Page 70 of Obsession on Repeat
I didn’t respond.
She leaned back, smug as hell. "Knew it."
I shook my head, fighting a smile. "It’s not what you think."
"Isn’t it?" Her tone softened, cutting through the teasing. "You’re not freaking out. You’re not running. You didn’t flinch when Elle tried to stir the pot."
"She doesn’t scare me."
"No, but what you’re feeling does."
That landed harder than I expected. I stared down at my shot glass, the lime half-melted on the rim. "It’s…" I paused to find the words. "He sees through all of it and somehow he still wants me."
"Sounds a lot like love, babe."
I exhaled slowly. "Yeah, that’s the problem."
She reached out and clinked her glass against mine. "It’s the best kind."
We were on the couch at his place, legs tangled, a half-watched movie playing low in the background. My head rested against Asher’s chest, the rhythm of his breathing lulling me into a comfortable daze. His fingers traced patterns along my arm while his other hand toyed with the hem of the blanket we shared.
My phone buzzed, and I lazily glanced over, staring down at an unknown number. I sat up too fast, fingers cold around the phone.
"What’s wrong?"
I stared at the screen. The number wasn’t saved, but I knew it, digits unable to forget from a lifetime ago. I blocked the number, lowering my phone onto the coffee table. "Nothing, I’m fine."
He studied me. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I’m going to get some water." I escaped into the kitchen and stood there for a minute. I didn’t hear him follow me, his tall frame hovering behind me.
"Talk to me."
I shook my head. "It’s not important."
"Rory."
"I need a minute."
I found him on the balcony, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, and a mug in his hands that had long gone cold. He didn’t say anything when I joined him. He slid the mug to the side and opened the blanket he’d wrapped around himself. I sat down without a word, tucking myself against his side.
"That number is someone I haven’t heard from in years."
Asher didn’t react
"It wasn’t a boyfriend," I continued. "Not officially, anyway. It was… complicated." I stared out at the lights beyond his balcony, heart pounding harder than it should’ve. "I was eighteen. Dumb and broke, desperate to matter to someone. He was older. He said all the right things, took care of me in ways no one ever had, but it came with strings. It was subtle at first, what I wore, who I saw, where I worked. It eventually got worse."
The words tasted like ash in my mouth. I hadn’t said this out loud in years.
"I used to tell myself I stayed because I was strong enough to handle it, that I wasn’t those other girls who needed saving. Truth is, I stayed because I didn’t think I deserved better."
His arm came around my shoulders, his hand resting against my ribs.
"I left after he broke a chair in front of me on my birthday. He didn’t hit me. It was always a veiled threat that it could happen. I didn’t think it would happen until that night. It took something that violent for me to finally realize if I didn’t leave, I would be the next thing he’d break."
He pressed his lips to the top of my head, silent in a way I knew he was choosing in order to comfort me and give me the space I needed to keep going.
"I never told anyone all of that," I murmured. "Not even Sullivan."
