“Allie—”
“Your hands are different,” I choke out. I gasp for breath and force more words past my lips. “The man who hurt me… I only saw his hands. I… Your hands are different. I know you won’t hurt me. I’m not saying Roman would. I know it doesn’t make sense but….” I give him a pleading look, begging with him to understand.
Dom’s eyes tighten and he runs a hand over his tightly braided hair. “Your mind gets it but your body doesn’t.” He shakes his head. “It’s okay. I get it.”
My shoulders slump in relief. “Your hands are different. He wasn’t black. It’s easy for me to convince myself you’re safe.”
He nods. “And with Roman and Emilio?”
I shrug. “I think he was maybe Latino, too. I don’t know, but his hands, they were tan. Darker than mine. Like…”
“Like theirs.”
I nod, unable to look at either of them. God, what they must be thinking right now.
“The guy who’s been with you all week—?” Dominique doesn’t finish but I know what he’s asking.
“Like a brother. I’ve known him since grade school. And he has tattoos.” I trace the back of my hand. “They cover the tops of his hands. A skull and roses… rosary beads…” I say all of this hoping he understands. I know I’m not making complete sense but I don’t have another way to put into words why hands matter.
He nods again. “Okay. Okay. Let me think.” He stands and goes back toward his car. He says something to Roman and Emilio and Roman explodes, throwing his hands up in the air and cursing. He pulls at his hair, but when he looks at me, all of his anger evaporates. In its place is stark need and devastation.
My chest tightens. He’s not hiding any of his emotions from me. Not this time. He lets me see all of it. Every painful piece of what he’s feeling. And it leaves me reeling. I don’t know how to interpret his anguish. Is he upset because of what happened? Because I’m such a mess?
He doesn’t come any closer. Just stares at me with unmasked emotion, and it’s suddenly too much. Seeing him hurts too much.
I swallow hard and push back up to my feet. My eyes stray to his clenched fists and I notice that he’s still wearing my bracelet. The one I gave him before the game. I try not to read into it but does that mean—
“Allie, baby.” His voice is raw. “I never—” His voice cracks and he looks away. “I fucked up. I thought some things and they weren’t true and I wasn’t there when you needed me.” He turns back to me and I can see the despair in his eyes. “I messed up. But I’m here now. I want to be there for you. You have to let me be there.”
I shake my head. I can’t deal with all of this right now. Wrapping my arms around myself, I take a step away, retreating back the way I’d come. “I… I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
“Allie!”
I pause, hating how weak I feel right now. How broken and shattered I am inside.
“I won’t hurt you. I wouldneverhurt you.” He takes a tentative step forward and I jerk away. He stops and offers me a sad smile. “I would never hurt you. You’ve gotta know that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” My own voice cracks as the words spill out on their own. I’m not sure if I’m asking or challenging him, but he did hurt me. He’s been hurting me.
Roman’s face falls. He rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know. If I’d known I never would have… Allie, I never meant…”
“But you never asked.” Tears fall freely down my cheeks. I don’t even bother to wipe them away. I want him to see them. I want him to see every ugly broken thing about me and know he had a part in it. I want him to hurt the same way he made me hurt. Because just like Ryker, he left me. Right when I needed him the most. “I tried to talk to you. That first day I came back to school. As soon as I saw you, I walked straight up to you and do you remember what you said? What you called me?”
Anguish fills his gaze, but I can’t find it in me to hold back.
“You called me a whore.” I shake my head, more silent tears falling down my face, enough so that Roman is a blurry shadow in front of me, his features no longer recognizable. “I can’t do this. Just… leave me alone. I think I’ve been through enough.”
I turn and jog home. Thankfully, no one follows.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Roman
She won’t meet my gaze. I try and talk to her at school, but she gives me the cold shoulder, and hell knows I deserve it. I try and catch her eyes in first period but not once does she look my direction. To make matters worse, Silvia is waiting for me outside the class and the look on Allie’s face when Silvia makes an attempt to kiss me sends a spear of self-loathing straight to my gut.
I push Silvia away but the damage is already done and before I can call out to her to wait up, Allie is gone, swallowed up by the crowded sea of people in the hallway.
“Silvia,” I bite out.
