we stayed over at each other’s houses under the guise of wedding planning. We were always chaperoned,” I say with air-quotes, “because we both lived with our parents. Had to keep up the appearance of being a virtuous, pure woman even if he was galivanting around with who knows who.”
Kyle snorts. “My first time was the real American way . . . back seat of a car, a lot of awkward fumbling, and lasting about five minutes tops.”
“Oh, how I wish,” I complain, wishing it could have been Kyle instead of . . . well . . . “Robert had always been entitled, that kind of bratty douche canoe type that’s stereotyped in that tax bracket. But decent enough. He started changing, would make snide comments about my hair or my weight, and then about my schoolwork.”
I disappear into the past, the words coming out in a mish-mash as I think about all the sneaky ways Robert had made me doubt myself, question everything I thought.
“I later learned it’s called gaslighting, but I didn’t have a label for it then. I just felt like something was wrong with me. No, I felt like everything was wrong with me.”
“And then it got physical. It started harmless enough. He’d smack my ass when I walked by, but not in a ‘hey, sexy’ way, though that’s how he tried to frame it. He was testing me, I think, to see how far I’d let him go, ramping it up slowly the same way he had with the insults. That progressed to pinches and slaps like he did at the party.”
Kyle growls, his hands clenching. “I saw him backhand you, Carly. That wasn’t a slap.”
I shrug, the distinction not mattering to me any longer. “And he always wanted rough sex, which I don’t mind, but this was different. This was him shoving my face into a pillow so he wouldn’t have to look at me and using me as a gloryhole.”
Kyle whispers under his breath, his knuckles popping as he holds back his anger. “He did want to . . . fuck.”
I can feel tears burning hot trails down my cheeks, but I continue, needing to get it all out. “And then he punched me. As bad as everything else had gotten, that was a boundary I couldn’t excuse, couldn’t minimize. I had a black eye and it swelled really badly. I went to see my parents, telling them I couldn’t marry Robert, wouldn’t live like this.”
“What’d they do?” I can hear the purposeful steadiness in Kyle’s voice, and I look over to find him rolling his wrists, like I do when I’m about to hit something and need to relieve a little tension.
“Not what you’re thinking about doing, for damn sure,” I reply, taking my own hand and twisting it the way I was taught before karate. “My dad told me I must’ve done something to warrant it and that I’d best prepare to be a better wife. My mom went into damage control mode and told everyone I’d had a bad Botox injection. And I went to my room, packed a suitcase, and just left. Ran away to Europe, ignored everyone’s calls for a while, and told them to fuck off when I did finally answer. And then I literally ran into you, and you’ve heard the key parts of my backpacking adventure.”
I smile at the memory of being on my ass on the floor, Kyle’s big frame looming over me, his look dark. “Why are you smiling? I scared the piss out of you that night.”
I nod but look up at him honestly. “Sure, but my first thoughts were that you were huge and hot. And then I was just embarrassed about the whole tampons thing, which is stupid because half the Earth’s population bleeds once a month so it shouldn’t be a thing at all. But you were just so . . . hot, like midnight chocolate.”
He chuckles, the sound contrasting with all the darkness I’ve been spewing about my past. “Midnight chocolate?” His hands spread wide as he looks at himself. I look too, at the messy blonde hair he’s been running his thick tan fingers through, his eyes open and light for once, the bulge of his biceps straining against the sleeves of his black T-shirt, and the long line of his jeans-clad legs. He’s barefoot, which strikes me as super sexy for some reason, like most folks probably don’t get to see him this chill, but I’m