I quickly run through all the reasons why I shouldn’t be crying.
Devon and I are over.
I don’t want him anymore.
I’ve been fantasizing about someone else for months.
I’m going on a date with Justin Kohl this weekend.
But the reminders achieve nothing, and my eyes sting harder. Because who the fuck am I kidding? What chance do Justin and I possibly have? Even if we go out, even if we get close enough to be intimate, what happens when we have sex? What if all the issues I had with Devon sprout up again, like some annoying rash you can’t get rid of?
What if there really is something wrong with me and I can never, ever have a normal sex life like a normal frickin’ woman?
I blink rapidly to try to stop the flow of tears. I refuse to cry in public. I refuse to.
“Wellsy?”
Garrett emerges from the men’s bathroom and frowns the moment he sees me. “Hey,” he says urgently, cupping my chin. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“You’re lying.” His grip stays firm on my chin as he sweeps his thumbs underneath my eyes. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
“I’m wiping away your tears right now, Wellsy. Ergo, you’re crying. Now tell me what’s wrong.” His face suddenly pales. “Oh shit, did someone harass you or something? I was only gone a few minutes. I’m so sorry—”
“No, it’s not that,” I cut in. “I promise.”
Garrett’s features relax. But only slightly. “Then why are you upset?”
I choke back the lump in my throat. “I bumped into my ex out there.”
“Oh.” He looks startled. “The guy you were dating last year?”
I nod weakly. “He was with his new girlfriend.”
“Shit. That must have been awkward.”
“I guess.” Hostility crawls through me like an army of tiny ants. “She’s gorgeous, by the way. Like, really gorgeous.” The bitter feeling intensifies, twisting my insides and hardening my jaw. “I bet she has orgasms that last for hours and probably screams out I’m coming! when she’s in the throes of passion.”
Alarm flickers through Garrett’s eyes. “Uh. Yeah. Okay. I don’t really understand that, but okay.”
But it’s not okay. It’s not.
Why did I ever think I could be a normal college student? I’m not normal. I’m broken. I keep telling myself that the rape didn’t destroy me, but it did. A piece of shit didn’t just steal my virginity—he stole my ability to have sex and feel pleasure like a healthy, red-blooded woman.
So how the hell can I ever have a real relationship? With Devon, with Justin, with anyone, when I can’t…
I abruptly shrug Garrett’s hands off my face. “Forget it. I’m being stupid.” Lifting my chin, I take a step toward the doorway. “Come on, I want another drink.”
“Hannah—”
“I want another drink,” I snap, and then I bulldoze past him and march all the way to the bar.
21
Garrett
Hannah is wasted.
Not only that, but she refuses to go home. It’s one in the morning and the party has moved from the bar to my house, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince Hannah to call it a night.
It’s becoming crucial that I get her back to her dorm. My living room is full of hockey players and puck bunnies, all of whom score at least an eight on my drunk scale: rapidly on their way to throwing inhibition to the wind and making some huge-ass mistakes.