"How is that possible?" He was outraged at the idea that the person wasn’t punished more harshly.
"Not one person believed me, except for Hannah. There was nothing she could do." She swished the beer can back and forth, then drank some more. “I broke down on the stand, but my mother got up there and told the jury I was overly dramatic and it wasn't as bad as all that.”
"I don't know what to say."
"I don't either."
Several minutes of silence passed before Ryder spoke again. "My life sucked, Morgan. Not at first, but since I was a teenager. I doubt it compared to yours, but we don't actually know each other."
She laughed humorlessly. "Do youreallywant to know me? I'm fucked up, Ryder. Have been since I was fourteen. I don't know how to fight my way out of this void, so I just move through life constantly running from my demons." She looked into his eyes. "You've noticed by now that I . . . like to go home with men. But you . . ."
"I don't fit the mold, and that confuses you." He stated it, because he knew it was the truth. He stared right back at her, seeing pain deep in her eyes.
"Why don't you take advantage of me? Shit, everyone else does. I've offered myself to you twice, yet you turn me away. Why?"
Ryder took a few deep breaths, trying to settle his nerves. He didn't know how much he wanted to unload on her, how much of his truth he wanted to tell. "I don't . . . I want to know a woman, date her, decide if we're compatible before going any further."
"That's, uh, that's old-fashioned."
"So much of what happened to me was out of my control. It's a way of having some control. I don't have control over anything else in my life, not absolutely."
"I guess that makes sense. I'm the opposite, with my controlling issues. I choose who to give it to, and that puts me in control." She ran her thumb around the opening of the beer can.
"I hate to be rude, but I completely disagree." Her head snapped up, blazing eyes narrowed on his face. He held up a hand in a gesture of peace. "You get wasted first, and the other night proves you have no idea what type of guy you're ending up with. And you're giving yourself away all the time, constantly. The alcohol controls you, and the panic. You're running and hiding, every single day."
She stood, angry now. "I don't have to listen to this shit," she spat.
He stood his ground. "No, you don't. Butyoucamehere, Morgan. You started the conversation." He watched her stride to the door. "It's not much of a life you're living."
She spun long enough to glare at him, then slammed through his door. Ryder sighed, deliberating, then got up and followed her.
He caught up to her outside his building. She had just stopped, was simply standing on the sidewalk staring at the crawl of traffic and people. Ryder braved her wrath and went to her. "Morgan." He whispered it not to scare her.
"Why do I care what you think, Ryder? I don't even think you like me, yet I care about what you think of me. I've never cared before about what anyone thinks. I learned so long ago not to count on anyone, yet here I am, ready to spill my guts to you." She looked so distraught, her eyes brimming with tears.
Someone honked their horn at a pedestrian in the intersection, and they both jumped. Eyes wide and panicked, Morgan did what she did best.
She bolted.
