Page 119 of Come Break My Heart Again

Rather than head that way, I walk over and take a seat next to him on the mattress. “Sorry about the game.”

He grunts.

“You … okay?”

“Not really.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you.” Archer drains his cup, then tosses it away. The plastic hits the wooden floorboards with a light tap.

I frown at it. “If that changes, I’m here.”

He snorts. “Don’t pretend to give a shit now.”

“Idocare, Archer. We were together for months. We’ve known each other our whole lives. Just because we didn’t work out as a couple doesn’t mean that?—”

“Why didn’t we work out as a couple, Elle? Because, as far as I can tell, one day, we were good, and the next, we weren’t.” He reaches down and grabs a can of beer I didn’t notice before, cracking it open and taking a large gulp.

“You don’t want me. Not really. You’re mad about how things ended. But when we were together? You never even noticed when I was around.”

“That’s bullshit. Don’t rewrite history just to make yourself feel better.”

“I-I didn’t think you cared, Archer. Honestly.”

He scoffs, drains the rest of the beer, and tosses that away too. I flinch, the clang of aluminum louder against the wood.

“I fucked Maddie on this bed last weekend, you know. How’s it going with your Two? Has he figured out you won’t give it up yet?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m honest, Elle. We’re going to end up together. You’ll see.”

I shake my head. “You’re wrong?—”

His mouth covers mine, cutting me off. My entire body goes rigid, the press of his lips against mine somehow both familiar and foreign. My brain has no time to catch up to current events before he’s rolling on top of me.

The cushion of the mattress pressing against my back feels strange and unexpected, not soft. Lying down wasn’t part of the plan.

The malty taste of beer fills my mouth as Archer’s tongue takes advantage of my shock. His hands roam down my sides to cup my ass, pulling me into his growing erection before sliding lower to hoist the material of my dress higher.

A hot flash of alarm unfreezes me. I start to struggle, the heavy weight of him above me crushing and claustrophobic.

My nails find the bare flesh of his biceps and dig deep. Archer groans into my mouth, his hips humping greedily. Either he can’t tell I’m an unwilling participant or he doesn’t care. I hope it’s the former, that he’s deluded himself into thinking I still have feelings for him—that I ever had feelings for him—but I can’t tell. He’s drunk and angry. And any pity or guilt I was experiencing a minute ago is long gone.

His fingers are creeping higher and higher up the inside of my bare thigh.

I don’t want this.

Annoyance flares into true fear as I panic about how far he intends to take this. I’ve known Archer Hathaway my entire life. He can be selfish, but I never thought he’d disregard me so entirely and just take what he wanted.

A buzzing sound starts in my ears. My stomach rolls with nausea. I’m still struggling, but it’s hard to move. He’s all I can see and smell and feel. Each second, it seems like he’s growing heavier. And my movements are muffled by shock. A large part of me can’t comprehend that this is truly happening. That searching for a bathroom evolved into this situation.

I fight through the numbing disbelief, a sharp stab of terror fracturing the senselessness. I bite down on his tongue as hard as I can, rewarded and repulsed by the taste of blood filling mymouth. Archer swears, shifting so there’s enough space for me to lift my knee straight into his crotch.

“What the fuck, Elle?” He’s curled on his side, his features twisted with pain.

I don’t stick around to explain it to him. I flee the bedroom as fast as I can, my heartbeat a chaotic pounding in my ears as I rush downstairs. The sudden commotion is overwhelming, the laughing and joking and loud music no longer muted by the floorboards.

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