Page 76 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
Owen stops, his hand hovering in the air. He looks hurt. He looks terrified.
“Tessa, talk to us,” Owen pleads. “I knew he was angry, but I didn’t think he’d destroy you. What did he do?”
“He did exactly what you think he would,” I say, my voice breaking. “He cut me loose.”
I push past them. I shove through the revolving doors and stumble out into the humid night air.
“Tessa!” Owen yells after me.
Without looking back, I dive into the waiting Uber and lock the door before they can follow.
The Uber driver keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I don’t blame him. I look like a wreck. I’m clutching my coat closed over a black dress that smells distinctly of sex and expensive whiskey.
And I’m crying.
Not the polite, single-tear bullshit from the movies. I’m ugly crying. Silent, heaving sobs that shake my shoulders and make my chest ache.
“You okay back there, miss?” The driver eyes me in the mirror.
“I’m fine,” I choke out, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Just… a long night.”
“Long night,” he agrees, turning the radio up slightly. He’s drowning out the sound of my breakdown with soft jazz.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The city lights blur into streaks of neon.
A lapse in judgment.
The words echo in my head, sharper than any knife.
He didn’t say “I regret it.” He didn’t say “We shouldn’t have done that.”
He called me a lapse in judgment. He called me a liability.
And the worst part? The part that makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds? He was right.
I was reckless. I let him take me on his desk, in his office, with the door unlocked. I let him tear my clothes. I let him claim me.
And I loved it.
For those few minutes, in the dark of that office, I felt seen. I felt wanted in a way that terrified and thrilled me.
I thought… God, I was stupid enough to think it meant something. I thought it was a breakthrough.
But it wasn’t a breakthrough. It was a breakdown.
The car pulls up to my apartment building. I fumble for the door handle, practically falling out onto the sidewalk.
“Thanks,” I mutter, slamming the door.
I run inside and take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the burn in my legs before fumbling with my keys, my hands shaking so hard I drop them twice.
Finally, the lock clicks. I push inside and slam the door, locking the deadbolt, the chain, and the handle.
I’m safe.
I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor.
