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I felt like my world was finally spi
Wesley didn’t say anything. He just sat with me in silence. I didn’t even realize he was holding my hand until after the tears had stopped. Once I’d caught my breath and wiped away the few salty drops from my eyes, he opened his door and walked around to open mine. He helped me out of the car—not that I needed it, but it was still nice—and led me up to the porch with his arm tight around me, like the way he’d guided me out of my house, keeping me close. As if he was afraid I might slip away in the darkness between his car and the front door.
Once we were inside, Wesley offered me a drink. I shook my head, and we went upstairs like we always did. I sat on the bed, and he sat down next to me. He wasn’t looking at me, but he seemed to be deep in thought. I couldn’t help wondering what horrible things were on his mind. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.
“Are you all right?” he asked, turning to face me finally. “Do you need an ice pack or anything?”
“No,” I said. My throat was sore from crying, and my words came out kind of croaky. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He reached over and brushed the hair away from my face, his fingers barely grazing my temple. “Well,” he said quietly. “At least now I know.”
“Know what?”
“What you’re trying to escape from.”
I didn’t respond.
“Why didn’t you tell me that your father has a drinking problem?” he asked.
“Because it’s not my place to tell,” I said. “And it’ll pass. He’s just going through a hard time right now. He hasn’t had a drink in eighteen years. Just since the divorce papers came in…. He’ll get better.”
“You should talk to him. When he’s sober, you should tell him that it’s getting out of hand.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “And make him think I’m against him, too? When my mom has just handed him the divorce papers?”
“You’re not against him, Bianca.”
“Tell me, Wesley, why don’t you talk to your parents?” I asked. He was being a hell of a hypocrite, wasn’t he? “Why don’t you tell them that you’re lonely? That you want them to come home? It’s because you don’t want to upset them, right? You don’t want them to blame you for their misery? If I tell Dad he has a problem, he’ll think I hate him. How can I hurt him more? He just lost everything.”
Wesley shook his head. “Not everything. He didn’t lose you,” he said. “At least not yet. If you don’t talk to him, he’ll just end up driving you away, and then he will be in far worse pain.”
“Maybe.”
Wesley’s fingers continued to rub soothingly against my temple. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“Not at all.” Actually, the way he was massaging my skull felt pretty good. I sighed and leaned into his hand. “The things he said hurt way more,” I murmured.
I bit my lower lip. “You know,” I said to Wesley, “I’ve never been called a whore in my life, and today two different people have implied that I am. What’s fu
“That’s not fu
“Then, what am I?” I demanded, feeling suddenly angry. I pushed his hand away from my head and stood up. “What am I? I’m screwing a guy who isn’t my boyfriend and lying about it to my friends… if they’re even my friends anymore. I don’t even think about it now, whether this is right or wrong! I’m a whore. Your grandma and my dad both think so, and they’re right.”
Wesley stood up, his face hard and serious. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me firmly, forcing me to look up at him. “Listen to me,” he said. “You are not a whore. Are you listening, Bianca? What you are is an intelligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical, neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl. That’s what you are, okay? You’re not a slut or a whore or anything remotely similar. Just because you have some secrets and some screwups… You’re just confused… like the rest of us.”
I stared at him, stu
“Bianca, whore is just a cheap word people use to cut each other down,” he said, his voice softer. “It makes them feel better about their own mistakes. Using words like that is easier than really looking into the situation. I promise you, you’re not a whore.”
I looked at him, into his warm gray eyes, and suddenly understood what he was trying to tell me. The message hidden beneath the words.
You’re not alone.
Because he understood. He understood how it felt to be abandoned. He understood the insults. Understood me.
I pushed myself onto my tiptoes and kissed him—really kissed him. It was more than just a precursor to sex. There was no war between our mouths. My hips rested lightly beneath his, not pressed tightly. Our lips moved in soft, perfect harmony with each other. This time it meant something. What that something was, I didn’t know at the time, but I knew that there was a real co
I slid off his shirt, and he pulled mine over my head. Then he laid me down on the bed. No rush. This time things were slow and earnest. This time I wasn’t looking for an escape. This time it was about him. About me. About honesty and compassion and everything I’d never expected to find in Wesley Rush.
This time, when our bodies co
It felt horrifyingly right.
18
I knew something was wrong the instant I opened my eyes the next morning.
The sky looked dull and cold outside Wesley’s window, but I felt warm. So warm. Wesley’s arm was draped over me, holding me against his chest, and his soft, rhythmic breathing heated the back of my neck. It was so peaceful. So perfect. I felt safe and content.
And that was the problem.
I caught sight of a pink sweater lying forgotten in the corner of the room. It had been there for weeks. Property of some nameless girl. One of many Wesley had brought up to his bedroom. Seeing it, I suddenly remembered exactly whose bed I was in. Who was holding me.
I shouldn’t have felt safe or content. Not here. Not with Wesley. It was wrong. I should have been disgusted. I should have been repulsed. I should have wanted nothing more than to push him away from me. What the hell was going on? What was wrong with me?
And just as I asked myself the questions, the answers hit me like a tidal wave. An icy tidal wave that left me wide-eyed and shocked.
I was jealous of the other girls he talked to.
I was willing to do anything to make him smile.
I felt safe and content in his arms.
Oh my God, I thought, half panicked. I’m in love with him.
I had to shake myself then. No, no, no. Not love. Love was a big word. Too big. Love took years upon years to develop… right? I was not in love with Wesley Rush.
But I had feelings for him. Feelings other than hatred and disgust. It was more than a crush. More than anything I’d felt for Toby Tucker over the past three years. Maybe even more than I’d felt for Jake Gaither all those years ago. It was real. It was powerful.
And it was terrifying.
I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t let myself fall into this trap. No matter how I felt about Wesley, he would never feel the same.