Page 40 of Tiny Fractures

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Shane, and make my way toward Cat. That overwhelming need to step in, to protect her, has taken over again.

As if she can sense my approach, her eyes find mine and she looks at me pleadingly.

“Hey baby,” she says loudly when I reach her, and the guy instantly takes a couple of steps back from Cat. I almost look over my shoulder to see who she’s talking to, but then her hands glide up to my chest and around my neck, pulling me in for a kiss.

Shit, this isn’t good. I am not good. But fuck, it feels amazing.

My eyes close with the softness of Cat’s lips, which she parts, allowing my tongue to slip carefully into her mouth. She tastes like tequila and iced tea as I massage her tongue with mine. My hands find her hips and I gently tug her toward me, making a small moan escape from her lips. Her warm body conforms to mine and my heart races. I can feel her heat against every part of me, and I start kissing her more deeply.

I vaguely notice the guy making a face and leaving, but I get lost again when Cat gently bites my lower lip. I can’t help the small groan that escapes my mouth. Her hands are still around my neck, her chest pressed to mine. I have no idea what’s happening; all I know is that I really don’t want it to stop.

I slowly pull away from Cat, and she opens her glossed-over, hooded eyes, swaying slightly as she looks at me with her head tipped back.

“Are you alright?” I ask her, my breathing erratic, blood pulsing in my veins.

A look of confusion spreads across Cat’s face. “Why did you stop?” she asks, her speech garbled and slow, her pupils huge.

“Because I don’t want to take advantage of you. And I don’t want you to do anything you don’t really want and aren’t going to remember in the morning,” I tell her sincerely, omitting the fact that she shouldn’t want to kiss me, shouldn’t want to get involved with me because she is too damn good for me. For anyone, really, but most definitely for me. I’m fucking worthless. If there’s anything I know, it’s that.

She presses her lips together, her eyebrows knitting as she studies me like she just discovered a new species. “You’re so different,” she muses, and turns toward Vada who approaches us hand-in-hand with my brother. “I’m tired,” Cat announces, and it makes me laugh.

“Come on, Kitty Cat, we’ll get you home,” Vada says with a nod to Steve. She hooks her arm under Cat’s and leads her out of Murphy’s.

Cat turns abruptly to face me, and though she’s obviously intoxicated, her eyes nonetheless lock on mine. “Thank you for saving me. Again,” she says, her voice slow but steady, sincere. She gives me a heart-stopping smile and then follows Vada out the door.

Wednesday, June 2nd

Cat

Vada dropped me off at my house at a quarter past ten, way before my midnight curfew. My mom took one look at me stumbling into the house and sighed heavily before leading me up to my bedroom.

“Kitty,” she sighed as she pulled off my shoes, “I thought we moved on from this?”

I blinked at her, my eyelids heavy. All I wanted was to go to sleep. Well, maybe throw up first, then go to sleep.

“We did, Mom. Nothing happened, I promise. I’m safe, and unlike last time I have some pretty great friends.” I tried to keep my voice steady and held her gaze as she searched my eyes.

She pressed her lips together, but finally nodded her head. “You do seem to have some pretty good people around you,” she agreed, and gently stroked my hair back over my head. “I’m going to bring you some aspirin and then you should try to get some sleep.”

She headed to the bathroom, where I could hear her fill a glass with water before she returned with two small white pills in one hand and the glass in the other. I chased the bitter-tasting medicine with water before falling back on my pillow, where my eyes instantly fell shut.

I wake up a few hours later. My throat is parched, but other than that I feel pretty good. It’s quiet in the house with the exception of the nightly sounds of light neighborhood traffic traveling up and through my open window. It’s cool in my room, and I sit up to stretch my legs. I’m still in the jeans and red blouse from earlier and, looking down at myself, I replay the events of the evening… and that kiss.

Ronan thought I wouldn’t remember it, or that I’d regret it—but neither is true. I remember it. Everything. Vividly.

When we were at Murphy’s, this guy came up to talk to me. I tried to lose him. I had too much to drink, yes, but I was sober enough that, somewhere in the back of my head, the alarm bells went off when this guy kept following me, wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to lose him, but he eventually cornered me, trapped me with his large frame, and I froze.

I still remember being a little girl and my parents telling me, repeatedly, to kick and scream if someone ever grabbed me, hurt me, did something I didn’t want. But the reality is that whenever I’m in a situation that would call for such a reaction, my body freezes. I don’t fight or run away; I freeze. I didn’t realize that was an option, but apparently my body did. It happened to me over and over, and it did last night at Murphy’s.

But then Ronan was there, and just like he did with Drew and Corbin, he stepped in. He stopped whatever was happening—he protected me. And I want to say that my drunkenness caused me to let down my guard, caused me to do what I did next—move my hands to Ronan’s chest, feeling the contours of his sculpted muscles through his shirt and the heat of his rock-hard body against mine as I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him into me. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the alcohol.

It was me. I wanted him to kiss me. I want it now, even though I know I shouldn’t.

God, I can’t believe I let my guard down like that, allowed myself to fall back into the same patterns that already cost me everything. Shame washes over me at the realization that I led him on, that I used him, that I lost my inhibitions, which is something that hasn’t happened in a long time.

Ugh, all these thoughts make me antsy. I get off my bed and pace my small room before I decide to go outside for a few minutes to enjoy the cool night air. My phone informs me that it’s 2:27 in the morning. I don’t bother putting on shoes or even slippers as I make my way quietly downstairs, unlock the front door, and slip outside. I sit down on the stoop, lean back on my hands, and close my eyes, enjoying the breeze that gently moves strands of my loose hair.

I let my mind wander, and I remember back to when I last overstepped my personal boundaries and paid for it dearly. A lump forms in my throat as I recall what happened in North Carolina, how my fairy tale turned into a nightmare that continues to haunt my days and nights, all because of my personal choices.

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