Eden

 

Dylan parked the truck in front of his house. I wanted to go home but was grateful he didn’t insist on taking me there. Just thinking about what would happen if my parents found out what had happened that night- I shook my head. I just wanted to forget about all of it.

As soon as he parked, Dylan jumped out of his seat and came around to open my door. Without a word, he unbuckled my seatbelt and picked me up, blanket and all.

“I can walk,” I protested, although I didn’t know if that was true or not. My whole body ached, and my legs felt like jelly.

Dylan ignored me and made his way to the door on the side of the house near the garage. He opened it without even shifting my weight and before I knew it, he carried me down the stairs to the basement apartment in his parents’ house and into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Setting me on the closed toilet seat, Dylan crouched in front of me. “Eden, I won’t pressure you to do something you don’t want to do, but if he-”

I cut him off. I knew what he was saying and as much as I hated everything about what had happened between me and Marshall, the things he said after, the way he treated me during, the fact that I saw him with his arm around Kenzie when I finally stumbled from the woods, he didn’t rape me. “No, Dylan. I mean it.”

Dylan held my gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, looking for some truth. I met them head on, but that didn’t mean I was able to hold back the tears. Finally, he got to his feet with a sigh.

Pushing aside the shower curtain, he turned on the water and waited for a second before testing it. When the water was the temperature he wanted, Dylan pulled the lever to start the shower and yanked the curtain closed again.

“Here’s a towel,” he said, choosing a fluffy towel out of the linen closet. “I’ll get you some clean clothes and set them on the counter once you get in.”

And with that, he left, closing the door behind him.

A shower sounded heavenly. I quickly got out of my clothes and put them in the trash can beside the toilet. I never wanted to see them again.

The warm water pounded against my skin. For a second, the scent of Marshall’s cologne floated in the steamy air before it washed down the drain. Glancing around the shower enclosure, all I could find was Dylan’s body wash. I decided I could smell worse- did, in fact, smell worse. I pumped a measure of the soap into my hand and lathered it between my fingers before scrubbing at my body.

A knock sounded on the door. “You in?”

“Yeah.” I froze as he opened the door. Dylan wouldn’t do anything he shouldn’t, and I knew he couldn’t see me but still it was too intimate for him to be in the bathroom while I was naked in the shower. Especially, after-

He cleared his throat. “There’s some clothes on the counter. It’s all clean, I promise.”

“Thanks,” I squeaked.

“No problem.” And then the door closed again.

I couldn’t help myself, I peeked around the edge of the curtain to make sure he was really gone. Of course, he was. Feeling foolish on so many levels, I hurried through the rest of my shower, washing my hair with the bottle of dandruff shampoo in the corner. I turned off the water after making sure my hair was rinsed clean. I hated washing my hair. I remembered the feel of Marshall’s hands buried in the strands and couldn’t wait to get it cut.

I wrung out the moisture as much as I could before grabbing the towel and drying off. Dylan had placed a neatly folded stack of clothes on the counter. A gray t-shirt. A pair of gym shorts with a drawstring. Boxers. My cheeks flushed. Glancing at the clothes I tossed in the garbage, I couldn’t do it.

Pushing my embarrassment aside, I put on the clothes Dylan left for me. His clothes. Using the towel to dry my hair, I fought the feelings of desperation that threatened to suffocate me. Searching through the drawers, I found a comb. It would have to do. Working from the bottom, I combed through the tangles until my hair was smooth as silk.

Another knock sounded on the door. “You okay? Need anything else?”

“I’m good,” I called softly. Or as good as I could get. A quick glance in the mirror told me it would be awhile before my eyes calmed down, they were so red and puffy. My cheeks were bright red from the hot water- my body swam in Dylan’s huge clothes.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

Dylan stood, leaning against the wall across from the bathroom. I tried not to squirm under his perusal. He must think I was the dumbest girl he’d ever had the chance to meet. My cheeks burned with shame.

“Sorry about the soap. I’m the only one that uses that shower and I didn’t think to get you something from upstairs.” He didn’t move, just stayed there against the wall.

“It’s fine.” I waved his concern aside.

What now?

I wrung my hands anxiously. One side of Dylan’s mouth curled up.

“Come on.” He reached for my hand and led me down the hall, pausing outside his bedroom.

In all the years I’d known Dylan, I’ve never been down here, never been in his room. He watched as I took in his personal space with a thorough glance. It surprised me given the state of his truck, but his room was spotless. The only thing out of order was a pair of jeans thrown haphazardly across the end of the bed he’d obviously been sleeping in when I called. His closet door was closed. His shoes were lined up neatly. The nightstand beside his bed held a lamp, alarm clock, and one book- a biography of Winston Churchill.

His walls were decorated with military posters. One showed military planes through various wars while another had different types of weapons from guns to tanks. A framed photograph of he, Josh, and I at an amusement park sat on a shelf on the wall above his desk. Beside the desk, a futon was shoved in the corner.

“I’ll take the futon,” he said, ushering me into the room.

Suddenly, the situation hit me. I was in Dylan’s house. In his room. Wearing his clothes. And I was supposed to sleep here. My eyes slid shut. Maybe I should leave.

“Maybe I should leave.” My voice trembled.

Dylan paused, a blanket and pillow in his hands as his gaze snapped to me. “If that’s what you want. I’ll walk you home. But if you want to stay, you’ll be safe here, Eden.”

I knew what he said was true. I might hate Dylan because he was an overbearing, overprotective oaf, but he cared about me. Tonight, when Marshall left me all alone at Jared’s party, the only person I knew I could call was Dylan. He wouldn’t rat me out to my parent’s. He wouldn’t even tell Josh. And somehow, I knew he wouldn’t rub it in my face and say, ‘I told you so’.

And I’d already sent the text to my parents that I was going to stay overnight with Allie. They probably wouldn’t see it until morning, but still.

“I’ll sleep on the futon and you can have the bed. No one will come down here if the door is closed on the stairs. What time are your parents expecting you home,” he asked, pulling his phone out of the pocket of the pajama pants he’d obviously changed into while I was in the shower.

Shaking my head, I took the pillow and blanket out of his hand. “I’m a lot smaller than you. I’ll sleep on the futon.”

“What? No, way,” Dylan reached for the pillow. I jerked it back and sat down on the futon. He’d have to physically move me to get me off the futon now.

“I should get home by ten or so. Mom usually goes to the gym and then to coffee with some ladies from work on Saturday’s and I think dad has to work. It would be better to show up while they are gone.” I stretched out on the futon, exhausted.

“Okay, I’ll set my alarm for nine-thirty.” He sat down on the edge of his bed and pushed the buttons on the screen. Once he finished, he looked over at me, his eyes full of worry and sorrow.

My own filled with tears again, so I closed them. Dylan leaned over to turn off the lamp on his bedside table. The room was quiet except for the sound of his sheets as he settled into his bed. He sighed deep in his chest.

The futon wasn’t very comfortable, but little by little my body relaxed. Against my will, my thoughts returned to the events leading up to calling Dylan and him picking me up.

Marshall.

How could I have been so wrong? How could I have misjudged the situation so fully? I physically ached with disappointment, hurt, and horror of what had happened. This was not at all how I imagined things going when I first set out to find a boyfriend this year. Now, all I could think was that I never wanted a boyfriend again.

A sob built up in my throat. I tried to hold it in, but it was too strong. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks and my body shook with emotion. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I did now would ever make it go away. I couldn’t take back what had happened tonight. Marshall hadn’t forced me, but I didn’t have a plan. I had no idea how to get myself out of that situation once I was in it. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t fight him off, but I didn’t really want it to happen, either. So, I just let him. I never thought things would go like that and now it was done.

And it hurt. In every way possible, it hurt. I felt used. And dirty. And so, so alone.

Until-

In the midst of my pain, there was Dylan. His strong arms wrapped around me and cradled me close to his chest. Blanket and all, he carried me to his bed. Gently, he set me down and then curled himself around me.

“Dylan, I’m sorry-” I didn’t know what I was sorry for. Keeping him awake. Calling him when there was no one else to call. Not listening to him when he tried to warn me. Pretty much I was sorry for everything.

“Shhh,” he murmured in my ear.

I was cold. So cold. The blanket wrapped around me separated us and Dylan covered us both with the sheet and comforter on his bed. My head lay pillowed on his arm and I snuggled into his warmth.

Over and over he whispered he was sorry. He told me he wished he could take the pain away. He told me I was beautiful, and he told me he loved me.

And somewhere in the haze between sleep and pain, I realized I didn’t hate Dylan Coulter at all. In fact, I never had.