Page 35 of Broken Princess

I let go watching him sag against the wall. Hal’s right on my heels as I walk towards the door. “Logan, that was stupid.”

So was agreeing to that bet and trying to convince myself I could handle pushing Jordanna away.

Thirteen

Jordanna

I’m ready to ditch class the moment I see there’s been a change in seating arrangements. I’ve enjoyed this month in the back of the room, away from Logan’s cold, dead eyes. Now he’s sitting in Gredin’s chair.

“Don’t worry. I’m not sitting here today, I just wanted a second to talk to you.”

Dropping my bag at my feet, with an aggravated huff, I slide onto my stool. He can talk, that doesn’t mean I have to respond.

“You were right about my behavior influencing the ideas people may have about you, and I’m sorry.”

I remain quiet while I set my up my canvas, placing my brushes on the lip of the easel. If he thought I’d disagree with him, he’s wrong.

“I can’t change what I did, Jordy, but I want you to know, that no one is going to do what Will tried ever again. I’ll make sure of that.”

Three showers that night, and I still thought I smelled his breath in my hair. A sudden pressure on my hand jolts me back to the present. When did Logan move close enough to touch me? He’s rubbing circles on the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “Are you okay?”

Pulling my hand from his grasp, I bite out, “I don’t need your fake concern. You can go back to your seat now.”

I’m relieved when he listens, but it takes a considerable amount of effort to focus enough to paint.

For four days I’ve been pretending to be fine, because I can’t give anyone else any more reasons to think I’m weak. But, I’m not fine. Walking through campus alone, I’m peering into shadows, worried that Will or someone else will come up to me and try to take advantage of me again. Pepper told me to use my femininity and sexuality, but all I want to do is hide it away.

All day today, I’ve heard Logan’s voice in my head telling me I should embrace what scares me, and that I can’t let this hinder me. There’s only one way I know to do that. Pulling out my cell, I call a cab, and twenty minutes later I’m stabbing at the buzzer to his studio.

“Yeah?” The intercom distorts his voice, making him sound like a robot. I guess in a way he is, since he has no feelings.

“It’s Jordanna.”

The door buzzes, and I yank on the handle before I have a chance to change my mind about being here.

I take calming breathes as I roll the gate up after the elevator stops on his floor. I walk forward, ignoring the hollow feeling in my stomach. He’s standing in the doorway wearing ripped jeans and a wife beater. His feet are bare and there're splotches of clay on his arms.

His eyes settle on my satchel before meeting mine. “I didn’t wanna go to the studio on campus alone. I know I have no right to ask, but would you mind if I-”

He steps aside, letting me in. The door closes behind us with a soft click. I watch as he drags an easel to the center of the floor and places a stool in front of it. I let him help me out of my coat, and when I sit in front of the canvas, I’m ready to paint. Ineedto paint, so I can forget about what happened.

I flood my ears with music and let the anger, the fear, the confusion pour out of me, taking life through my painting. I move on to another canvas, and then another. By the time I’m done, there are four of them. At some point, Logan picked them up from the floor and set them against the wall to dry.

It’s not enough. Looking around, I need something else to exorcise this anger and paralyzing fear from my mind. I walk across the studio towards Logan, snatching a knife off the table. He eyes me warily, but makes no move to stop me when I point the sharp blade in his direction. I back away toward the paintings I’ve just made and I rip into them, slashing and shredding, like a woman possessed. Destroying what I’ve taken time to create because that’s how I feel. Destroyed. Gutted. Torn to shreds.

When I’m done, my voice is horse, and I realize it’s because I’ve been screaming. Logan comes over, wrapping his arms around me, forcing the blade from my hand. My knees buckle and he lifts me, carrying me over to the bed, sitting me in his lap.

“This is all your fault.” I yell, pummeling his chest.

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

He sits there taking my punches, just holding me. Taking my words of hate.

“How can I fix this?”

“You can’t.” I want him to hurt the way he hurt me. That’s the only thing that will help. His hands reach under my shirt, caressing my back. Slowly my sobs turn to hiccups, and I become aware that there’s something else lingering under the anger and the hurt. It’s lust. Desire.

His hand grips my hip and I can tell he feels it, too. I know it’s going to happen before he makes a move and I do nothing to stop him from kissing me.Use it, Pepper said. My hands reach up, gripping his hair as I suck on his tongue. The hand he has on my thigh moves to my breasts, palming and squeezing it. I moan into his mouth, my body responding by pressing against his hand. It feels good to be touched by him. I slip my leg over his, straddling him. Rocking against the bulge in his pants.

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