Broken Juliet

by Leisa Rayven

  I close the book, careful not to look at what he’s written, and place it and the pen on the nightstand. Then I crawl onto the bed and shove my face into his pillow.

  Hmm. Smells so good.

  Please don’t let him be angry with me. Let me be able to fix this.

  *

  Something brushes against my neck.

  Lips. Warm breath.

  I turn toward it, wanting more.

  “Cassie?”

  Shh. You’ll scare away the lips.

  “Hey . . . you awake?”

  “No. Shhh. More lips. My boyfriend will be back soon.”

  The lips return. A different shape. Smiling?

  They move up my neck, across my jaw. So soft but next to something rough. His chin. Cheek.

  “Who do you think is kissing you?”

  “Hmm. Orlando Bloom?”

  Lips freeze, mid-kiss.

  “Bloom? Seriously? Your boyfriend would kick that pasty Englishman’s ass.”

  “Are you implying that you’re my boyfriend?”

  More kisses that linger on my neck then press softly against my ear. “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating it as fact.”

  “Impossible. My boyfriend isn’t this affectionate.”

  The lips stop. Breath exhales. Tension leaches from his body into mine.

  I swallow, eyes still closed. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “What I just said. What I said last night. Please don’t be angry. It was the wine’s fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Okay. You’re right. I can’t blame that entirely, but it helped.”

  He cups my cheek. “Cassie, it wasn’t the wine, or you, or even Ruby, although I could hear her cheering you on. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine.”

  The excuse I’m about to say dies on my tongue. I open one eye. “Um . . . what?”

  “You called me a fucking terrible boyfriend, and you were right.”

  Both eyes open. “Did I actually use those words?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even the ‘F’ word?”

  “Yes. Not gonna lie, it made me kinda hard.”

  I push up on my elbow and assess him. He must have just gotten out of the shower, because he’s wearing only boxers. The sight of his naked chest distracts me. What’s even more distracting is how he’s not flinching away from my scrutiny.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but what exactly are you saying?”

  He drops onto his back and closes his eyes. “Everything you said . . . You were right. I’ve been keeping you at a distance.”

  When he pauses, I stroke his arm to urge him on. After a few seconds, he opens his eyes and gazes at the ceiling. “Do you know what my first thought was when I walked in and found you in my bed?”

  “What?”

  “That you’d read my journal.”

  “But I didn’t. I swear—”

  He turns to me. “I know. When I stopped and thought about it, I realized you wouldn’t do that. And yet, my first instinct was to think the worst of you, because that’s how I cope with . . . things. People. I’m always prepared for the worst, so when it happens I won’t be surprised. Or disappointed. I figure, if I don’t really try, I can’t really fail, right? So that’s what I’ve been doing.”

  “Ethan . . .” I put my hand on his shoulder, and he tenses.

  He sits up. “I was angry with you last night, really fucking angry, not because what you said was wrong, but because it was all true. You brought up all the things I hate about myself. Shit from my past that has no right affecting you but does.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to try harder. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s all I can do, right?”

  I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

  “Try to do what?”

  “Be better.” He cups my face and kisses me. There’s an edge of desperation in the grip of his fingers, the way his eyes are still closed when he pulls back. “I can do this. Be the boyfriend you deserve.”

  “I believe you.”

  As I say it, I know I’m lying, but I do believe he’s going to try.

  *

  The next morning, I’m throwing the last of my books into my bag and shoving a piece of toast in my mouth when I hear a knock at my door.

  I open it to see Ethan, smiling and holding out a cardboard cup.

  “Dickaccino?” I ask, concerned.

  “No, just hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows.” He smirks and gives me a quick kiss.

  He’s freshly shaven and wearing faded jeans and a blue sweater. For a moment, it doesn’t compute. Him. Here. Attentive. Smiling. Not dressed all in black like the grim reaper.

  His smile drops. “What the fuck is that look for? You’re staring at me like I’m a serial killer. The cocoa isn’t poisoned.”

  Okay, that’s more familiar.

  “It’s just, you’re not usually . . .” I’m distracted by how gorgeous and unburdened he looks. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

  He pushes past me and puts the cup on the table. “Regular boyfriends walk their girlfriends to class, so here I am.” He picks up my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Fuck me, what do you have in here?”

  “Books.”

  “Lead books?”

  “I’m thinking regular boyfriends are nicer than you.”

  “I’m nice.”

  I snort. “Okay.”

  He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against him, then kisses me in a way that makes my body go from zero to hormonal overload in about two seconds.

  He looks down at me in triumph. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t nice.”

  I nod. It’s not a valid answer, but it’s all I can manage.

  He takes the hot chocolate from the table and hands it to me. “Ready to go?”

  “Okay.”

  I think I like this new boyfriend.

  He grabs my hand and pulls the door closed behind us.

  FOUR

  HOLD ON TO ME

  Present Day

  New York City, New York

  The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor

  Thank God I’m still gripping the door because Ethan’s proximity is making me dizzy. “Let me in, Cassie. Please.” He’s so persuasive. Soothing and coaxing as he moves his fingers up my arm before grazing my neck then gently cupping my face. “Just let go of the door.”

  He leans down, lips soft against my cheek. Then there’s warm breath on my ear. I close my eyes as a tremor runs down my spine.

  “I know the email doesn’t make up for everything I did—”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “—but I meant every word, and if you let me in, I’ll prove it to you. Show you. Love you.”

  He brushes his lips against my ear, and it makes me tremble. He wraps his fingers around mine and pulls them away from the door.

  “You want to hold on to something?” he says. “Hold on to me.” He brings my hands to his chest.

  “Ethan, I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “I know. Let me help you.”

  “You never let me help you in the past.”

  “I should have. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Let me show you how different I can be.”

  Am I really considering trying again with him?

  I stare at his chest. His shirt is a button-up. Blue. If I looked into his eyes right now, they’d mirror the color.

  I step aside from the door and let him in, just over the threshold, and close the door.

  He takes my hands and squeezes them. “I know you’re thinking that you’ve been shut down for so long, you don’t know how to wake up. That there are all these messy feelings I bring out in you, that part of you wish
es you’d never met me.”

  I sigh. “Pretty much.”

  He pauses for a few seconds, then says, “That’s how I used to feel about you. It didn’t help that a paranoid voice inside kept whispering you were going to destroy me. I’m sure in your head there’s a voice saying the same thing.”

  That’s true. The difference is, I had nothing to do with creating his trust issues, yet he’s the sole reason for all of mine.

  “But you’ve told me twice before that you could do this,” I say. “Twice you broke my heart.”

  He strokes my hands again. “Cassie, look at me.”

  I struggle to lift my gaze to his eyes. When I do, he doesn’t let me look away.

  “In the past, I thought I could be what you needed. Now I know I can. Let me prove I can love you the way you deserve.”

  I don’t know what I deserve anymore. I used to think I deserved him, but he proved me wrong time and again.

  If he were to fail this time, there’d be nothing left of me.

  FIVE

  PERFECT DISGUISE

  Six Years Earlier

  Westchester, New York

  The Grove

  For two weeks, Ethan is everything I’ve ever hoped for. He’s affectionate and attentive, and we have standing dates on Friday and Saturday nights. He even bought me flowers. Twice.

  I can’t believe the change. Neither can anyone else in our group of friends.

  “What the fuck have you done to Holt?” Jack asks when Ethan leaves our table in the cafeteria to buy me a drink. “It’s like that creepy-assed movie where everyone is taken over by aliens and becomes super nice. He hasn’t told me to fuck off in weeks. It’s wrong and unnatural.”

  Connor shrugs. “Maybe the love of a good woman has changed him.” He gives me a smile. “Personally, I’m glad he’s stopped being such an asshole to Cassie. It was starting to piss me off.”

  Zoe pulls out a compact and powders her nose. “Well, I call bullshit. No one as badass as Holt changes overnight, no matter how much he wants to. Did you see that look he gave Erika in mask class today? If his eyes were laser beams, she’d be dust. The real Holt is still in there, that’s for sure.”

  I tune them out. I don’t care what they say. Ethan has been amazing, and I’m going to enjoy it for as long as I can.

  When he gets back to the table, he gives me a lingering kiss.

  Everyone falls silent. Jack gets up and studies the back of Ethan’s neck.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Jack says and stands on his toes. “Just looking for the alien tentacle attached to your brain.”

  Ethan scowls and pushes him away. “Fuck off, Avery.”

  When everyone hoots and breaks into applause, Ethan looks at me with a confused expression.

  I shake my head and pull him down next to me.

  A few minutes later, Jack launches into one of his epic jokes. When I turn to look at Ethan, he’s smiling, but there’s something in his eyes. A weary sadness. Like being this version of himself is exhausting, but he refuses to give it up.

  Part of me wants to ignore the wrongness and just believe him, but then I’d be pretending as much as he is.

  No matter how much I want to deny the truth, it gets more obvious every day that he’s a drowning man clinging to a sinking raft.

  *

  Whenever I try to talk to Ethan about what’s going on with him, he either changes the subject, ignores me, or uses his sex appeal to distract me from everything but my escalating need for sex.

  That’s what he’s doing now.

  He’s between my legs, rocking and pressing his pelvis in a way he knows makes me crazy. I’m so desperate to have him inside me, I’ve resorted to begging.

  “Ethan, please.”

  He kisses me again then pulls me on top of him. His hands are on my ass, his lips on my neck.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  His mouth and tongue silence me. Wet, and warm, and so, so good.

  I tug on his hair, and he makes that noise. My noise. The one that makes his chest vibrate.

  “Ethan . . .” Oh, don’t stop. Yes, right there. Ohhhhhh, God. He pulls down the cup of my bra and uses his mouth. Oh, sweet majestic Zeus. “Okay. Fine. I’ll talk you into having sex later. For now, keep doing that.”

  “I have a better idea,” he says as he unbuttons my jeans. “Let me put my mouth on another part of you.”

  He flips me onto my back and my jeans are halfway down my legs before I register what he’s said.

  “Um, what now?”

  He tugs my jeans off and throws them on the floor then kneels between my legs and strokes my thighs. “Do you remember what third base is?”

  “Uh, it’s . . . well.” I absolutely remember, and thinking about him going there makes me glow like a stoplight. “Are you sure you want to do that? I mean—”

  He leans over and kisses me, deep and passionate. It leaves me so breathless, I can’t talk. I think that was his plan.

  He looks at my panties. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

  His eyes are dark. When he fingers the top of my panties, I suck in a ragged breath.

  “Nervous?” he asks. I nod. “Don’t be. You’ll enjoy it.”

  He slowly removes my panties then brings his mouth down . . . down . . . oh, mercy, all the way down. He keeps eye contact as he kisses my inner thigh. I can’t stop the noises I’m making, no matter how embarrassing they are. When he kisses the other thigh, open-mouthed, I start to hyperventilate.

  His eyes drift closed when he covers me with his mouth, and his accompanying moan vibrates all the way into my bones.

  I have no idea what he’s doing with his tongue, but it feels incredible. When I squirm in response, he grabs my hips and sucks harder. I’ve never felt anything like it. Then he adds his fingers, and I nearly pass out from the pleasure.

  That night, Ethan teaches me about the explosive ecstasy of oral sex. Several times.

  We don’t end up talking about our issues. Or why he refuses to sleep with me.

  Tomorrow, I tell myself as he leaves me in bed and lets himself out. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  *

  Ruby turns bright red. “He still hasn’t fucked you since he took your virginity?!”

  “Shhh!”

  Half the people in the cafeteria line have turned to look at us.

  “Just rehearsing some lines,” Ruby says. “Turn the fuck around, creepers.”

  We pay for our lunches and head out to the tables. “He does stuff to me all the time, but he always steers us away from . . . you know.”

  “Penile penetration.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Jesus, what did you do the first time that made him so gun-shy?”

  “Nothing! He told me I was the best he’s ever had.”

  “Then why the hell isn’t he hitting that every chance he gets? What’s he waiting for? A presidential invite?”

  I sigh and pick at my salad. “I don’t know. He just seems to panic whenever we get close . . .”

  “He’s such a dumbass.”

  “Ruby, come on. He’s trying.”

  “To be a dumbass?”

  “Stop.”

  I look over and see him crossing the quad. His hands are in his pockets, and his head is down. He seems nothing like the person I’ve come to know in the past few weeks.

  He seems utterly defeated.

  Weary.

  Miserable.

  A shiver runs up my spine.

  He doesn’t know I’m watching, and I realize what I’m looking at is the real him. My perfect boyfriend is nowhere in sight.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Olivia watching him too. She shakes her head and goes into the bath
room.

  Outside, the rumbling clouds of an approaching storm sound a hell of a lot like an avalanche.

  SIX

  UNRAVELING

  When you see someone you love unraveling, do you try to stop it?

  Of course.

  I tell Ethan that he doesn’t need to try so hard. That I care about him even if he doesn’t bring me flowers or take me out on dates.

  He still refuses to discuss it.

  We go back to him not talking. Not touching.

  Shutting down.

  One night, we hear sirens outside and go out to discover an ambulance in the driveway of the apartment block down the street.

  As we reach the small crowd gathered on the pavement, I see Ruby chatting to Liberty, one of the visual arts girls.

  “What’s up?” I pull my coat around me and glance over at the building.

  Ruby’s expression is serious. “Overdose. The paramedics revived her, but it was touch and go for a while.”

  “Oh my God. Who is it?”

  She flicks a glance at Ethan. “Olivia Pyne. Second-year actor. That’s the girl who was stalking you, right? Holt’s ex?”

  I turn to Ethan, who’s gone white as a sheet. “Yeah. That’s her.”

  I’m about to say something when the lobby doors open and the paramedics wheel a gurney down the path to the sidewalk. Everyone cranes their necks to see. Even though Olivia’s pale face is half-hidden beneath an oxygen mask, it’s clear she’s in a bad way.

  Ethan shoves people aside to get to the paramedics. “Is she going to be okay?”

  The female paramedic gives him the once-over. “You her boyfriend?”

  His expression hardens. “No.”

  “She’s stable. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Was the overdose intentional?”

  “That’s not for us to say.”

  “What did she OD on?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t comment further. We’re taking her to White Plains Hospital where they’ll do tests.”

  The paramedic shoulders past Ethan before she opens the ambulance doors so she and her partner can load Olivia inside. I take Ethan’s hand as the ambulance pulls away with its lights and siren blaring. He watches it with a stony expression until it disappears.