Unfortunately, I do it at the same time as she speaks.
And says what I knew the moment I saw her reactionoutside the locker room, what she lied about for fucking months, what she hid when it should have been exposed.
“He fucked me,” she snaps.
I’m reeling from the ever more difficult job of containing the desires within me.
And. I. Jerk. Back.
Just as she says?—
Fuck.
But before I can explain my reaction or come up with an excuse as to why my wanting this woman is even more of a disaster than the workplace conflict might make it seem, she lifts her chin higher, somehow staring down her nose at me even though she’s a good six inches shorter.
She does all that…but I don’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes.
“And no, I didn’t want him,” she says. “No, it wasn’t welcome. No, it wasn’t my fault.”
It wasn’t welcome.
She didn’t want it.
My rage boils up and I spin, punching my fist out. It sinks into the sheetrock, sending up a puff of dust, pain radiating through my fingers.
Too long since I’ve punched something.
I haven’t allowed myself that luxury, that risk.
Not since?—
I slam the door on that thought and spin back around to face her.
“He didn’t fuck you.”
Her eyes flash again, anger overtaking pain, and she opens her mouth?—
“He didn’t,” I say. “He raped you, baby. And like you said, it wasn’t your fault.”
Her teeth click together, that fight leaving her—shoulders sagging, chin sinking down onto her chest, lungs inflating on a sharp breath. “Damon,” she whispers, and I hate that her emerald eyes are glimmering with tears.
“It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.” I shove down my anger further, ignore the urge inside me to keep punching, keep pummeling, keep going until I beat everything around me to a bloody pulpy mess, and slowly move back to her, hating that she’s trembling, hating that she flinches ever so slightly at my movements, as I draw near, as I lift my hand and cup her jaw.
There’s sheetrock dust on my knuckles. And blood.
Christ.
I pull away.
“Joey—”
Her phone buzzes, and we both freeze.
Then she slips out from between me and the door.
“Baby—”
When she spins to face me, I’m shocked to see that the fight is back, that it’s swelled up like a tsunami—drawn a huge distance offshore before rushing back and obliterating everything in its path. “This doesn’t change anything,” she hisses. “I don’t need you to jump in and rescue me, superhero cape flapping behind you?—”
