, uh, I feel kinda…dizzy.” Fuzzy black dots fill my vision and I shake my head, but that only seems to make it worse.

“Damn, your lips are so white. Jensen, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Jensen? Jensen!”