“What’s this about?” he says gruffly. “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll try to help.”
A hysterical giggle flies out of my mouth. “No, you won’t! I just asked for your help and you shot me down!”
He looks even more bewildered than before. “You didn’t ask me for help, Hannah. You asked me to fuck you.”
“Same damn thing,” I mumble.
“For fuck’s sake, I have no frickin’ idea what you’re talking about!” He inhales slowly as if trying to calm himself down. “I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what you’re babbling about in the next two seconds, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Misery lodges in my throat. I wish I never opened my mouth and asked him. I should have just snuck out of his room while he slept and pretended that I never threw myself at him last night.
But then Garrett reaches up and strokes my cheek with infinite tenderness, and something inside me cracks open.
I let out a shaky breath. “I’m broken, and I wanted you to fix me.”
Alarm widens his eyes. “I…still don’t understand.”
Not many people know about what happened to me. I mean, it’s not like I go around advertising that I was raped to everyone I meet. I have to trust someone implicitly in order to confess something so monumental.
If you told me a few weeks ago that I would be confiding in Garrett Graham about the most traumatic experience of my life, I would’ve peed my pants laughing.
And now here I am, doing just that.
“I lied to you at Beau’s party,” I admit.
His hand drops from my face, but his gaze stays locked on mine. “Okay…”
“I don’t know anyone who was drugged in high school.” My throat closes up. “I was the one who got drugged in high school.”
Garrett’s body goes rigid. “What?”
“When I was fifteen years old, a guy I went to school with drugged me.” I gulp down the acid coating my windpipe. “And then he raped me.”
A shocked breath hisses out of his mouth. Although he doesn’t say a word, I can clearly see the tense set of his jaw, the hot fury in his eyes.
“It was…it…well, shit, I’m sure you can imagine how awful it was.” I swallow again. “But… Please don’t feel sorry for me, okay? It was awful and terrifying and it destroyed me at the time, but I worked through it. I’m not scared of all men, or angry at the world, or any of that stuff.”
Garrett says nothing, but his expression is fiercer than I’ve ever seen it.
“I’ve put it behind me. I really have. But it broke something inside me, okay? I can’t…I can’t…you know.” My cheeks are so hot it feels like I’ve come down with sunstroke.
He finally speaks, his voice coming out low and tortured. “No, I don’t know.”
I’m already in this deep, so I force myself to clarify. “I can’t have an orgasm with a guy.”
Garrett gulps. “Oh.”
I press my lips together, trying hard to tamp down the embarrassment climbing up my throat. “I thought that maybe if you and me…if we…you know, fooled around a bit, I might be able to…I don’t know…reprogram my body to…um, respond.”
Oh God. The words are stuttering out before my brain can edit them, and my face goes up in flames as I realize how pitiful I sound. The realization that I’ve officially reached the rock bottom equivalent of sheer humiliation unleashes my tears.
As a strangled sob tears out of my mouth, I attempt a frantic scramble off Garrett’s lap, but his arms tighten around me, one hand tangling in my hair to bring my head closer. I bury my face in his neck, trembling wildly as tears slide down my cheeks in salty waves.