Page 76 of Ravaged
Their relationship issues are just that—theirs. And it doesn’t mean it’s like some generational curse where I’m doomed to repeat their history.
For so long, I’ve possessed this attitude of “If I don’t give a fuck, then people can’t fuck me over.” But that’s a lonely existence. Eventhough I’ve dated and had short-term boyfriends, I’ve never let them close. Yes, I’ve allowed them inside my body, but never my heart. I was too scared that once they glimpsed the sometimes-goofy-nerd, at-times-insecure woman behind the ballsy exterior, they wouldn’t stay. They’d see the only thing special about me was my Mensa membership.
But Jordan saw behind the curtain, and not only did he stay, but he was my friend in spite of—no, because of them.
Helovedme because of them.
My breath stalls in my lungs, my heart pounding against my rib cage as if auditioning for the drummer position in a rock band.
Jordan loved me.
That night in Linc’s library, I couldn’t hear that, couldn’t accept it. And now, in a moment of clarity so clear it stings, I get the reason, the why. For so many years, art has been my cathartic joy, and my stories a place where that joy was protected. Where I was safe to be me without criticism, rejection, or fear. Because I was in control. As the storyteller, I dictated what happened to the characters, how they extricated themselves from trouble, how they triumphed. As the creator, I could be a part of the fantasy, immerse myself in it, yet still maintain enough distance to ensure everything happened the way I wanted.
But Jordan, by involving me in his own plan with Daniel, in a way made me a character in a tale I had no control over. I couldn’t influence. That night in the library, I felt ... violated. My sanctuary had been tainted, exposed as not quite as secure as I’d always believed. And that fucking hurt.
Because now I have to face the reality, the truth. That I used my stories as crutches. I lived vicariously through them so I wouldn’t have tolive.
I wouldn’t have to hurt. I wouldn’t have to fail.
I wouldn’t have to love.
So in that library, instead of admitting that about myself—that I’m a big ol’ coward—I focused on the lie and how I’d been flung back tothat shitty football house on campus, overhearing how I’d been tricked by another person I’d trusted and given myself to.
But Jordan is nothing like Robert Sampson.
He’s nothing like any man I’ve ever met.
He’s my friend. He’s my lover.
He’s my love.
I love Jordan Ransom.
“I think she just had a breakthrough,” Levi says to Zora, though his gaze is pinned on me. “And I didn’t even have to threaten Jordan.” He shrugs. “Damn.”
Zora snorts, although her soft smile lights up her eyes. “Don’t kid yourself, Leviticus. Jordan Ransom would bench-press you.” Pushing back her chair, she stands. “Let’s go get some Froyo. My treat. And you can tell us how you plan on winning Jordan back. I have some ideas, and Cyrus is on board, FYI.”
Levi stands, tossing his napkin to the table. “I’ll get the frozen yogurt but pass on the planning.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Mom throws up her hands, then glares at Dad. “Say something, Reggie! Don’t just sit there like a bump on a log, dammit.”
“Don’t you curse at me, Monica,” he snarls. “And this is what I call chickens coming home to roost. If you hadn’t—”
I don’t stick around for the replay. And neither do Zora or Levi. We walk out of the dining room, leaving my parents to do what they do best. We really don’t need to be here for this.
Besides, there’s always the next Sunday dinner.
We grab our coats and within moments are standing outside in the cool November-evening air. I feel a hundred pounds lighter leaving this house than I did walking in. And I have a mission.
To get back the man I love.
And if there’s anyone who I trust to have a plan, it’s Zora ...
“One more thing.” I abruptly stop at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m quitting BURNED.”
Zora and Levi stare at me. Blink. And stare some more.
“What’re you talking about?” Zora asks.
