Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(43)
Her gaze swings to mine and widens in panic. She did not mean to reveal this last part. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, thinking hard. She’s been in rehab. And she said, “take the fall,” but I have close, personal experience dealing with people who suffer from substance abuse. I know the denial and blame that accompanies it. I hate that my mind jumps right to that conclusion…but it’s my automatic response. Triggered from years of accepting my brother’s collect calls from jail. There’s always an excuse and someone else to blame ready on his tongue.
This is Ari, though. And I can’t expect her to dole out the trust if I don’t offer at least some in return.
“So they sent you to rehab after you took the blame for…?” I trail off, trying to fit the scenario together in my head. “For finding some drugs on campus?”
A heavy exhale, then she follows with, “It was speed. I didn’t know he used all the time, just on occasion, to get through exams when he had practices and games. I’m such an idiot, I know. But I guess we believe what we want. Anyway”—she draws her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins—“I never bothered to ask how he got his supply. Maybe I didn’t want to know. But he was using my mailbox. He had his dealer actually mail it to him. He started using my box after about a week of us dating, saying he didn’t have his own, so it never even crossed my mind. I didn’t know how drug rings worked.” She laughs mirthlessly. “But, after four months in rehab I do. I now know more than I ever wanted to.”
I don’t interrupt. I let her vent. It sounds like she needs to, and I wonder if her parents know the truth. How much punishment and shame has she been dealing with, trying to get back into their good graces? And it hits me; dating me probably won’t do her any favors there. Not a guy from the poor side of town, getting by on an academic scholarship.
“When they uncovered a package of speed, it was addressed to me, in my college mailbox, so there wasn’t much of an investigation. I told them straight up it was mine, and I thought maybe I’d be reprimanded, or have to pay a fine…I didn’t really know or understand.” She swallows hard, the column of her throat strains. “But I was kicked out. Of Dartmouth, by the way. Not Yale, but I guess you were close. And to defer the charges, I accepted voluntary drug rehabilitation. My father arranged it all with the judge. I stayed in the facility until my father felt confident all was buried, and then I was enrolled here.” She looks around, her eyes settling on my face. “No one knows. Not the full story, anyway.”
I open my mouth to say something, but she quickly continues. “So yeah, I really don’t have a soft spot in my heart for jocks.” She shrugs. “Call me crazy, but I only had to get burned once to learn my lesson.”
“You’re too smart for that,” I say. “Tossing everyone who plays sports into the same douchebag pile…I don’t buy it. You were hurt badly, betrayed, but that’s because you cared for someone who you thought you could trust, and he took advantage of you. Jock or not makes no difference there. People can be *s.”
She releases a quick laugh. “That’s true enough. But I guess the full truth of it is that I don’t trust easily.” Her stare intensifies as she holds my gaze. “Anyone. But especially jocks. It’s just a bit too fresh, I guess.”
“Fair enough.” I’m so lost in her eyes, soft and vulnerable, that I’ve completely forgotten why I came here in the first place. There was something I wanted clarity on…her text. “So I’m assuming something was said, or you heard a rumor that made you question my intentions.” Around here, that’s not too far off of an assumption.
“Truthfully, Ryder, I’ve never trusted your intentions from the start.”
Ouch. “But today. Something happened today specifically.”
She turns her head away, breaking our connection. “Do you have a bet to sleep with me?”
I release a groan. I expected as much, but I was hoping for something a little more original, at least. “No,” I say honestly. “I don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it?” Tentatively, I reach up and touch her chin, turn her face in my direction. “You believe me?”
Tilting her head just enough to be released from my hold, she says, “Yes. I thought it sounded a bit too juvenile. Even for you.”
I laugh. “As opposed to sharing my cake with you?”
A slight smile touches her lips, but she schools her features quickly. “Ryder. What do you want from me?”
Her question is so direct, so simple, I’m taken aback. She’s been through hell; I can hear the anger in her voice, the hurt, and that question sums up her pain. What do I want? Because in her experience, even the person you trust the most wants something from you.
Trying to have a meaningful conversation with Ari is like crossing a minefield. I’m wondering the same thing suddenly; what do I want from her? Why am I putting in this much effort? Could I walk away, right now, and never give her another thought?
It started with a physical connection. An initial attraction. She reminded me of someone whom I cared about. She was some kind of possible redemption. But I no longer see Alyssa when I look at her, and I don’t feel I’ll earn some form of forgiveness through her that I was never able to seek from Alyssa.