Page 64 of Trustfall

“I’m starving,” she says, and I chuckle, feeling my own stomach rumble. We never ate dinner. I check the clock. It’s two in the morning.

“Come on,” I say, holding out my hand. I pull on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and hand her a clean shirt.

I flick the light on in the kitchen and spread out the takeout containers I put in the fridge earlier. I grab two plates, handing her one, and we both pile them up with cold noodles and chicken satay.

“Want me to microwave that for you?” I ask.

“No, this is perfect,” she says, twirling noodles onto her fork and taking a bite.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before realization gradually hits me. I was so disoriented from everything that happened tonight, I didn’t even realize it until now.

We didn’t use a condom.

Fuck.

I’m never that reckless. I use a condom every single time I have sex. I mean, I didn’t for a while in high school when I was sort of dating this cheerleader, but we were exclusive, and I knew she was on birth control. I used to watch her take it.

I haven’t been with anyone else in months, and Emory said it’s been a while for her too, but…she said she wasn’t on birth control. I decide not to say anything. She’s been through enough tonight. I know we need to talk. About what happened earlier. What happened just now. The unprotected sex. But neither of us is in the right headspace for that conversation. I bring my fork to my mouth. All I can do right now is eat cold noodles and hope to God that Emory lets me in sooner rather than later.

22

EMORY

The thingabout trauma is that it never really goes away. Not entirely, anyway. I see it all the time at the hospital. Veterans with PTSD who get triggered by a car backfiring or thunder clapping. Abuse victims who flinch when you touch them. Children who lose chunks of memories because their little brains can’t comprehend what happened to them. It’s heartbreaking. Every time I see it, it kills me a little bit inside. I usually end up crying in the break room afterward. I cry for their trauma, and I cry for mine.

When Luke called me princess, a wound somewhere deep inside the recesses of my heart reopened. Maybe it was because I saw Jaxon after all this time. Or maybe it was because it was during an intimate moment. Either way, I went completely numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t breathe. The walls closed in on me.

It’s been a week. One week since I had a panic attack, mid-sex. God, who does that? And then after…I had such an intense need for him, so much that I didn’t realize we weren’t using a condom until it was too late. I’m such a fool. I just needed to be in control for once in my life. I needed to feel like I was the one responsible for someone else’s pleasure. Holding it in the palm of my hand. Releasing it when I felt it was the right time.

But before all that, everything had been perfect. I thought Luke would laugh in my face when I said I needed a vibrator to get myself off. Jaxon hated that I had one. When he found it in my dorm once, he teased me relentlessly. Then, he made me feel guilty for having it. As if it reflected badly on our sex life or something. He threw it out and told me never to buy another one. I thought most guys felt the same about sex toys. But Luke… he wasn’t threatened. He didn’t shame me or tease me. He wanted to watch me make myself feel good.

A pang of guilt gnaws at my insides. I got the morning-after pill the next day and texted Luke to let him know. He responded immediately and has been texting and calling ever since, but I haven’t answered. Because Jaxon is right—I am weak. I am a coward. I can’t even face the man who held me and rocked me and let me use his body to feel better. The truth is, Luke is too good for me. I’ll never be what he needs. He deserves so much better.

I pull up our text thread, checking the last of his many unanswered texts.

Luke: Please, Emory. You can hate me. Just talk to me.

That one hurts the most. He thinks I hate him, but I’m trying to save him from the disaster that follows me like a storm cloud. Still, I owe it to him to keep him in the loop. I almost cried tears of joy when I looked down while peeing a few days ago and saw red smudges on my underwear. Relief flooded through my entire body as I stared at it, hoping I wasn’t hallucinating.

Even though I took Plan B, I was convinced I still could have gotten pregnant. The rational nurse part of my brain knew that was an extremely low risk, but the scared little girl in me let the fear creep in. Luke deserves to have the same sense of relief. Ignoring his last text, I type out one of my own.

Just wanted to let you know that I got my period. We’re in the clear.

Immediately, the three little dots appear, indicating that he’s typing. They disappear and reappear a few times before a text comes through.

Luke: Thanks for letting me know but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

If not that, then what does he want to talk about?

My mid-sex freakout, most likely.

No, thank you.

Even if I did want to talk to him, I need to stay away until I get this situation with Jaxon figured out.

I had fully planned on ignoring Jaxon’s threats. I was going to go about my life and pretend he never reappeared like an old nightmare. If my dad wants to take him on as a client, that’s his business. But he made all those threats about Luke. Still, I thought he was bluffing. After all, that’s what he does best. He lies, cheats, steals, and bullshits his way through life. I wish I could ignore it, but I’ve been a nervous wreck since my run-in with him. Anxiety still gnaws at my gut. I’ve been skipping meals and barely sleeping. I only feel safe tucked away in Luke’s arms, and I snatched that away from myself.

Then yesterday, I got a text from Jaxon after I unblocked him. I’m not sure why I did it. I guess I didn’t want to give him any reason to up the stakes. Exiting my thread with Luke, I look at the text from Jaxon again.