Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3)

by Erica Alexander

  “He’d get me drunk. Force me to drink alcohol. Lace hot chocolate with vodka and touch me, but he said he was saving the best for my sixteenth birthday because that was the legal age of consent. He said if I ever told anyone it would be my word against his, and my mother would take his side. My age didn’t stop him forcing me to touch him back.”

  I need to move. I need to get away. I turn away from River, take a step. Stop. Turn back. I’m moving, my feet taking charge, pacing in a chaotic loop. Back and forth I go, shaking my hands as if doing so could expunge the dirty feeling along with the words. When I finally stop, River is watching me with a hand pressed against her mouth and a stream of tears on her face.

  I heave in a long breath. “By then I knew the only way to get away from him was to leave. But where could I go? I had no one. I didn’t want to be another runaway just to fall in the hands of someone even worse than him. I needed to finish high school first. I put so much effort into getting the best grades possible. I knew that getting a scholarship was my only way out. I was terrified he wouldn’t wait until I was sixteen. But I wasn't going to give him the one thing he wanted most.”

  River takes a step closer. “What was that?”

  “My virginity. He liked to talk about how and when he would take my virginity. That he’d never had a virgin before. I would be his first, just like he would be my first. But I wasn't about to let him have it. A few days before I turned sixteen, I found a boy from school who was nice enough to me and lost my virginity to him.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh, Becca.”

  “As bad as it was, it was a thousand times better than having him touch me because it was my choice.” I thump my chest.

  “Did he find out? About the boy?”

  “Oh, I told him. It was my birthday. He gave my mother God knows what. She blacked out. And she didn’t wake until late the next day. Telling him was a gift to myself. I told him with great glee that he would never be my first, that he could never have that piece of me.”

  “What happened?”

  “He kept his promise of what he would do to me when I turned sixteen. No one came to help when I screamed or when he yelled. No one came to stop him from beating me or trashing the house. I was lucky he didn't break any bones. And he was lucky it was summer, and I didn’t have school, so there was nobody to see the marks on my body.”

  “Oh my God, Becca.”

  “It took nearly a month for all the bruises to fade away. Oddly enough, he stopped touching me after that. I was tainted.”

  “What happened after? Is he still with your mom?”

  “No. He died several months after that. Overdose.”

  “I thought you said he never got high.”

  I smile. “He did that day.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  We stand looking at each other. River holds her fisted hands against her stomach. I know she wants to hug me, share my pain.

  My skin crawls at the thought of allowing anyone to touch me when the confession still lingers on my lips. While his face floats like a ghost in the empty space between us. The aversion is a physical presence. It attaches itself to my back and neck, and its weight crushes me. I want to scream and run and rip at my own flesh to get rid of it.

  No more.

  Fuck you, Theodore.

  You’re dead.

  Now stay dead.

  I take a step closer to River, her hands open, and her arms come around me. She pulls me into a hug my body wants to reject. I shut it down. I shut it all down.

  Breathe, I command myself.

  River holds me, and little by little the stiffness in my muscles gives away. I ease into her embrace, and I hug her back.

  Then the tears come.

  River holds me until the sobs stop and the rigidness leaves me. She gives me a tighter squeeze and steps back, her hands still holding mine. “I love you, you know? You’re my best friend, and you can count on me. I’m in your corner. Always.”

  I wipe my face with a sleeve. “I know. You’ve always had my back, even when I let you down.”

  River squeezes my hands. “You never let me down.”

  “I did. More than once. I didn’t know how to be a friend. But I’m learning. You’re teaching me.”

  River smiles and blinks away her own tears. I’m glad we’re in the middle of a field, and there’s no one close enough to see us. We’re a mess.

  She links her arm through mine, and we fall into step walking again. She bumps her shoulder into me. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you. I wish I could do or say something to make it better.”

  “You already have. More than you know.”

  She stops. “I haven’t done a thing. I almost wish the bastard were alive. I have this big rusty knife at home …”

  That makes me laugh. I’m a fucking mess. I’m crying and laughing and then crying again. “But you did, River. You somehow found me and forced your friendship on me whether or not I wanted it, and you didn’t let me get away. And I tried.”

  River shrugs. “You know I can’t say no to a challenge.”

  “So I was a challenge?”

  She holds up her thumb and pointer finger. “A tiny bit.”

  We find a bench and take a seat. “I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you.”

  “Don’t.” River puts a hand up. “You didn’t dump anything on me. I’m glad you told me. It gives me a fresh perspective. I wish you had told me sooner. I wish I could have done more.”

  “I couldn’t. I could never have said anything before. I’ve told no one.”

  “What changed?”

  “I finally got the help I needed.” I pull my legs up onto the bench and brace my knees.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m talking to a therapist.”

  River reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m so glad you are. How long have you been seeing her?”

  “It’s a he, and I never met him in person. We talk over the phone only.”

  River frowns. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s this program hosted by several universities, and you can text or call, and it’s all anonymous. But it’s not like traditional therapy, at least not like the therapy you see in movies. It’s more like talking to a friend, a wise and smart friend who’s on to your bullshit and calls you out on it.”

  River narrows her eyes, raises a hand and points at herself. I laugh. “Okay. It’s a lot like talking to you, except it’s a guy with a bunch of degrees who does this for a living, and …”

  “And?” She nudges me with a knee when I say nothing else.

  I inhale deep, the air crisp and pine scented. “And he’s a stranger. It didn’t matter if he liked me or not, if he judged me or not. I could walk away at any time, and no one would know.” I shift on the bench so I can look at her face-to-face. “I was afraid. I was afraid you’d be disgusted and stop being my friend.”

  River is shaking her head even before I finish speaking. “Never. I would never be disgusted. It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault. How could you think that?” Her tone is a little hurt.

  This honesty and trust thing is not hurting only me. “River, you have to understand. I’m disgusted with myself. Why wouldn’t you be? Why wouldn’t anyone?”

  She grabs my hand. I drop my feet to the grass. “If I had told you the exact same things you told me, would you be disgusted with me? Blame me and walk away?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why would you think that of me? And more importantly, why would you think that of yourself? Don’t you deserve the same kindness you would extend me?”

  Do I? My chest constricts, my body wants to fold into itself in rejection of her words. The old voices come back to haunt me.

  Nobody loves you.

  No one cares.

  You’re bad.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as if by closing them I could also shun the words that have plagued me my whole life.

  Lies. They’re all
lies. I know this. Why do I believe them?

  Nobody loves you.

  River loves me. My father loves me. My brother and sister love me.

  No one cares.

  River cares. My father cares. Tommy. Lucas. Even Dylan cares.

  You’re bad.

  I’m not. I’m good. I’m a good person.

  I rebuke the hurtful words I grew up with. I replace them with new words. Words that are true.

  I open my eyes. “If you had asked me that a few weeks ago, the answer would have been no. But now, in this moment, I can say yes. I deserve kindness. I deserve better. I deserve more.”

  “You do. And I will be there to remind you.”

  “I’ll need that.” I’m not foolish enough to think that all is well, and all my brokenness is fixed. I may never be completely healed. But I have mended a few small pieces here and there. Now I just have to hold on to those mended pieces and patch a few more.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I turn my illegal space heater on, sink into my bed, and add an extra blanket. It’s freezing today. I’m not looking forward to going to work at the bar tonight. I have three hours before I need to leave, but first, I want to give the therapist a call.

  I adjust my earbuds, log in, and click the link to call him. The laptop screen glare is the only light in my room.

  I close my eyes and wait. It rings once, twice. He answers.

  “Good night.” His voice has an instantaneous calming effect on me. I’ve grown used to this.

  “Hi.” I bite a nail. Pull my hands away and press them against my stomach, trying to squash the butterflies.

  “Glad to hear from you. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

  Thanksgiving makes me think of Dylan and that damn cranberry sauce. The butterflies multiply.

  “Yeah, it was very nice. I spent it with friends. You?” Well, one friend and one whatever the heck Dylan is. Frenemy? Hot-AF professor I can’t stop thinking about? My next mistake?

  “Same. Family and a friend.”

  Ugh. Are we making small talk now? I’m not good at this.

  “The last time we talked you had some homework.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you do the homework? Did you find a friend to talk to?”

  I picture him leaning in, waiting for my response. “I did.”

  “That’s great!”

  I can hear the smile in his voice. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Okay.” I fill my lungs, hold, exhale. “I talked to my best friend. I told her about my childhood, and how I lied about going away for holidays every time she invited me to visit her family. I told her about everything that happened to me. More than I thought I would.”

  There’s a moment of silence. He waits for me to say more, but my mouth has gone dry.

  “How did that make you feel?”

  I grab a water bottle and take a sip. “Lighter. I feel lighter.”

  “I’m so happy for you. You’ve carried that burden alone for far too long.”

  “Yeah, I did. And I would probably have continued to if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Nah, you did all the work. All I did was nudge you in the right direction.”

  “You did way more than that. And you know it.”

  “Okay, enough about me.” He sounds … embarrassed? “And your friend? Was she supportive?”

  “Yes, very much so. I knew she would be. But …”

  “But?” He pushes when I stop.

  “I was so afraid.”

  “Why? What exactly were you afraid of?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do. Remember, there’s no judgment here. You didn’t come this far just to retreat now. What were you afraid of?”

  I close my eyes again, breathe in, out. “I didn’t want her to pity me or look at me differently. I didn’t want her to know how horrible a person I am.”

  “Okay, let’s break that down. Did she pity you?”

  “No. I mean, she felt sorry for me, but she didn’t pity me. She got mad on my behalf.”

  “Did she look at you differently?” The sound of tapping accompanies his question.

  “No, I don’t think so. She was glad I told her. I think it strengthened our friendship.”

  “Are you a horrible person?”

  What? His question takes me by surprise. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I can’t answer.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.” His voice is softer.

  “I have two competing voices in my head.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “One voice is angry. It’s screaming that I am a horrible person. That I’m worthless. That this whole thing is bullshit, and I’ll never amount to anything.” And so much more. But he doesn’t need to know everything. I’ve said enough. Nausea rises up my throat.

  “And the other voice? What is it telling you?”

  “The other voice tells me I’m good, and I’m worthy, and everything else is just ugly lies.”

  “How does this voice sound?”

  I have to think about it for a moment. “It is quiet, calm, steady.”

  “Do you know why this voice is quiet, and the other is screaming?”

  “No.”

  “Because the truth doesn’t need to scream. The truth doesn’t need to be loud. The truth doesn’t need to bully. The truth just is.”

  “Oh my God.” The truth just is. Tears prickle at my eyes, and I don’t stop them. He stays quiet. Waits for me to absorb what he told me. And it rings true. His words burn into my chest, dig into my heart and singe my soul like a tattoo written in fire.

  “I think I’m going to need that on a T-shirt.” I laugh through the tears.

  He laughs with me.

  All these years the two voices fought for space in my head and I’ve always listened to the louder, angrier voice when all along all I had to do was listen to the quiet truth that existed in me.

  “Listen to the smaller voice. Listen to the voice of kindness and love. Promise me that.” His voice is not so different from my own quiet voice.

  “I promise.” And I mean it.

  “It won’t be easy, old habits are hard to break. But every time the old habits and voices come after you, stop, breathe, look for the truth. It whispers. You must stop and pay attention.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “Good night, Cougar22.” He chuckles.

  I hang up. Remove my earbuds. Set my phone to wake me up at nine thirty. Sleep the best two hours of my life.

  I have so many clothes layered on I look like that kid from A Christmas Story. Luckily, I can put my arms down, otherwise it would be a really awkward drive into work. I take five minutes to clear the frozen dusting of snow from my car. When I finally get in and turn the ignition, I’m met with a horrible dying-engine sound no one wants to hear. Ever.

  “Come on. Start.” I try again. Nothing.

  “Be a good girl, and I’ll get you premium gas next time.” It’s a lie, but it works. The car starts. I can see my breath. It fogs the windows.

  “I should have started you first, then cleared the ice.”

  I hook my phone to the charger. It rings. River. I put it on speaker. “Hey.”

  “Hey, what are you up to? Working tonight?”

  “Yeah, I have a four-hour shift tonight. From ten to two AM. Leaving for work now.” I back out of the parking space and drive.

  “Ugh. That sucks.”

  “At least I don’t have to be up early in the morning.” Look at me being all optimistic and shit.

  “Are you up for some company? I’m bored. I could stop by.”

  I hesitate. “You don’t have to check on me, you know. I’m okay.”

  “No, dude. Logan is here with my sister, and I can’t make the TV loud enough to block all the monkey sex they’re having.”

  I laugh. “Monkey sex?”

  “Yeah, by the sound of it, they must be hanging from the ceiling or s
omething.”

  “Skye would be so mad if she heard you.”

  “Ha! Skye is too blissed out by multiple orgasms to care. I’ll let you go. Drive safe. See you soon.”

  She hangs up, and I’m still laughing. Then, for no reason at all, I think of Dylan. And monkey sex.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The bar is not as crowded today thanks to the cold and ice. Just my regulars and a few college students. It means less work for me, but also fewer tips. Thursday night football on all the TVs keeps the handful of customers entertained.

  I’m restocking the beer fridge when River comes in. As expected, all heads turn to her. She sits at the opposite end from my regulars and away from the other Riggins students taking center stage in front of the biggest TV.

  I wipe my cold hands on my apron and walk to her. River sets a plastic container in front of me. “I come bearing gifts. Skye made cookies. I stole them. She owes me after putting me through all that noise.”

  I’m not saying no to homemade cookies, especially ones made by Skye. “Thank you!” I grab the container and hide it under a shelf. “How are the monkeys?”

  She laughs. “Dude, you don’t understand. I love my sister, and Logan is the perfect guy for her. But if you told me at the beginning of school that this would be Skye today, I would think you’re crazy.”

  “Good for her.” I like Skye. She’s the sweetest. It couldn’t have been easy growing up in River’s shadow. “What can I get you?”

  “Nothing alcoholic. I need my wits to drive in this weather.” She rubs her hands together and blows on them.

  “I can make you a mean hot chocolate.” Her eyes widen at my suggestion.

  “And fries? Can I have fries too? I ate too many cookies, I need something salty.”

  “Sure. Anything for my best friend.”

  I call in the order and check on my regulars. They’re still nursing their first beers. The college guys call me over. “We want to buy her a drink.” The one in the middle nods his head at River.