Page 23 of Sin

What does that say about my integrity that I’m willing to lie by omission to save my own ego? Noah would most likely forgive me if I told him about the kiss. My fear is irrational. But he might not see me the same way again, and that thought is deeply unsettling.

Maybe my true fear is that I’ve never really known myself.

Chapter Nine

Lily

My steps are light as I trot down the sidewalk. The sun dips below the horizon, draping the ocean in a breathtaking mix of pink and gold. A warm blanket of peace wraps around my heart. I haven’t been this optimistic in months.

I’m making progress. I slept six hours last night—the longest I have in months, and it’s all thanks to Ethan and his rigid sleep rituals.

He’s been texting me daily, asking for me to recount the night before. Then he gives me a new ritual to try—like turning my phone off an hour before bed—with the commanding certainty of a doctor writing a prescription. It never fails to make me smile. He’s such a stickler, and I never found it endearing until recently.

Whoever thought this would happen with Ethan of all people? I thought for sure his type-A energy would stress me out, but then again, I never expected him to be so sweet and self-deprecating. He actually makes me laugh. When I’m in his presence, I feel like the old me—the real me—instead of this stress ball with the constantly buzzing anxiety.

I’m actually looking forward to our check-in session this evening.

“Why haven’t you texted me back?”

The voice slices through the air, making my whole body grow taut. I squeeze the strap of my messenger bag as I turn around, and there stands Mason under the flickering streetlight with that all-too-familiar scowl.

I’m at the front of the sorority house, which means he must have been waiting for me. Lurking.

“I’ve texted you a hundred times,” he says, his jaw tight. “I don’t understand why you’re ignoring me.

Really, you disgusting slug? You raped me.

Why does even the thought of the word “rape” make me want to wince? It wasn’t my fault. I know this, and yet that doesn’t stifle the burning shame in my chest that tries to claw its way up my throat.

I should have known better. I never should have gotten drunk and put myself under his power. Now, I’m suffering the consequences. I’ve become a ghost of my former self.

The worst part is he insists he never raped me, and he’s here to berate me once again. To make me promise I’ll never tell anyone.

As if I ever would. No one would believe me if I did. I’ve learned enough from my research about how difficult rape is to prove, especially when the rapist is someone close to you. Someone you’ve already had sex with.

I take a deep breath. “I haven’t responded to any of your texts in months. Why do you care now?”

His dark eyes narrow. “Noah’s been weird with me lately. I feel like he knows something.”

Rage flares suddenly, like dry leaves catching fire. “What do you think he knows, Mason?” I raise my chin. “If nothing happened, there’s nothing to tell, right?”

His expression grows hesitant for a moment, but then he takes a step in my direction. I flinch, and he must see it, because his eyes flash. “You’d better not have told anyone what you think happened. My whole football career could be over.”

A chill runs down my spine. This is exactly how he acted the morning after he raped me. I told him the story, giving him the benefit of the doubt since he was so mindlessly drunk and maybe didn’t remember. I could see in his eyes that he did remember, but he scoffed the whole thing off. Said I wasn’t clear that I didn’t want sex.

Except I told him to stop. Over and over again. I told him, and he only gripped my arms tighter.

Telling him the story from my point of view only enraged him. He hovered over me as he told me I could ruin his life if I kept saying what I was saying. He used his size to intimidate me, and his gall left me breathless. What about my life? And how did he not see the irony of being so violently committed to his innocence?

My smile feels like a sneer. “I don’t give a shit about your football career, or should I say your non-existent chances of making it to the NFL.”

His body grows utterly still, and his eyes grow almost wild. He didn’t like that. Why did I say it? Why am I taunting a man who’s prone to violence?

I inhale an unsteady breath. “I just want you to go away. We don’t need to talk about this anymore. You don’t have to worry about my ‘crying rape’, as you called it, so?—”

He lunges toward me, wrapping his fingers around my wrists with a bruising force. A scream rips from my throat, raw and instinctual. I try to wrench away, but he squeezes my wrists tighter.

The world around me blurs as if I’m sinking underwater. I try to retreat into that foggy, dim recess of my mind where his touch can’t reach me. Just like I did that night.

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