I’m only bringing this to you because I think it’s right.
My work schedule at the Brew House is printed out. Wednesdays, Thursdays, five to close. Saturdays, open to noon. All of my classes are listed as well.
LUCY WATSON, junior.
Major: Public Policy
Job: Brew House
Extracurricular: Mock Trial
I RIP OPEN THE FOLDER, but the only thing in it is a sticky note with seven scrawled names. I nearly vomit when I make out the first one. It’s a guy from the Sigma Chi frat that I hooked up with in my freshman year. Four other names are either of boyfriends I had or hookups. Two I don’t know.
I look down at my body with horror. I’m wearing Matty’s shirt. The shirt of some guy who has spent weeks romancing me for no apparent reason. Just out of the blue, a guy who hates coffee, shows up at the coffee house. Flirts with me. Follows me.
I tear the shirt off, my tears wetting the fabric as I struggle to get it off me. I can’t stop crying. The water drips out of my eyes and splashes onto the paper, smearing the ink but the words are all embedded into my brain.
In all the different risk scenarios I had played out in my mind, not one of them had ever, ever included a betrayal like this. That he might cheat on me? Yes. That he might forget me? Also yes.
But those were normal. Those were things anyone could overcome. But this? The pain slices through me. I wrap my arms around my waist and bend over to hold it in, to keep myself together.
How could he do this to me? How could he be so sweet? Should I have somehow guessed? Wasn’t it really odd how he’d sit through those wedding shows without complaint? Ace wouldn’t do that and we’ve been friends for over a decade. And how he was so patient with me? How he didn’t make fun of my cautiousness?
I pull my backpack from the desk and onto the floor because I don’t yet have the strength to get up. My hands are shaking so much it’s hard to open the zipper, and it takes a couple of tries. I shove my dossier into it. Matty doesn’t get to keep this. He doesn’t get to keep any of these.
I look around for my clothes. My panties are lying obscenely in the middle of the floor, mocking me. I snatch them up and stuff them inside my backpack too. God, I have to get dressed and get out of here. Come on! I shout to myself. Stop sniveling and get out of this hellhole!
Dimly, I can hear myself making awful sounds. I hold a hand up to my mouth to silence the moans before anyone can hear me. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to go.
Matty breaks into the room and rushes over to me. “What’s wrong, Goldie? Did you fall and hurt yourself?”
Fall and hurt myself? Yeah, I guess I did. I flinch when he lays an arm around my shoulders. I can’t stand his touch. It makes me sick.
“Are you injured?” he says in concern, trying to turn me around so he can inspect me.
And suddenly I’m enraged. He’s concerned I’m not going to do his dirty work.
“You’re just going to accept my no?”
“I have to, don’t I?”
Right. He’s just going to accept a no. I knew that sounded like a trick when he’d said it, but I wanted it to be true, so I accepted it. I didn’t listen to my internal warning system. I threw away all my careful assessments and what happened? I let Matty eviscerate me. He couldn’t have done a better job of tearing me apart if he’d put my heart through a wood chipper.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl and scuttle backward. My feet hit my jeans. I drape them over my lap. Behind me is a blanket, and I wrap that around me, too. If I had to rip down a curtain, I’d do that as well. Anything to cover myself up.
“What’s wrong, Luce?”
Matty is wearing a completely bewildered expression, as if he doesn’t have the first clue what’s going on. As if he and his little team didn’t completely research every facet of my life. I was just another challenge for them to conquer.
“How’d you get picked?” I ask. “Draw the short straw? Was it hard to abstain from fucking a different girl every night, or did you do that anyway while lying through your teeth about being only turned on by me?”
God, all the lines, all the things I fell for. I couldn’t be more humiliated if I had to walk through campus nude. That eight minutes of silence I experienced my freshman year? Even that didn’t make me feel as low and dirty and awful as I do now.
“What are you talking about?” he barks out and then, as if realizing he’s supposed to be nice to me, he gives me a strained smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m working blind right now. I know you’re angry, but I don’t know why. Is it about the Ace thing? Because you seemed to be okay with it.”
“Seemed to be?” I say. To my disgust, my words come out shrill and quavery. “Before today I didn’t know how long you’ve been plotting this out. How you and whoever went around and compiled a more thorough background check than the FBI. When did you figure out that Ace and I were friends? Was it that first night you came to the Brew House? Was it before then? After? When?” I’m screaming at the end. Literally screaming. I stand up and start dressing. It doesn’t matter what he answers. I’m not going to believe him.
I can’t believe I slept with him. I can’t believe I let down all my defenses. I can’t believe I didn’t listen to myself. I knew he was a risk. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
But I let him talk me into bed. Hell, I jumped into bed with him. I told him it was for one night and then went back for seconds and thirds. We’ve been carrying on this charade for nearly three weeks! He was so damn clever.