Forbidden Surrender(39)

We were standing among the impressive marble pillars of the library, looking out at the red brick buildings of Harvard Square. It was autumn and the red and yellow leaves fluttering down beneath the waning sun made a picturesque setting for a stupid argument about a post on my Facebook wall.

“Just tell me who he is!” the man yelled, his brown hair combed just above his bright blue eyes perfectly, as always. Together with his rimless glasses, he resembled a J Crew model.

“He’s a friend from a class. It’s nothing!”

It was the third time we’d fought that week. We were never a couple that fought a lot, but for some reason we’d been getting into more and more arguments recently. A year older, he’d graduated before me and gotten a job at his dad’s law firm in Boston. Since then, he’d visited me regularly on campus, which I was grateful for, but knowing I was surrounded by other attractive guys my age seemed to make his jealousy worse.

He looked around. “You swear it’s nothing?”

I hated having to deal with this part of our relationship. We’d been through this argument before—some guy waving at me or saying hello, sharing class notes, or asking if I wanted to go to a social event—and every time it ended with tears and hurt feelings. For both of us. It got to the point where we decided to share phone, email, and Facebook passwords.

“Oh my god, yes.”

He took another look around and held out his hand, pinky extended. “Fine. Pinky swear.”

Childish as it was, I was glad to be done with the argument. The past few months he’d been flipping out over every single guy who even looked at me, and it was a problem. I hoped I had at least avoided anything more extreme. But when I looked at his cold blue eyes, I was unsure. I glanced around sheepishly, but the campus was mostly deserted, finals having ended weeks ago.

I held out my pinky and intertwined it with his, hoping the action would appease him. His eyes flashed and he yanked me to his chest, twisting my finger savagely. I gasped, the full weight of the dread I had been carrying for weeks finally rising to the surface of my mind. As the pain erupted, hot tears flooded my eyes. My other hand shot up to pry my injured hand away from him, but he was too strong.

“Don’t ever lie to me Kristen. Never. Do you understand me? Never.”

My world blurred as tears poured down my cheeks. I tried desperately to scream for help but as I opened my mouth, his hand shot up to cover it. The world went gray.





I woke up screaming. A bundle of nerves, it didn’t help I couldn’t recognize my surroundings. Where was I?

“Kristen,” a familiar voice said, “it was just a dream. You’re okay.”

I turned to Vincent beside me. His face was full of concern and his hand was wrapped gently around my shoulder. Realization swept over me. He was mostly right, it had been a dream. Not just a dream, but I was safe for now. I turned to him.

“That must have been a bad nightmare. Do you remember it?”

I remembered it in more ways than one. It had been the breaking point with Marty. Our relationship had seemed good for a long time, but when he started getting abusive it got ugly fast. That had been over two years ago.

“Vincent, I think—” I faltered. There was no need to unload this story on him right now. I barely knew him; I had been handling Marty on my own for two years without any issue, I could keep handling him for a while longer.

He pulled me tightly against his bare chest. The warmth and hardness was immediately comforting. “It’s okay. Take a minute. You’re safe here.”

I traced my finger around one of his nipple rings. They were starting to grow on me. Again, he was right. I did need a minute because my heart was pounding. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t believe Marty had actually shown up at my apartment.

He began stroking my hair down to my nape. Slowly I felt myself relaxing. Vincent was really being amazing about this. It would have been easy to wake me up and then roll over, dismissing my unease, but the way he was holding me close and comforting me was perfect.

“What was your nightmare about?” he asked.

I thought about telling him, but I just couldn’t. It was too early in our relationship, or whatever it was we were doing. If I told him, he would probably feel like I was unloading way too much baggage way too quickly. He was already treating me differently than his other women. I didn’t want to push it.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You were thrashing around pretty hard for a dream about nothing.”

“I just mean I don’t remember.”

He said nothing for a few minutes, continuing to stroke my hair. Finally, he spoke. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so, but please don’t lie to me. I hate being lied to.”