Sleeping with the Enemy

I know it's crazy, I know it's too fast, too soon, but I really think I'm falling in love with you.

Those are the words I want to say, but in the end all I manage to utter is his name.

"Rafael..."

And somehow, he gets it.

"I know."

His own voice is rough with emotion, and the sound is making me wish for the impossible.

"Nothing like this has ever happened to me before," he says tautly, "but if it's you—-"

"What the hell are you doing with my sister?"

Rafael

Un-fucking-believable.

I already know I'm grasping at straws the moment I hear that fucking voice, but when I look at the beautiful, adorable girl next to me, what I realize too fucking late is how the violet shade of her eyes is a little too familiar.

Fuck.

I jerk to my feet just as another man reaches for Zee's hand to pull her up. The man has the same fucking eyes as Zee's, and it's all I need to see to know the God-awful truth.

They really are siblings, dammit, and that does it for both of us.

I may not be so fucking blind that I suspect Zee of any kind of duplicity, but it doesn't matter. This is still the end for Zee and me, and I shove past the other man as I walk away.

"Wait—-"

My teeth gnash against each other at the note of hurt confusion in her voice, but I force myself to keep walking.

"Let me go, Stone—-"

"Don't you know who he is?" I hear her brother growl. "He killed Jocelyn, Zee. He's not the kind of man..."

The rest of his words is cut short as I stalk out of the bar. I may not hear him anymore, but it doesn't really matter. I know what he's going to say, and they're all fucking lies.

I was seventeen when it happened, and at that time I was - as Americans so love to put it - 'in a dark place'.

Losing my father to cancer had been the first blow, and when my mother remarried only a few months after, I could only turn to drugs and alcohol in order to cope.

It was the shittiest time of my life, and in those days I was either high or drunk...or sometimes even both.

I was just so fucking out of my mind with grief that I eventually found myself wanting to end it all by getting behind the wheel of my stepfather's car and hitting the gas without any intention of braking.

I wanted to kill myself...but I ended up killing someone else instead.

Her name was Jocelyn, and unlike me, the eighteen-year-old girl had the perfect life: a rich family who loved her, an even richer boyfriend in the person of Stone Verhaege who also loved her, and a whole new adventure to embark on as one of Yale's incoming freshmen.

Everyone, even my own mother, immediately believed I killed her. I was drunk and high on drugs while Jocelyn had everything going for her. I did my fucking best to defend myself in the trial that followed, but it was clear to see that the judge and even the jury had made up their fucking minds even before hearing any kind of evidence.

Nobody cared to hear the truth, which was that Jocelyn had jumped in front of my car to kill herself.

Zee

I can't believe I'm doing this.

But even as the words echo inside my head over and over, I still find myself nervously knocking on his door.

Rafael's jaw clenches when he sees it's me, and his gorgeous face remains cold when our gazes meet.

"How the hell did you know what room I'm in?"

"I just do." It's a lie, of course. I got Nic to find out what his room number is, but considering how Rafael isn't exactly best friends with Nic, it's a fact that I'd rather not share at the moment.

"Does your brother know you've come to see me?"

I hesitate for a second...and live to regret it when I see his lip curl.

"He's forbidden you to have anything to do with me, hasn't he?"

"May I come in?" I ask instead. "There's just something I want to talk about. Please."

A moment passes, and then he finally steps back and opens the door to let me in. He gestures towards the couch, and I shake my head when he asks me if I want anything to drink.

He leans against the desk after that, saying curtly, "Talk then."

It kills me to see and hear him act like this, and I have a hard time remembering this is the same man who had made me cum with his fingers just an hour ago.

I head towards the couch, but my steps come into a halt when I realize Rafael has yet to move. "A-Aren't you going to sit down?"

"No."

"Please, Rafael." He jerks at the sound of his name on my lips, and I feel the smallest glimmer of hope that things aren't too late. I want to believe that his inability to be indifferent to me means something, and the hope inside of me grows when he finally moves to follow me.