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TWENTY-SIX

CALLY

“You love me?” My breath stuttered out of me as I pulled back to look down at him.

“So much,” he whispered, his eyes wide and adoring.

“No,” I said, suddenly unable to get enough air into my lungs. I pushed against his shoulder, launching off him.

“Stop. Please don’t,” I wheezed as my brain hurled me back in time to my sophomore year of college, the night before Harvard’s NCAA Regional Semifinal against Colgate.

Devin is fucking me hard and deep, just the way he likes—though he’s not as rough as he usually is.

Tonight, nothing is the way it usually is between us.

He took his time opening me up, telling me how hot I am, how he can’t stop thinking about me, how much he missed me when we were fighting. I’m boneless and whimpering, and so fucking gone for him.

It feels like we’ve put the drama behind us, that he’s finally ready to admit we’re more than just teammates who are fucking each other. It feels like he might want me as much as I want him.

“Oh God, I love you,” slips out before I have the presence of mind to realize I shouldn’t be saying this, that Devin’s not ready to hear it.

He freezes mid-thrust, his face twisting into pure disgust. He pulls out of me, his eyes blazing, and before I can register what this look means, a heavy fist cracks against the side of my head.

Devin’s fists keep coming.

Somehow, I manage to roll onto my stomach and wrap my arms around my head, though parts of it are still exposed.

“Fucking asshole,” he shouts, his voice pure venom above me. “You promised!”

“Stop it, God damnit!” I’m shouting back, though that only seems to make him angrier.

“Please stop,” I beg as blow after blow rains down on the back of my head, my shoulders, and my spine until my vision goes spotty, and then fades out entirely.

I wake up alone, the room pitch black.

My head is pounding. My back and hips are in agony, pain flaring with even the smallest movement. I reach back to touch the worst spot—right above my left kidney—and my shoulder twinges.

My hand comes away sticky. Blood?

Gingerly, I drag my hand to my nose to sniff.

Not. Not blood—cum. Thank god.

Only, the reality of what that means crashes over me.

“Oh god,” I whisper to the dark, dragging myself into a seated position so I can turn on the lamp next to the bed.

White light fills the room, and my skull cleaves in two. I grip my head and stumble to the bathroom to give myself a cursory cleaning. It hurts to look in the mirror.

Everything hurts.

I crawl around the room, searching for my clothes. I can’t find my shirt—Devin’s hoodie will have to do.

I can’t walk a straight line. I can barely walk at all.

I have to lean against the wall to stay upright, the hallway spinning in blurry circles. Halfway back to my room, I drop to my knees and vomit into a potted plant near the ice machine.

My roommate is asleep when I finally make it back.