That’s a lie, of course, but it’s been so long it feels like the truth.
The way Fallon tenses, I know immediately she understands the concept of sex. “Oh. So then we won’t be…”
NowIstiffen. Everywhere. Especially at the sound of the disappointment in her voice that I won’t be messing up her sheets.
“Are you ready for something like that?” I ask, my voice low and bothered.
Blushing, she says, “I’m not sure.”
I’m crushed that she might be a virgin. I can’t have sex with her if she is. I won’t do that to her.
A growl scrapes up from my throat. “Fallon, have you slept with anyone else?”
Her eyes dart away from me for the first time since I got here. The image of someone pushing her legs apart to take what is fucking mine rages through me.
“Fal,” I murmur, “look at me.”
“We didn’t exactly sleep.” Her voice wavers. The tears in her eyes reignite my rage.
My pulse spikes. “I didn’t mean sleep, I meant?—”
“I know what you meant,” she snaps, placing the basil plant down on the sill hard, her hands shaking. “I didn’t cheat on you, Rhys. It was a long time ago. And it was only once.”
My jaw locks. “Was it…Kosta?”
Her chin trembles as she nods.
I sense her shame, her fear of remembering. He must have hurt her.
Aw, fuck…
My vision goes red. “Did he—” I can barely say the word. “Did heforceyou?”
She gives another tiny nod, and her neck turns red like she thinks it’s her fault. “I didn’t—I didn’t want it.”
“Fallon,” I whisper, despite my anger and step closer. “That’s rape.”
“But. I didn’t stop him.” She blinks hard, like she’s never thought of it as an actual assault.
I’ve heard enough. I pull her to my chest because she’s shaking so hard my goddamn bones ache in solidarity.
“Fal, you didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice is gravelly. “And we don’t have to go that far. Ever. Not unless you want to.”
“What if I want to?” She buries her face in my chest.
I just hold her. That’s what she needs right now.
“We’ll do whatever’s right for us when the time feels right.” I need to know more about the medications she’s on before I get comfortable with her consent.
And God help me if I see a green light, I am going to barrel down that road with her.
On Thanksgiving afternoon the following week, I knock on Fallon’s door in a suit jacket and dark jeans, ready to parade her in front of my family.
The door creaks open, and a shadow slithers through.
Fallon is green. Not metaphorically.Literally.
With her hair sticking out at odd angles and her skin a waxy pallor, she croaks, “Rhys, I can’t go.”
