I certainly didn’t not want to be friends with him.
My Uber driver didn’t even look twice at me. He simply took off in the direction of my apartment. I was probably par for the course for pickups at this hour.
Five minutes later, I was at home and locked inside my apartment. I hadn’t realized how close Vann and I lived to each other until now and it filled me with sadness all over again.
God, I was a mess of emotions. Not to mention that had been the first time I’d had sex since…
I went to my kitchen and grabbed a handful of pills for my headache and a glass of water. Taking them in one big swallow, I planted my hands on the counter and tried not to shame spiral any further.
Girls my age slept with guys. This was a totally normal thing. Especially after a night of drinking.
Oh, you know all about that, the evil side of my brain reminded me.
But this wasn’t that, I argued back. This was harmless fun. This was mutual attraction. This was… consensual. My therapist would probably be proud of me.
She’d been suggesting I try it again for a while. And now here we were. I’d tried it again. And it only made me want to cry a lot—or pack up and take off for an empty island to live out the rest of my days as an eccentric hermit.
I planted my hands on the granite countertop and slumped my shoulders. A tear landed on the glossy counter. And then another one.
Before I could grab a handle on my emotions, I slid to the floor and curled into the fetal position, sobbing harder than I had the night of the incident six years ago.
Tears of joy and sadness, of survival and grief, of knowing I could still have sex and live to tell about it.
Of knowing I could still have wild, drunk sex without getting drugged and taken advantage of.
Of hating that it still killed me, that there were too many similarities from that last time and this new time for me to ever want to do it again.
Of realizing that the crush I’d had on Vann was officially dead.
When I’d purged myself of the heaviness of emotion and confusion, I found that I was cold and soberer than I wanted to be.
Would this ever get better?
Easier?
Would I ever move on?
Or was this who I was. The girl that slept around. The girl that partied her way through life because she didn’t have to try.
The girl that got raped.
Thirteen
“We were wonderingif you’d show up today.” Molly smiled at me as I slipped inside the bustling kitchen at Salt later that morning. She had a charcuterie board in her hands and a smirk on her face. “You okay?”
Hell no, I wasn’t okay.
I smiled and stole an olive off the counter. An angry chef in a Sarita jacket scowled at me. “Perfectly fine.”
She nodded her head toward the back office. “Come on, we’re eating before the hair and makeup people arrive.”
Folding my garment bag over my forearm, I weaved my way through the kitchen to the large office Vera and Killian had designed for two.
Since they were both owners and head chefs, their office was rather luxurious compared to mine. And today it was covered in all things bridal—including a glowing bride, Kaya the bridesmaid, and white tulle as far as the eye could see.
“There she is!” Vera grinned at me, her hands busy with tweezers and a magnifying mirror. “You’re the last one to arrive. I was getting worried you forgot.”
“Never!” I declared as I plunked myself on the nearest wingback chair. A sudden surge of panic swished around in my gut. Had I acted a complete fool last night? Did I embarrass myself? Did they see me leave with Vann?
