“I would appreciate you taking me into your confidence.”
“That’s quite a courtly way to demand.” I draw my heels to my bum, and pulling my sweater arms over my hands, I hook them around my knees.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not like I owe you an explanation, is it? Unless this will be another one of those carrot and the stick things.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything. Not if you don’t want to. But I hope you’ll trust me. Let me carry a little of your load.”
Shame swamps my anger. Kindness is something I can’t afford. It’s not something I’m looking for.
“Lavender, please.”
“Julian was my first boyfriend.”
“I see.”
“He was my first and only boyfriend, technically.”
“Wait, what does that mean?”
“It means after him, I thought twice about dating anyone else. Don’t look at me like that,” I demand in the face of his compassion. “I knew this was going to be a mistake,” I mutter as my gaze slides away.
“No.” The bedding rustles as he draws nearer, his large hands wrapping around my calves. “Please, Lavender.” His hold tightens as though to strengthen his words. “Let me in.”
“I thought I was head over heels in love with him.” My head whips around, my words like bullets seeking to harm. But they only ricochet.
“First loves can be a whirlwind.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Tell me.”
“I was at uni when we met, still in London and still living at home. Jules had a flat that he shared with a couple of mates. One of my friends was one of their girlfriends. We used to party.” My eyes dart his way, expecting judgment, I suppose. “Vodka. Pills.”
“Like most kids.”
“It was just weekends.” I swallow over the thoughts of those days. My first taste of freedom and the places it took me. Techno in warehouses. House parties on the rough edges of London. Breakfasts in the roughest of greasy spoons. It’s a wonder I didn’t come to harm before… that.
“So he was your first?”
“He was my only.” The glance I slide Raif’s way is unkind. And unfair. How was he supposed to know when no one else does?
“Lavender.” My name is rough as he pitches forward, pressing his head to my knees.
“That’s not on you,” I murmur, my tone still cool. Yet I can’t stop my fingers from touching his thick hair. When I apply a slightpressure, he sits up again but doesn’t move his hands from my legs, his expression turns impassive.
This man and his poker face.
“I was nineteen, a late starter already. I was mouthy and bolshy, but I think I came out of the womb like that. I was obviously much less sophisticated than I let on.”
Sounds like me now.
“I told him I wasn’t ready. That I didn’t want to rush into things. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t do anything, until… one night, we’d been partying pretty hard. I crashed, and when I woke up, I didn’t know where I was.” I shiver, suddenly feeling cold as I try to detach myself from the memory I never examine.
“I felt sick, disorientated, and out of it. It wasn’t like a normal come down, and I wasn’t sure what was happening. And then…” I inhale sharply. Force it out in a long breath. “I realized he was on top of me.”
Sweat. Sticky skin. A sharp pinch. His horrible grin.
