Shame

by Rachel Van Dyken

CHAPTER THIRTY

  He’d almost agreed to do it after I explained things my way, and when he was still hesitant, I offered him one more thing I knew he couldn’t refuse—wouldn’t refuse. Her. —The Journal of Taylor B.

  Tristan

  BY THE TIME morning rolled around, I was one giant conflicted mess. My father had called and asked about business — the typical conversations usually lasted around three minutes. Was he still rich? Was I keeping my nose clean? Whatever the hell that meant. Had I ever let him down? Even once in my life? And the last, my personal favorite… have I returned any of Erica’s calls?

  Yes, yes, and no. But I’d said yes in hopes it would appease him. Talking to her seemed about as fun as calling Gabe and having him run me over with his car.

  I woke Lisa up. She was quiet, pensive. I imagined I’d given her too much to think about. With a wince, I let her have her silent time. I knew I’d probably pushed her boundaries a bit, but I didn’t want casual, not with her. She had to know that about me. Casual was meant for women I’d once met at my dad’s hotel. Casual and Lisa did not fit in the same sentence. If we did this, if she truly let me in, I’d be hers forever, but I refused to let her think I was like him, so I’d pushed. I wanted the real her. Not the one I read about every night in his journals, but the one, the girl who had come out of that. The only problem? She didn’t know who she was.

  In fact, she had no clue.

  She was afraid of the darkness he’d brought out in her almost as much as she was afraid of the light that she was still unable to reach. I halfway wondered if that hadn’t been his plan all along. Self-doubt and insecurity make a woman lean on a man in ways that brainwash to the extreme. She becomes so dependent, so lost in the definition of who she is with that person, that when that person finally leaves, no matter how good or horrible he was, the memory is there forever, imprinted in her consciousness.

  “Thanks.” Lisa opened the car door but hesitated. Finally, she turned around, a blush staining her cheeks. “Thanks for a night of letting me be myself.”

  “Anytime.” I held out my hand. When she’d taken it, I kissed her wrist and released her, even though I wanted to drag her across the center console and then pull her into the back seat. Acting like a caveman wouldn’t get me anywhere, but it sure as hell would stop the constant ache I had to have her.

  But sex wouldn’t be surrender to her.

  It would be submission.

  And until it was something more I refused to push that limit. Especially considering she wasn’t anyone harboring dangerous secrets. I just wasn’t sure anymore how or when I’d reveal mine.

  The more time I spent with her the more I refused to acknowledge that I’d come there for a reason.

  I watched her hurry into her dorm and made sure that the door closed behind her before I drove off.

  Not really paying attention, I almost ran over a kid on a bike in front of me. He turned and glared.

  It was Jack. My stomach knotted, but I had no idea why my body would react to his presence; he was just a student in my class. Just… something about him bothered me.

  The minute he saw that it was me, his eyes narrowed. I had sunglasses on, and my windows were tinted, but I was probably the only professor on campus who had an array of cars from a decked-out Ford truck to a Tesla — and I just happened to be driving the Tesla.

  I sped by and decided to run home and switch cars. I needed to anyway if I was going to follow through with my plan.

  Operation Save Lisa.

  Funny how it had started as Operation Redeem Taylor.

  Funny how one person can change your mind, your heart, your soul so completely that you forget what you were fighting for in the first place. Consumed with thoughts of her, I sped all the way home with a smile on my face. It wouldn’t be subtle; then again, that word had never really been in my vocabulary.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “You know I love you, right?” I whispered into her ear.

  She shivered in response and tried to pull away. “Yeah.”

  “No, really.” I tugged her closer.

  She fought me. Her body was tense, but it was always tense.

  “Let me show you how much.”

  I tried to remove her shirt. She stiffened at my touch, and I was so damn angry. I’d done that to her, but it was her fault for allowing me to. It was her fault for being so weak. It was my fault for being so strong.

  “Lie down,” I barked.

  And just like that, she submitted. And the world was right again. —The Journal of Taylor B.

  Lisa

  I BARELY HAD enough time to shower and get ready for the day when a knock sounded at the door. I grabbed my bag and keys and made sure my straightener was off then ran toward the knocking.

  “I’m coming!” I shouted. Geez, if it was Gabe, I was going to kill him.

  I swung the door open. Jack stood there leaning against the doorframe. “So…” He tilted his head. “How was sleeping with the professor?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be an ass. I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

  “You didn’t come back.” Emotion clouded his eyes, almost like he was hurt. “Last night, I mean, I was worried, so I came looking for you.”

  “Worried?” I walked past him and locked my door. “Why would you be worried?”

  “One.” He held up a finger. “Because I heard about your break-in. Actually, I think the entire campus heard about your break-in. And two.” He held up two fingers. “One of the guys I worked with at the pizza shop totally got the shit beat out of him last night outside this dorm.”

  “What?” I stopped in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

  His eyebrows furrowed together as he allowed me to go into the elevator first and then followed. “I mean a guy who I worked with got his face smashed in and is in ICU.”

  My ears felt like they were filled with cotton. What if the attacker was the same person breaking into my apartment? Sending me hate messages? I shivered and suddenly felt better that I had my Taser with me.

  “Hey, you okay?” Jack put his arm around me, but it felt all wrong, like forced.

  I don’t know how to explain it; I just didn’t like it, so I shrugged away.

  His eyes flickered with a bit of irritation, and then he leaned back against the wall of the elevator.

  “You know…” he said slowly. “…flirting with the professor isn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “I’m not flirting,” I lied. “And since when do you work at a pizza place? I thought you worked at Starbucks?”

  “We live in Seattle.” He rolled his eyes as the elevator dinged open. “I have to have three jobs to even afford my books and enough umbrellas to get me through the day.”

  I smiled. “It doesn’t rain that much.”

  We stepped outside into a nice morning mist, and I’d officially forgotten my jacket.

  Jack smirked and dug an umbrella from his shoulder bag, holding it over my head. “You were saying?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I know I’m an hour early, but what about we get something to eat at the coffee shop, and we can go over our plan for the project?”

  I sighed. I really wanted to make it early to class to impress Tristan, but two hours early did seem a little overkill. I stifled a laugh; he’d probably have a stroke if I was that early. If he was even at his desk. Then again it was Tristan. I imagined he was the type that was an hour early only so he could prove a point.

  “Fine,” I relented, sending a sideways glance at Jack. “But I want to be early to class.”

  “Ah, so that’s how it is.” He nodded knowingly.

  “What?”

  “You and the professor. Keep getting in trouble, and he’s going to keep making house calls. Smart.”

  “I’m not—” I shook my head. “Whatever. Let’s just talk about the project.”

  “Sure.” He grinned and held the umbrella higher over me. I ducked farther under it and collided w
ith his left hand; the umbrella teetered a bit, so I steadied it with my right, gripping his hand in the process. I felt cloth and grimaced.

  A large bandage was covering his entire hand and knuckles; it was an ace bandage, and I hadn’t noticed it before.

  “What happened?”

  “Pizza ovens.” He shook his head then winked. “Don’t try to fight them. They fight dirty, and apparently I lost.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Sorry. Burns suck.”

  “Pain sucks.” He shrugged. “But sometimes it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Except for this time,” I corrected.

  He swallowed convulsively, his eyes darting back and forth before he offered a kind smile. “Except this time.”

  The rest of our walk was easy. He talked about himself, and I listened while I tried desperately not to think about Tristan. I think I did a good job nodding my head and smiling. But my thoughts were consumed with the previous night, with what he’d said, how close it had hit home. How had he seen what Gabe even had trouble seeing? That just breathing in and out was hard for me, that I tried so hard to compartmentalize the person who I was, with the person I am. It was exhausting, not to mention stressful, since my past seemed to keep haunting me at every turn. I still had that stupid website to worry about. I just hoped people wouldn’t recognize me in it, though I didn’t think they would. I mean, who would imagine a normal girl like me starring in my own sex tape? Then again, you can’t really be starring in something if you aren’t aware it’s happening.

  He’d ruined sex for me.

  He’d made it painful.

  He’d made me want to vomit every time he touched me, but the guilt had been worse than the sex, the guilt that I’d been a horrible person to him, the guilt that he would take more pills if I didn’t do what he wanted.

  Tristan might be right about me trying to fight who I was, but if he truly knew how horrible I’d been, he wouldn’t be encouraging me to try to discover my true self. No, he’d be helping me bury that demon or, as he’d said last night, kill off that personality for good.

  “So, anger…” Jack sat opposite me in the booth and shook the rain from his jacket. “Why don’t you write out different facial expressions while I go grab us some coffee and food?”

  “Okay.” I pulled out my notebook and went to work cataloguing things I’d learned in class, like tight lips, narrowed eyes, clenched jaw — things that usually revealed a type of anger or repression. Funny, I had those memorized because Taylor was rarely happy. Anger was his companion. Then again, most of the time he was so numb I wondered if he ever truly felt anything; I wondered if he ever wanted to.

  “No,” Jack said after reading my list. “Some of these are wrong.”

  “Well, according to the Internet and our textbook, they’re all right.”

  “Wrong.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Anger can be a smirk, sure… but I think the most intense anger is the type of anger that people rarely see on the surface. It boils beneath, getting hotter and hotter until finally one day—”

  He slammed his hand against the table. I almost spilled my hot coffee.

  “—they just explode.”

  “So…” I swallowed and suddenly felt very uncomfortable that we were some of the only people in the coffee shop. “How would you describe that, then? In a nonverbal cue?”

  “You can’t.” He leaned forward. “Because anger has too many faces, too many masks. This type of anger is the kind you don’t recognize until it’s too late.” His nostrils flared as he brushed hair away from his face.

  The movement was familiar, oddly so. I narrowed my eyes, truly looking at him, examining Jack, because something about him didn’t make me feel safe; it made me feel… wary, afraid.

  “What?” He smiled, his big toothy grin making me feel a bit better. “You think I’m speaking from experience?”

  “Are you?” My throat went dry at the question.

  “Maybe.” He nodded slowly. “Then again, how would you know?”

  I reached into my satchel and gripped my mace tightly with one hand.

  “And that…” he chuckled and took a sip of coffee. “…is my point. Geez, stop looking so serious. I just want an A, okay? And if lover boy wants us to dig, then we should dig, cool?”

  I released the Mace, feeling a bit stupid. My spider senses had always been off when it came to people. I mean Taylor had been Exhibit A, so I really shouldn’t suspect a guy like Jack was anything but nice and studious.

  “Right.” I took another sip of coffee, feeling better. “Let’s do it your way.”

  His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

  We worked for the rest of the hour, and then I made an excuse about needing to stop at the mail room before class.

  I still had an hour, but I wanted to check and see if I had any more threats. My hands were shaking by the time I turned my key and unlocked the little box.

  Nothing but spam.

  I released a tense breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and quickly shut my box.

  “Boo!” Someone gripped my shoulders.

  I screamed and reached for my Mace again.

  “Whoa!” Jack reared back. “Was totally not planning on you getting ready to karate my ass!” Laughing, he shook his head. “I think my stories about pizza wars and coworkers getting beat up are going to give you nightmares. You just forgot your notebook, that’s all.” He held it out.

  “You could have given it to me in class.” My heart was still hammering against my chest when I took the notebook from him and shoved it into my bag.

  “Right.” He winked. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

  I gave him an annoyed look.

  “Or maybe I want to get impaled by one of your sharp nails.” He grimaced. “Alright, see ya later!”

  He ran off.

  And I was tempted to slump against the wall. He was right. I was being ridiculous and jumpy, and it wasn’t his fault I’d left my notebook.

  With a huff I vowed to go decaf for the rest of the week and slowly made my way toward the social sciences building.

  I made it to class with twenty minutes to spare. When I walked into the room, Tristan was already sitting at the desk reading some brown book. He still hadn’t looked up, so I slowly made my way toward him.

  The book appeared to be a journal. It had angry red writing on the pages and a few things crossed out. There were pictures, but I wasn’t close enough to see what they were of.

  “Didn’t take you for the type to read your own diary,” I joked.

  Tristan swore, dropping the journal to the floor, then bent and picked it up and shoved it into his desk. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  “I would apologize, but I kind of like the fact that I caught you unaware and out of control.”

  His sexy grin had me wanting to both retreat and maul him.

  “Lisa, if you want to see me out of control, all you really need to do is crook your little finger. I’ll be at your mercy in seconds.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Hell yes, it is.”

  “I never back down from challenges.”

  “I hoped you’d say that.”

  “I could lock the door.”

  “I’d really appreciate the door being locked.”

  I grinned as he took a step toward me. The room was thick with tension. He held out his hand. I took it.

  “Then again, if we leave the door open, there’s always that rush you get when you think about getting caught.”

  “You want me to get fired over you?”

  “Like they’d fire you.” My smile was so wide it hurt. “My guess is your company donates just as much money as Wes’s does.”

  “Ah, and she puts puzzles together well. Damn. I love that smart mouth of yours. The mind’s not so bad either.” He tilted my chin toward him. “But, sadly… now we only have fifteen minutes.” He released me from his hold
and stepped back. “And I would really hate to rush anything that has to do with my mouth on your body.”

  I gasped.

  “You’re not shocked.” His eyes narrowed. “But I can damn-well tell you’re a bit excited, which, in turn, gets me way too excited if I’m supposed to be talking about sociopaths today.”

  I giggled.

  He reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope. “Open it after class when you’re by yourself.”

  “What’s this?” The envelope wasn’t really heavy, but there was something rattling around in it.

  “Guess you’ll find out after class.” He nodded. “Now go find your seat. It seems today you’re so early you can get a head start on pulling out your notebook. I imagine it’s the first time you’ve had that exciting feeling.”

  “I’m seriously shaking with nerves at the thought,” I said dryly.

  “Me too…” He winked. “But it was a different thought.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I had a month before she left. A month to damage her life, a month to plan. Then again, I’d been planning for a while. So really, all I had was a month to enjoy her before things went black. It honestly pissed me off — you have no idea how much it pissed me off, that tiny sliver of a feeling that tried to push through the darkness. I think it was guilt? Or maybe just a bad case of indigestion. I ignored it and pressed on. Funny, because if it was guilt it, just made me that much more determined to ruin her, to ruin a life that had such a bright future, whereas mine had been damned the very second I was born to the wrong family. Dad had called that day, asking about which pills I was taking. Honestly, they all ran together I wrote down any physical symptoms, like getting a rash on my ass, as well as if they made me feel suicidal. Actually, every pill I was prescribed made me feel suicidal, but that feeling was always paired with what I’d like to call a god-complex. Yeah, I may want to die, but, man, in my death I’d still be a god. I was untouchable. Totally untouchable. —The Journal of Taylor B.

  Tristan

  I DIDN’T REALIZE how hard teaching a class would be with Lisa being that attentive. She’d dropped her pen twice, and stuck it in her mouth at least a dozen times. Her tongue had popped out, touching the tip and my entire body tightened at the sight. I literally had to teach from behind the desk because I was afraid that the students would think talking about mass murders and sociopaths was a turn on for me, when, in fact, it was the exact opposite.