Breakable (Contours of the Heart, #2)(19)

It was a close thing.

She breathed along with me, and I concentrated on her soft breaths. She was trembling, but she wasn’t crying, yet. If she started, I didn’t know what I would do.

‘Fine. I’ll drive you,’ I said.

Without a beat between my words and hers, she said that no, she’d drive herself.

How many shocks could I handle in one night? It appeared that I was about to find out.

Like I was going to let her drive. Right. I reached down and picked her keys out of the items strewn across the floorboard. Her bag was on its side – knocked there, no doubt, when that shithead shoved her face down into her truck.

Holy. SHIT. I’ve never wanted someone to jump up and throw a punch at me so badly. I wanted an excuse – any sort of excuse – to end him.

Scooting closer, she held her hand out for her keys. I stared at her slim fingers. The fingers I’d watched from a distance for weeks. They trembled.

‘I can’t let you drive,’ I said.

These words confused her. I rattled off my justifications: the visible fact that she was shaking – reason enough on its own. I wasn’t sure if she was uninjured. And I assumed she’d probably been drinking, though I hadn’t actually observed a cup or bottle in her hand.

‘I have not,’ she said, her brows furrowing and her tone indignant. ‘I’m the designated driver.’

I shouldn’t have looked over my shoulder and back, asking her who, exactly, she was designated for. I shouldn’t have berated her for walking across the parking lot alone, paying no attention to her surroundings – even though these things were true. I definitely shouldn’t have implied that she’d acted irresponsibly, which was the same as telling her she was responsible for the attack.

I knew who was responsible. He was lying in a bloody heap at my feet, moaning as if either of us should give a shit.

‘So it’s my fault he attacked me?’ she gasped, furious. ‘It’s my fault I can’t walk from a house to my truck without one of you trying to rape me?’

One of you.

‘ “One of you”? You’re gonna lump me in with that piece of shit?’ I gestured to the guy I’d put on the ground, indignation bubbling to the surface like a chemical reaction, instantaneous and unrelenting. ‘I am nothing like him.’ I heard my words push into the space between us, hostile and defensive. As I spat them out, her eyes slid over my mouth – and the ring in my lip. I saw the fear she tried to swallow before I could see it.

My anger was not for her. Her fear should not be for me. But I was making it so.

She asked for her keys again, hand out, her voice breaking mid-sentence – but she stared into my eyes, determined. I was astounded at her bravery in the face of this night. And here I stood, another man trying to bully her into doing something she didn’t want to do.

One of you.

She was wrong, but not entirely. The sensation that washed over me at this realization wasn’t pleasant.

‘Do you live on campus?’ I asked, allowing the gentleness she deserved back into my voice. This was her choice, not mine. Saving her didn’t give me the right to dictate to her. She could drive across campus without me, though I’d prefer she didn’t. ‘Let me drive you,’ I coaxed. ‘I can walk back over here and get my ride after.’

Relief swept over me at her surrendering nod. As she gathered her personal effects from the floor of the truck, I helped her, returning items to her bag, braving an unjustified twinge of jealousy when I handed her a condom packet.

As though I’d offered her a scorpion instead of a harmless square of cellophane, she retracted her hand and said it wasn’t hers.

So he’d thought it out far enough to try to keep himself ‘safe’ from evidence?

Don’t turn round. Don’t look at him.

Ignoring my mind’s warning, I glanced back to make certain he was still on the ground. He was. I may have mumbled something about his intent to conceal evidence, which made me wish she’d let me call the police, because intent like that could point to fully cognizant plotting. I’m not sure if I said it out loud. She didn’t reply, if I had. I shoved the condom into my pocket, wondering if a condom could go through a shredder, because I would be trying that little experiment when I got home.

In my imagination, he’d be wearing it at the time.

I climbed into her truck, shut the door and turned the key in the ignition. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police?’ Resolved as I was to let this be her decision, I had to ask one last time.

She stared at the back of the house and the party within through the windshield, silent for a full minute. ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

I nodded and backed out of the lot, headlight beams showing the damage I’d done to her attacker. It wasn’t near enough. I forced myself to keep the truck in reverse. I’d have rather put it in drive and flattened him beneath the tyres.

It had been years since I’d felt this level of violence roiling through my blood.

Staring at the road, I pretended an artificial composure to force myself to become calm, knowing that it would work, albeit slowly. At the intersection, I asked the name of her dorm and turned right when she gave it, her voice weaker and quaking, now that the danger was past.

I gave her as much privacy as I could, keeping peripheral watch while she strained to regroup. She hugged herself as though she was freezing, even though the night was more perfect than October had a right to be. A little warm, even. She shuddered in waves, her body throwing off the need to defend itself while her mind couldn’t escape the degradation she’d just experienced.