I wanted to be capable of wanting him.
So I sat there.
He moved. And I sat. He moved again. I sat.
He reached down. I couldn’t see what he was doing in the dark of the car, but he wasn’t touching me, just like he’d promised.
“I know of something we can do to help me and you’ll still be
a virgin,” he said then, sounding . . . odd, and out of breath. There was no softness in his voice. No gentleness. He sounded like he was talking to another guy, not to the sweet girl he was going to marry.
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I figured he was going to tell me.
He was a good man. I knew his heart. And I trusted him.
“As long as I’m pure when we get married . . .” I wouldn’t look. I would let him do what he needed to do and not speak of it again.
He moved again, displacing me. His hands were between our bodies, but he wasn’t rubbing anything. He was fidgeting with something. His fingers were bunched. I heard clothes move. Heard his zipper. And my heart started to pound. The door was locked. He was holding me on a sideways angle.
“I want to go back.”
He didn’t say a word. But he was breathing hard. I didn’t like what was going on. At all. But I still trusted him. Mostly.
I trusted him right until I felt his hands on the front of my jeans. My hands met his there, stifling his attempt to get my pants unfastened. I held on, trying to still his fingers. But they were beneath mine. And stronger than mine.
As was the arm that held me around the middle as he moved me once again and got my jeans partially down, exposing my backside to the cool night air—and the roughness of his jeans. My legs were pinned between his and the dash of the car. His arm around me was like a brace, holding my arms down. His other hand was moving on my bottom, pulling me over. I started to fight and felt his push at the same time.
With one shove he’d forced himself up inside the part of me he’d exposed.
Pain held me frozen. I fought back nausea.
I couldn’t think at all.
In the space of a few seconds, the girl I’d been, the woman I’d hoped to be, died an excruciating death.
“You were a very good girl tonight. My girl. You know how to take care of your man.”
We were still in the car. My clothes were in place. So were James’s. His expression was calm as he drove down the highway back to school.
“It’s your fault, you know.” I could hear him talking. I just couldn’t respond. I didn’t exist. I was a body that hurt. “I’ve never been like this before. You do it to me.”
I wanted to deny the accusation. But I couldn’t. I’d done it to Tim, too. There was something immoral about me.
Lights appeared in the distance. Town. I was going to have to get out of the car. Stand. I was afraid there’d be blood on my backside.
I was afraid that my pure and innocent roommates would notice the difference in me straight off. Notice and be horrified.
I was going to be kicked out of school a few weeks before graduation. I wouldn’t get the degree I’d earned.
“You have to marry me now,” James continued to talk. “No other man will have you.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear that.
“You have a problem, Sweetie Pie. You’re a tease. You drive men crazy. But I know you can’t help it. And it doesn’t change my love for you. We’ll deal with it together.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I still want to marry you. You’re my good girl. I don’t care that it was your fault. I don’t blame you.”