Tori—
Aching sobs escape the pillow I cry into. Sleep eludes me, and all I can see when I close my eyes is the look on Rafe’s face when my father accused him.
Why did he leave? I can’t make sense of it. There is no explanation that seems plausible, and I’ve been over every single one I can come up with.
Except one. Except the one Alex suggested. Rafe got what he wanted and dumped me. Men do that. I know that. I’m not na?ve.
But that explanation doesn’t make sense, either. Not after the night we shared. Not after the things he said to me. Not after the way he kissed me this morning. God, was it only this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago.
Did Rafe simply come to realize with the fire and the accusations that it just wasn’t worth it?
That I wasn’t worth it? That a relationship with me was too complicated?
Too much trouble? After all, I’m sure he could replace me with a snap of his fingers.
I’m sure there are dozens of women who would love to take my place.
Women who wouldn’t bring as much baggage as I do, women whose father wouldn’t stand in the way, and women who don’t have crazy college boy stalkers.
Finally, I give up on sleeping and toss the covers back.
Crossing to the window, I stare out at the remnants of the mill.
It used to be so easy to spot the light above the office door.
Now it's inky blackness and shadows. Where once a structure stood, now lays a pile of ash and rubble.
I see the picnic table under the tree across the parking area from where the building once stood.
Images of all the times I snuck out of the house in those predawn hours to meet Rafe there.
All the stolen kisses, ones that were all the more precious and all the more erotic because they were stolen.
Every time we met, he went a little farther with me, until one morning we came so close to having sex on that table.
I would have done it. God forgive me, I would have.
But he stopped us, holding me at arm’s length, breathing heavy, his face twisted with need and desire. “Not here,” he said. “Not this way. You deserve better than a dirty old wooden table, Tori.”
“I don’t care, Rafe. I want you,” I begged, but he wouldn’t relent, and then headlights had flashed as a car pulled in the lot.
“It’s Ed,” Rafe said. “Go back to the house. Hurry.”
I listened to him. I obeyed his command. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have let everyone know about us right from the start. Maybe then…
I stare into space, and all I can think of is Rafe’s hands on me. His body over mine in the dark of his bedroom. The look in his eyes when he took me.
I return to bed, but I don’t sleep. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.
I take my phone and text him again.
ME: Rafe, please talk to me. I need you.
ME: Why did you leave? What did I do wrong? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
He never replies, and I roll to my side, a tear slipping down my cheek.
There has to be a way to fix this.
I’ve got to figure it out.
Days turn into weeks, and he doesn’t return my calls or texts.
Every single one drags by like a punishment—one I don’t understand.
I think about calling Fiona and asking for her help, but how many times can I beg him to listen to me, to love me?
My emotions are all over the place. I swing from anger to agonizing desolation to irritation to rage to absolute despair.
I fight a depression so deep and so dark I’m sure it will swallow me whole.
Getting up every morning, I force myself to go to class, because my father expects it, but I don’t pay attention, and I don’t do the work.
I fail tests and miss assignments. And I don’t care at all.
Some days I just sit on the quad and stare at the sky, wondering if those same clouds float over Rafe somewhere out there.
Wondering what he’s doing and wondering who he’s doing it with takes up a lot of my time these days.
My ears perk up every time I hear the roar of a motorcycle. I turn to look, but it’s never him; it's never even one of his club brothers.
After almost six weeks, I decide I have to have answers, even if he’s blown me off, even if he’s moved on. The least I deserve is an explanation.
I take my car and drive around, trying to remember where his clubhouse is, but I was so wrapped up in enjoying being on the bike with him that I didn’t pay attention to the route. After ending up in one after another dead-end industrial park, I give up.
I try to find where Kyle’s house was, thinking maybe I would remember the way to Rafe’s place from there. It wasn’t far, but I can’t remember either one.
All I end up doing is getting lost.
I pull over and, in desperation, I text his sister, Fiona.
ME: I need your help again. I need to talk to Rafe, and he won’t respond.
I wait five minutes, then ten, then fifteen, and she doesn’t reply.
Punching in her number, I press it to my ear, but it rings and rings and then the call drops.
Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she’s in the movie theater. Maybe she’s silenced her phone. But I can’t stop the other explanations from flooding my brain. Maybe she’s siding with her brother. Maybe she’s pissed at me, too.
Defeated, I head home.
At a stoplight, three riders pull up in the lane next to mine. They’re all riding sport bikes and wearing full-faced helmets. They glance over at me, and the closest one waves. I can’t see his face, but I notice his tattoos, and a thought comes to me as the light changes, and they ride away.
Tattoos. TJ’s ol’ lady had a tattoo shop. God, what was it called? I rack my brain, but I can’t remember. Maybe if I can track it down, I can get a way to get a message to Rafe.
It gives me a sliver of hope.
When I pull up the drive, past the closed mill, I wonder what my father is going to do. With the insurance money, he cleared the site of debris, but he hasn’t started to rebuild, and I’m not sure he ever will. In a way, he seems defeated, too.
We barely speak anymore, and it's like I destroyed his trust in me.
I love my father, but I barely have the energy to deal with fixing what’s broken between us. Lately, I don’t have the energy for anything.
Alex hasn’t returned since the day I slapped him. I’m relieved he’s gone, and I hope he stays gone, but I can’t help wondering if he’s truly done with me and my father, or if he’s only biding his time.
I trudge up the stairs and collapse on my bed, then begin searching for local tattoo shops. My hope dims when I pull up over thirty of them in the San Jose area. I grab a piece of paper and start making a list. The only way I know to proceed is to go to every single one until I find Gigi.
Setting the list on my nightstand, I shut my eyes, and I’m soon pulled under by total exhaustion.