The Futures(81)

But I was frightened of myself, of what I was doing. I’d been this person before—a cheater, a liar—but I didn’t want to be that person again. I wanted to be better. Adam slipped his hands to my waist. The clash between temptation and resistance made me nauseous. I wanted this; I didn’t want this; I’d been daydreaming about this for months. He kissed me harder and started sliding his hands under the hem of my dress.

“No,” I said, turning so his lips grazed my cheek. “No, Adam, I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he muttered, kissing me on the collarbone.

“No,” I said, more forcefully this time. “No, I can’t. Please stop.”

I pushed him away. He looked confused. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, Adam. I have a boyfriend. You know that.”

“You’re serious?”

I started for the door, but he grabbed my hand. “Let me go,” I said.

“What the hell, Julia? This is exactly what you wanted.”

“No, it’s not. Adam, stop.” I tried to wrest my hand free.

He laughed. “You are such a fucking tease.”

“I’m not—I’m sorry if I led you on. I thought we were just friends.”

“You’re sorry? Julia, what the fuck do you want? You really want to go back to Evan? Like he’s going to make you happy?” He laughed again. “He’s never going to make you happy. Anyone can see that.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong, Jules. I mean, you guys are going to break up sooner or later. It’s so obvious. So what’s the problem here?”

“You don’t know him. You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know exactly who Evan is. And I know who you are. You’re bored. You want more, don’t you? You want something better. I know you do.”

He was waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, he stepped closer, his hands against the wall on either side of me. He leaned in so his mouth was next to my ear.

“Let me tell you how this is going to go,” he said in a low voice. I closed my eyes. “You’re going to forget about Evan. Forget about everything else. It’s just you and me, right now. Isn’t that what you wanted?” I could feel the damp heat of his breath against my neck. “I know you, Julia. The real you. I know what you want. You’re going to stay here with me.” I was thinking: Is he right? Does he know the real me? Is that so impossible to imagine? “You’re going to take that dress off. And then you’re going to—”

“I’m leaving,” I said, ducking under his arm. He didn’t know me. I’d been so stupid, letting my boredom disguise such an obviously bad idea as a good one. I wanted to be better than I had been before. I was better. Adam didn’t know the real me. He was wrong.

But he grabbed my hand and yanked me back. He pinned me against the wall with his weight and used one hand to pull up my dress, the other to unbutton his jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I squirmed away from his hands.

“Come on, babe,” he said, trying to kiss me. He pressed against me, harder.

“Let me go. Adam, stop!”

Finally I got my hands onto his shoulders and used the leverage of the wall behind me to shove him away. He stumbled backwards, tripping.

“Fucking asshole,” I said, gasping for air.

He stared at me, his cheeks flaming red, then cooling. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he shrugged. “You know what, babe? I feel bad for you. I was just trying to help you out.”

I straightened my dress and wiped his spit away from my mouth. “Your loss,” he called as I slammed the door shut.

He graduated two months later. It took more than two years before he finally acknowledged what had happened that night. And by then—as awful as that night had been—the scar tissue had hardened so much that I couldn’t even feel the original wound underneath. I saw Adam again, and I didn’t remember what had come before. I didn’t want to remember. From the moment Adam came back into my life, I grew restless and unhappy and yearned for something new. I thought he was the answer. I never stopped to think that Adam was the source of my unhappiness. I thought my life was the illness and Adam was the cure. But the more time we spent together, the deeper my dissatisfaction grew. His presence was the only thing that could distract me from it. And so I kept returning to the well, drinking deeper and deeper.

Maybe that’s why, even though I’ve spent so much time thinking about last year, I don’t think about Adam that much. In the end, what we had went no deeper than the quick hit of a drug. All those dinners, those bottles of wine, those nights in his bed—they add up to nothing. The lie I told myself collapsed in one shattering moment, and now I can only start from scratch.

*

In the past month, I’ve carved out a new, careful routine for myself. I wake up early. I’ve started running again in the mornings, before the heat sets in. I take Pepper on long walks through the woods, throwing sticks for him until my arm is sore. I come home and eat lunch, leftovers or sandwiches, cleaning up after myself like a guest. My father is always at work, and my mother is always at her meetings and committees. Most days it’s just me and Jasmine, the housekeeper. We move on our separate tracks, nodding when we pass each other.