She went quiet. He rolled onto his back beside her, one arm tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles. She shifted closer, head on his shoulder, fingers drawing absent lines across his chest.
“Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve never really… talked about Oxford. What happened.”
He didn’t move at first. Then he turned his head, eyes finding hers. His hand came up slow, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing once across her cheekbone.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve wanted to. Just… didn’t want to drag you back there if you weren’t ready.”
She nodded against his palm. “I get that. And I know you don’t look at me different. You’ve never treated me like I’m… fragile or whatever.”
His thumb stilled. “Never would.”
“And?” she asked softly, because she could see it in the way his jaw had tightened.
He exhaled through his nose. “There’s a guy out there who—” He stopped, voice dropping rough. “I want to hurt him. Bad.And I don’t know how to say that without sounding like I’m making it about me. Without it landing on you wrong.”
She covered his hand with hers, holding it there. “Henry.”
The name hit him like a slap—his whole body stiffened, fingers flexing against her skin for a second before he forced them to relax. He didn’t say anything, just waited.
“He’s in prison,” she said. “Turns out I wasn’t the only one. Six months after I graduated, he tried it again. First-year girl this time. She went straight to the police—unlike me. They found the drugs still in her system. He couldn’t talk his way out.”
Lucas’s breath came out sharp, almost a hiss. His eyes darkened, but he kept his voice level. “Good. He should rot.”
Mia swallowed. “The only reason he even made up that story about me—the whole 'she came onto me, I couldn’t resist’ thing—was because two of Emma’s friends saw him. One watched him go into the room with me. The other saw him come out half an hour later. They told Emma. She confronted him. So he flipped it—said I’d been flirting all night, that I threw myself at him. Had one of his mates back it up, say the same thing. Made it easier for people to believe I was the problem.”
Lucas’s hand slid to the back of her neck, thumb pressing gently like he was anchoring himself. “Fucking coward.”
“Yeah.” She let out a small, tired breath, then hesitated, fingers pausing on his chest. “I don’t remember much. Black spots, flashes. But… for me, it wasn’t about sex. I mean—” She stopped, cheeks warming, voice dropping even lower. “Before that night, I’d had… boyfriends. And I liked it. Being close to someone. The way it felt good, and safe, and… yeah, fun. I liked sex. I really did. Still do, actually.”
She swallowed, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to his. “That part didn’t break. It didn’t make me afraid of being touched or—or make me think I’d done something wrong. I’m not saying that’s how it is for everyone else. This isjust… my experience. For me, he didn’t take that away.”
She paused, voice quieter now, the words coming slower. “What he took was control. My ability to choose, to be there, to say no and have it matter. After, I couldn’t trust my own instincts anymore. Every decision felt like a risk. Every gut feeling felt wrong. I second-guessed everything—friends, choices, risks. That’s what carved pieces out of me.”
Lucas stayed very still, listening.
“But the part that still sits here—” she pressed a hand to her chest “—is what people said. What they believed. The whispers, the looks, the way the room changed when I walked in. They didn’t just think I regretted a hookup. They thought I was that girl—the drunk one who threw herself at a guy and cried foul when he didn’t text back. The slut who ruined a nice boy’s reputation for attention. Even after the other girl came forward, even after he went to prison. Like maybe I was unreliable.”
Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard.
“That’s why I haven’t told my parents. I know they’d believe me. I know they’d hold me. But I’m terrified they’ll see me the way everyone else did. That they’ll look at their miracle girl and see… shame. Damage. The girl people talked about for years. The girl who got herself into that mess. I can’t stand the thought of that story living in their heads too. Of them carrying the same judgment I still hear in mine some days.”
Lucas’s arm tightened around her. His voice was rough when he spoke. “They won’t see you like that. They’ll see you the same way I do—strong. Surviving. Not shameful. Just… you.”
She shook her head against his chest. “Maybe. But the fear doesn’t listen to reason. Every time I think about telling them, I hear those old voices again. ‘She was drunk.’ ‘She flirted.’ ‘She wanted it.’ And I know that’s not true, but it still feels true in the quiet. That’s why I need this to be just between us. If the team found out about us—if photos leaked, if headlines ran—I’d be that girl all over again. The one who sleeps her way through the garage. The one who can’t be trusted. I’m not sure I could survive being reduced to that story one more time.”
He turned toward her fully then, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. “You’re not that story, Mia. You never were.”
She closed her eyes, tears slipping free. “I know. But knowing doesn’t make the weight disappear. Not completely.”
They stayed like that—foreheads pressed, breathing each other in—until the sunlight shifted and the room grew warmer.
Eventually she whispered, “Thank you. For listening. For not looking away.”
He kissed her temple, soft and steady. “Always.”
