Page 34 of Touch of Hate

So fundamental, so deeply missed, that I went ahead and made a mistake a few nights ago. I still blush with shame whenever I think about it, which means I’ve been blushing for three days straight.

“Why don’t you take it?” I offer, trying to inject a little sunshine into my voice. She’s already way too aware of my dark, brooding mood. No sense in giving her more reason to worry about me.

“You’re the one who’s kept it alive all year. I didn’t even know I was over watering it until you told me I was,” Tessa announces.

I give her a tiny smirk. “True, you’ll probably end up drowning it if I leave it up to you.”

Tessa shakes her head in disbelief. “Nobody ever said I had a green thumb. I figured succulents were supposed to be easy, right?”

With the clock ticking, I turn back to the task at hand: packing up my closet, which I left for last. We worked on the shared spaces together, and almost everything is currently in a box or a bag, ready to be carted off. A year’s worth of memories. Only the things we’ll need between now and tomorrow morning will be left out—our laptops, toiletries, that sort of thing.

There’s a little more than twelve hours until the car picks me up, which means I need to pull on my big girl panties and do what I’ve been putting off all this time. I wasn’t completely sure until the party, even though the idea has been floating around in my head for weeks.

Every passing minute adds another layer to my anxiety. I’m going to have to tell her soon. She deserves to know.

Ugh, and there she is, humming as she packs up the last of her personal items, blissfully unaware that this is the last day we’ll be college roommates.

It’s going to upset her. She’s going to want answers.

I can’t tell her everything—that much hasn’t changed. I have to tap dance around the truth, brushing gently against it without stirring up too many questions.

My closet forgotten, I sink to the bed, lowering my head and holding it in my hands. Blushing isn’t the only thing I’ve done pretty constantly since the party. I’ve also done more than my fair share of crying.

Sometimes, out of nowhere, my eyes will start leaking before I register the presence of tears welling up. It’s gotten bad enough that I’ve had a mild headache for days. Dehydration, maybe?

Or the pain of so much turmoil building in my skull.

Tessa probably thinks it’s hormonal, and I’ll let her continue to believe that. It’s better than the alternative, the confession I’d have to make out loud. She has no idea what happened in that corner—I don’t think she even knew I wasn’t with her. It’s not her fault. There were too many people pressing in on all sides.

The slightest memory gets my heart racing again. There were so many people, and nobody was paying much attention to who they slammed into or what was happening outside their tight little bubble.

That’s what made it possible for a guy in a wolf mask to finger me right there in the open.

If shame could crush a heart, mine would be nothing more than a bloody pulp by now. There’s a literal pain in my chest when I recall my actions. It’s like I wasn’t even myself, forgetting everything I knew in favor of a quick thrill. Sure, nothing could have seemed more necessary in the moment when my whole body was on fire, and I was painfully wet and desperate to be touched.

To be wanted.

And he wanted me. I felt it—his erection grinding against my lower belly. His sharp, harsh breathing behind that mask. It made him seem even more like an animal, now that I think about it, the way the mask distorted the sound.

It was easy to get caught up in the moment.

Especially when I was so sure it was Ren behind the mask. Ren, whose breath rasped in my ear, whose body pinned me to the wall, whose finger penetrated me so skillfully. I would’ve bet my life on it.

The instant he backed away, reality came crashing down, and I’ve been trapped under the rubble ever since. Ren wouldn’t have left me like that, without even a word. Not my Ren.

What was I thinking? I was trying to convince myself it was him. And of course, it wasn’t. Ren was no more present with me at that party than he’s been all year. I’ve been lost in the fantasy of him lurking around the periphery of my life. Telling myself he was moving things in the apartment when I’m sure it was Tessa, and I just wasn’t aware of it.

I mean, right? Obviously. I need to be realistic. I’ve spent far too long only half present in my life, the rest of the time spent lost in some fantasy land. No wonder I’ve been so unhappy and dissatisfied. I’m always waiting for the big reveal, the moment when my suspicions of Ren’s presence are confirmed.

When my painful, embarrassing need to be loved by him is fulfilled.

It’s never going to happen. I realized that, and I allowed some random dude to finger me, to touch me.

Who wouldn’t cry?

So get off your ass and do what you’ve been avoiding.

Enough turning my back on what I know I need to do. Isn’t it always better to tear the Band-Aid off all at once, anyway? I force myself to stand and march out of the bedroom even though my legs are trembling. I’d rather scrub the toilet with my toothbrush than drop the bomb I’m holding. But here goes nothing.

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