Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(25)

I ducked my chin down. “Nolan’s dad works at the hospital. He was able to sweep my admittance under the carpet,” I confessed, wondering why the hell I was telling Bane this—why the hell was I talking to him at all?—and hating myself for every spoken word and peeled layer. “I nursed myself back to health at home. By the time I’d gotten back to school, all that was left from The Incident was the limp.” And the scars on my stomach. I still had them. A shudder rolled over my skin. New Jesse begged me: Don’t tell him. Don’t open up to him. But old Jesse pointed out: He called it rape. No one else ever did. Take a chance. I wondered since when was she talking to me?

“By the time I got back to school, people were hungry for the drama. The hushed whispers, the pitiful looks. Everyone already thought I was a slut because of that sex tape in which Emery found out I wasn’t a…” I wasn’t going to say the word ‘virgin.’ Because I had been. I’d never slept with anyone before him. But no one believed me. I hung my head down. “Anyway, that’s how I became The Untouchable. Every time people tried to touch me, I ran away, or worse. It’s like there’s the old Jesse, the girl who used to be so fun and confident and friendly, and the new Jesse, the girl who sits in front of you right now. This girl is still waiting to see when you’re going to pounce on her and rip her clothes off, just because you physically can.”

Silence fell between us like a thick blanket. He didn’t offer any condolences.

“That why you never leave your house?”

“I leave my house,” I said defensively. The place was crowded, and a trickle of sweat crawled from the nape of my neck down to my spine. The noise. The laughter. People crammed together. It bothered me, but I tried to block it.

Bane leaned even closer to me. His scent drifted into my nostrils. I leaned backward.

“Yeah? Where to?” he asked.

“My therapist.”

“That’s once a week, two at most. What else?”

I curled my knuckles, tapping them against the table, looking anywhere but him. “The maze.”

“The maze?”

I nodded triumphantly. “My neighbor has a hedge maze. It’s where I go when I don’t want to deal with Darren and Pam’s constant nagging about my getting a job and finding friends.” Like those are so easy to find.

“How old are you, Jesse?”

“I’ll be twenty in September.”

“Do you like your life?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One that I’d like an answer to. Life is about meeting your eyes in the mirror without flinching.”

“Is that why you’re extorting money from innocent people and whoring yourself out?” I lifted a defiant chin. I hated that he was patronizing me. Hated that I’d opened up to him, just because he was the only one who seemed to remotely care. Hated that he was right. I wasn’t living. Not really.

None of my reasons for being crude mattered, though, the minute I saw his face. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his short nails bit into the trendy, white wood of the table. There is ice in those veins. The thought trickled into my conscience. Bane was normally laid-back, but now, I saw him for who he was. He put that mask of bored-and-pissed on his face again, and I wished I could tear it off and see how he really felt about what I’d said, just so I could hurt for hurting him.

“It’s true.” I raised my quivering voice, straightening my spine. “That’s what you are. A criminal and a whore.”

Kick me out. Let me go. I’m no good, I inwardly begged. You will ruin me, and there’s not much left to ruin. Please let me keep whatever I have left.

“You don’t believe that,” he said, his baritone voice taciturn and relaxed.

“That you’re a whore? I do.”

“Well, then, get the fuck out of here.” He gestured for the door, still wearing the bored mask. “Now.”

I stared at his face, debating my next move. It was his eyes that managed to scare me more than his words. To penetrate my soul. I grabbed my backpack from under my chair and stood up. Something stirred inside me. Something unsettling. I felt…heated. Suddenly intense. I wasn’t used to this feeling. Was I anxious? Sure. Scared? More times than I wanted to admit. But rage was different. It was passionate.

It didn’t even make any sense. I’d insulted him—so he’d kicked me out of his place. It was natural. Understandable, even. So why did I want to throw the smoothie in his face and defy every word that came out of his mouth? Anything to create more friction, and taunt, and drink up his attention and face and secrets.

Why do I want to fight this guy? Maybe because I knew, after today, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t use his physical advantage over me to try to win.

“Thanks for the smoothie.” I turned around and stormed out, my relief of leaving the crowded place caked with irritation and a weird sense of loss. I clutched the handle of my Range Rover’s door and jerked it open. His voice boomed behind me.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a huge pain in the ass?”

I turned around, pointing at him with a trembling finger.

“You said life is about meeting your eyes in the mirror. I just wondered if you’re at peace with sleeping with random people for favors.”